“One-way to Terra, Dr. Kildare? I hope you enjoyed your stay on Zarathustra and will visit us again.”
“Yes, I think I will. I may even immigrate here one day.”
The clerk stamped the ticket and returned it to Rankin. Before he could put it in a pocket, a hand seized his arm.
“Excuse me, Doctor, but could you come with us?”
Rankin turned to find a uniformed policeman accompanied by another man in civilian attire. “Is there a problem, officer?”
“Yes. Those are the worst forged papers I have ever seen,” the cop said, shaking his head. “Seriously, you went with ‘Dr. Kildare?’ You should be shot for that alone.”
Rankin was quickly cuffed and hauled away from the terminal.
* * * * * * * * *
John Smith was not his real name. In fact, use of the name had become rare since the First Century A.E. due to its overuse in the previous centuries. It was only because the name had become uncommon that the man elected to use it in the first place. It was a plausible enough name taken separately as both the patronymic and the forename were still common enough.
Smith purchased the off-world ticket and walked to the spaceport bar. Once seated, he ordered a Three-Planets and sat near a window where he could observe everything that happened in the terminal.
He carefully nursed the drink and checked his chronometer like a man nervous about taking a spaceflight. Around the third small sip there was a commotion. A woman and two men seized some guy with red hair and a pasty complexion. That was good. Anything that attracted attention anywhere but near Mr. Smith suited him just fine.
With attention on the redhead and his dancing partners, Smith decided it was time to board the shuttle. He chugged the rest of his drink and left the bar. As he expected, everybody was watching the redhead as he was hauled out of the spaceport. Except for the man who was pointedly ignoring the foursome and making straight for the shuttle dock. Smith hung back a bit. There was something off about the man and Smith didn’t want to get caught up in whatever he was into. Sure enough, the man was quickly detained, cuffed and hauled away. Once the dock was clear, Smith resumed progress toward it.
At the shuttle dock security point, he produced his identification. Instead of the documents proclaiming his identity as John Smith, he produced papers in the name of Guido MacTavish. The increased police activity suggested they were looking for several people and it was possible they found out about John Smith and his likely connection to the deaths of Anthony Anderson and Duncan Rippolone.
“Did you enjoy your stay on Zarathustra, Mr. MacTavish?” asked the checkpoint attendant.
“Yes. It was a very pleasant vacation. It is a shame I have to leave before the executions of the Fuzzy Slavers. I had even bought a lottery ticket.” Guido shrugged. “Can’t win them all, I guess.”
“Oh, and by any chance would your name also be John Smith?”
Guido, taken by surprise, stammered out, “What? No! Why would you ask me that?”
From behind Guido two plainclothes cops stepped up. “To catch you in a lie for the portable veridicator. This new model by Henry Stensen has a range of two meters. It isn’t admissible in court, unfortunately, but it does give us sufficient cause to take you in and put you on the floor model.” The officer looked to his partner. “Isn’t that right, Officer Gilbert?”
“Oh, absolutely, Officer Sullivan.”
“Now,” Sullivan said as he pulled out his cuffs. “Will this be easy or hard?”
Guido MacTavish quickly sized up the situation and didn’t like the odds one little bit. He was unarmed, outnumbered and on a planet where he didn’t have any juice. He held out his wrists. “How can I resist such a gracious invitation?”
* * * * * * * * *
Morgan and Akira stepped out of the air-yacht and were met by a furry of Fuzzies crowding around them. By the cabin he could see Thor Folkvar and Thor the Fuzzy throwing the Frisbee back and forth. The Fuzzy’s arm seemed to working well enough suggesting his wound was healing well. Thor Folkvar waved and Morgan waved back.
Little Fuzzy worked his way through the hirsute crowd and informed the two that Pappy Jack wanted to see them. Morgan looked worried, something Akira had never seen before.
Morgan let out a long breath. “Well, let’s get this over with.”
Akira’s face screwed up in confusion. “Get what over with?”
“I defied my sire’s orders by interfering up north,” Morgan explained. “Now he will determine my penalty.”
Akira stopped and grabbed Morgan’s shoulder. “What? You’re a grown man. Are you telling me Jack could, what, spank you and you’d just take it?”
“Corporal punishment goes against normal Freyan custom, at least between father and son in the nobility. No, I’ll have to serve some form of penance.”
That doesn’t sound good, Akira thought. “Like what?”
“That is up to my father. On Freya it might include physical labor, a public admission of guilt, acting as a servant in his home…there are no hard and fast rules.”
“And you’ll just accept it?” Akira started getting a headache. “What kind of man are you?”
“One who owns up to his mistakes and accepts the consequences?” Morgan turned and started walking toward the cabin. Akira shrugged and followed.
Inside, Jack was sitting on the couch next to Betty. He looked angry while Betty kept her expression neutral. The elder Holloway indicated a chair and Morgan took a seat. Morgan noticed absently that the renovations were completed making the living room much larger. Somehow that made it seem more intimidating under the circumstances.
“John Morgan Holloway the Lesser,” Jack said ceremoniously, “you have defied the will of your sire. Are you prepared to make amends for your transgression?”
Morgan didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sire.”
“Very well. It is my belief that you intend to ask this woman, Akira Hsu O’Barre, to be your wife.” Jack paused dramatically. “It is my decision that this will not happen. She will be given her wages and returned to her previous employment at the CZC.”
“Yes, si—what?”
“I believe that she may have influenced you into making the foolish choice of interfering in my efforts up north. No woman should have that much control over her mate, especially when he is of the nobility. A man must be strong and know his own mind. Is this understood?”
Morgan froze. He couldn’t believe his own ears. Jack was forbidding his intended marriage to Akira. “You cannot be serious,” he said weakly.
“What…Jack…Mr. Holloway, you can’t possibly mean that…” Akira stammered out.
“The word of the family patriarch is not to be questioned,” Jack said sternly. “Morgan understands this. Is this not so, Morgan?”
“Yes, but…I…” Morgan tried to find the right words. He never imagined his father could be so cruel. He was within his rights to forbid the marriage, yet…
“Do you accept your punishment, John Morgan Holloway the Lesser?” Jack demanded.
Morgan stared for a moment before he could speak. On Freya a son who went against his father could be exiled, disinherited, and even, in extreme cases, executed. To defy one’s sire was almost unthinkable. He turned and looked into Akira’s face and saw her disbelief and pain. He wanted to marry her, to make a family with her. Yet, he couldn’t defy the will of his father. A Freyan noble accepted the will of his sire. The fact that he only recently found Jack and claimed his name was irrelevant; he accepted his name and became subservient to him as a consequence.
“Morgan?” Akira couldn’t stand the suspense. “Are you going to do what he said?”
Morgan looked from Akira then back to Jack. “I…I…No.”
“What did you say?” Jack demanded jumping to his feet.
“I said ‘no’.” Morgan stood up and glowered at his father. He had never been this angry before, not even before the duel when he and Jack shot each other. “I will accept any other penal
ty you choose to levy against me. I will turn over my wealth, leave the planet, or even cut off my own ears. I will even fly back to Terra and bring back the hickory tree you spoke of, but I will not give up this woman.”
Tears welled up in Akira’s eyes as she heard Morgan defy his father. He was prepared to give up everything for her. She couldn’t let him do it.
“No. Morgan, don’t. I’ll go. I can’t let you do that to yourself for me….”
“Woman, be silent!” Jack barked. Akira was stunned into silence. Morgan placed a protective hand on her shoulder. “Morgan, are you very certain you are prepared to defy my will for this woman? Does she mean that much to you?”
Morgan’s voice was even as he answered. “All that and more.”
“Very well. You are commanded to…” Again, Jack paused dramatically. “Take Akira Hsu O’Barre as your wife and accord her all the respect a woman of her quality and intelligence is entitled to, and generate heirs to carry on the family name. Oh, and meet your new stepmother. Betty, Morgan. Morgan, Betty.”
Morgan was stunned. “Uh…we’ve met.”
“Wait. Now you’re ordering him to marry me?” Akira stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Was this your idea of a joke?”
“Uh…Akira…” Morgan started. He felt lightheaded from the sudden shift and had some difficulty keeping upright.
“You butt out,” Akira shot at Morgan, then turned back to Jack. “Where do you get off ordering him to marry me? And when did you two get married? One romp in the sack and you’re picking out floral patterns together?”
“Who said it was only one?” Betty said with a deadpan expression.
Jack looked at Betty and said, “I like her. She’s feisty.”
Betty nodded. “I could have told you that. She’ll keep that son of yours in line, count on it.”
Jack and Betty returned their gaze to Morgan and Akira. Morgan was dumbfounded and Akira was beside herself. Finally, they couldn’t keep it in any longer; Jack and Betty broke out in laughter. It took several minutes for them to get control of themselves.
“That was great!” Akira said. “I almost believed it myself.”
“A pretty good one, I think,” Jack said. “Though if he tries another stunt like that one in Northern Beta, I will put him across my knee.” Jack turned to Betty. “You said you would let Akira in on the joke. I thought she really didn’t know for a moment there. I wasn’t planning on scaring her, too.”
“Oh, Akira can take it,” Betty laughed. “I called her on the screen and brought her up to speed before they got here. I neglected to mention that we didn’t really get hitched though. I wanted to see her reaction to that.”
Morgan, uncharacteristically slow on the uptake, finally caught on. “Then, you don’t want me to marry Akira?”
Jack laughed some more and fell back onto the couch. He needed a second to catch his breath. “Oh…heh…I do want you two to marry, but only if that is what you want. Both of you. I did want to see if you really felt that strongly about her, though. Marriage isn’t something to treat lightly the way they did back in First Century A.E. I had to know that your feelings were real.”
“And Betty…”
“No, Morgan. No floral patterns for us,” Betty said, giggling.
“Well, not for a while, anyway,” Jack added. “We’ll see how things go.”
Akira laughed as she fell onto Morgan who, in turn, was knocked back into the chair eliciting a startled “oof ” as they fell back. “Betty, thanks for the heads-up. I’m not sure what I would have done if I hadn’t been in on the joke.” Akira sobered and turned to Morgan. “I can’t believe you would have given up everything for me. Not to mention cut off your own ears. Do they really do that on Freya?”
Morgan nodded. “In rare and extreme cases. Akira?”
She looked at Morgan. “Yes?”
“I do want to marry you.”
“Hold it right there,” Akira commanded. She stood up and turned to Morgan. “I don’t care how Freyan you are! I am from Terra and expect to be given the right treatment. This will be done by Terran tradition or nothing! I want dinner, candlelight, you on your knee with a sunstone ring in your hand. Got it?”
Morgan smiled and nodded ceremoniously. “As my lady commands. And father, I know a Test of Resolve when I see one, though I was slow to catch on. I didn’t think you would be so Freyan about it.”
“Ring!” Jack shouted in a seeming non sequitur. “That reminds me.” He jumped up from the couch and ran into his bedroom.
“I thought he was still recovering,” observed Morgan.
“I don’t know if I could survive it if he recovers much more,” Betty joked.
Jack came back holding something in a closed hand. “Morgan, when your uncle sent me that letter telling me Adonitia had died, he also sent this back. I think you should have it.”
Jack opened his hand to reveal a ring with a bright blue sunstone. “This set me back four months wages when I got it for your mother. Blue was her favorite color.”
Morgan stood up and accepted the ring. “I am honored, father.”
“Jack, it’s lovely,” Akira said breathlessly.
“Give it a dry run and try it on,” Jack said. “Morgan might have to have it re-sized to fit you.”
Morgan placed the ring on the third finger of the right hand. On Freya, the right hand denoted engagement, a custom normally applied to the bracelets they would exchange, and would be transferred to the left hand at the nuptials. It fit perfectly.
“I still want the candlelit dinner,” Akira said softly. She turned back to Jack. “Woman, be silent? Seriously?”
“See?” Jack said as he looked back at Betty. “Feisty.”
XXXVII
Gus Brannhard leaned back in his chair enjoying his imported cigar, the type he only smoked when he was celebrating. He was celebrating now. Gus had just returned from lunch when the Colonial Marshal screened-in.
“We got the hat trick, Mr. Brannhard.”
“Gus,” Gus said automatically. The Marshal had a bad habit of slipping into formal addresses, especially when he was excited. “What’s a hat trick? Somebody pull a zarabunny out of one?”
“I’ll say.” Max explained that a hat trick referred to an ancient game called hockey where a player made three goals in one game. “In this case, Chief Carr is our star player.”
Gus wondered when Max would get to the point. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Carr’s men found Lundgren, Rankin and our Mr. Smith trying to board the Darius shuttle.” Max leaned back in his seat with a wolfish smile and waited.
“Smith? Wait, the elusive John Smith, our chief suspect in the murders of Anderson and Rippolone?”
“None other, accept no substitutes. By the way, his name isn’t ‘Smith.’ It’s…” Max checked a paper on his desk. “Ah, yes, his name is Guido MacTavish.”
Gus couldn’t believe his ears. “Guido? Really?” I guess Morgan nailed it after all. Who would have thought? “Alive?”
“And protesting. We have him in segregated lockdown and on suicide watch. This one isn’t getting away. I understand Mr. Coombes is done in the prosecutor’s office.”
Gus nodded. “He was just here to cover for me while I was… missing, and he stayed on to prosecute my abductors. Conflict of interest for me to do that and my staff, while good, couldn’t be expected to juggle that and their usual workload. Now he is back to work for the Company and probably glad for it.”
“Good for him. I just wanted to be sure who was coming down to observe the interrogation.”
Gus reached into a drawer and pulled out his cigar. “You know what? I think I’ll invite him to sit in with me for old time’s sake. Come to think of it, he’ll have to prosecute this. It would still be a conflict of interest for me to do it.”
“Going for the death penalty? On this Guido character?”
“Oh, I have to.” Gus lit the cigar and took a few puffs to get it started. “He c
ommitted a capital crime. Besides, I need that on the table to get him to talk. Isn’t the law wonderful?”
* * * * * * * * *
Little Fuzzy dropped the metal chopper-diggers at the feet of Red Fur. He had seen a movie where the Big Ones did the same thing with swords in front of a man wearing something called a toga. The chopperdiggers were a gift from one leader to another, or so he thought. The surrender of Vercingetorix to Julius Caesar proved too complicated a concept to explain to the Fuzzy. Instead, Pappy Jack had said that this was often how Big Ones made new friends.
Red Fur looked at the offering and selected one. He tested the balance and strength. It was far sharper than anything the Jin-f ’ke could make. He remembered how well Little Fuzzy had used it against him when they fought.
“My people who go with the Big Ones. Where are the rest?” Red Fur demanded.
“Some come back.” Little Fuzzy gestured to indicate some of the Jin-f ’ke who came back with him and George Lunt. “The rest want to stay. Learn new things. Strong One wants to stay with Thor Folkvar, the big-big Big One.”
Red Fur looked at the wounded ones who had gone with the Big Ones and came back. They looked happy and well fed and each had a shiny new chopper-digger. Red Fur nodded. “Hokay. Come. We make talk.”
Little Fuzzy followed Red Fur to an open space where several Jinf ’ke waited.
“These are makers and wise ones from many-many clans. They want to go to the wonderful place to learn from the Big Ones. Make better bows, better arrows. Use yellow hot thing…fire. Use fire.”
Little Fuzzy looked at the makers. It was a good idea. “You want estee-fee?”
“Some of the people want this. I do not. I want Big Ones to stay away from Jin-f ’ke.”
Little Fuzzy was confused. “You want Big Ones to stay away? Why send makers and wise ones to learn from Big Ones?”
“They want to go. I not stop them. I not…” Red Fur groped for a word but couldn’t think of one. “Jin-f ’ke not like dawgs. They want go, they go. I not…um…”
“Master,” Little Fuzzy supplied. He had heard Big Ones call Fuzzies with dogs their masters. “You leader, not master. This is good. Big Ones not masters. Big Ones friends.”
Caveat Fuzzy Page 33