Fuzzy Ergo Sum

by Diehr Wolfgang

  The Chief thought before answering. “Two things: I tried to get some info out of him on the way down to Science Division but he managed to turn it around and pump me for information. I hadn’t even realized it until just now.”

  Grego was impressed. Chief Steefer was nobody’s fool. “What kind of information?”

  “Mostly lay of the land type stuff, and when I had been to Freya and if I knew anybody else who had been. He gave me the impression that he was a little homesick at the time, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Maybe Miss O’Barre would provide some illumination, thought Grego. “And the other thing?”

  “He owns a private hyperspace yacht which is headed to Zarathustra as we speak.”

  Grego was impressed. “Now how did you find that out?”

  “The ship is on his list of assets, and the Darius receiving station has it listed as incoming within the next month or two. As for why he took a commercial craft, or where the Adonitia is coming from, that I haven’t found out as yet.”

  Grego began to wonder if Chief Steefer was being paid what he was really worth. “Thank-you, Chief. Please keep me posted.”

  The Chief vanished from the screen in a splash of color and Grego returned his attention to his guests. “This Darloss didn’t just happen to land on Gimli and come up with that theory of his overnight. That interview was planned well in advance.”

  “You don’t think John Morgan is mixed up with this guy, do you?” Jimenez asked. “According to the Chief, they came in on the same ship.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Grego, “but I won’t rule it out.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  “Nifflheim! That little Khooghra ripped me to shreds!” Darloss fumed after seeing the Hoenveld interview. Hoenveld, not even an anthropologist, had poked more holes in Darloss’ theory than Freyan cheese. “He made me look like an idiot.”

  “Hardly,” said Dane in an amused voice. “This plays right into our hands.”

  “How is that?” Dr. Rankin asked.

  “I knew somebody would try to counter your claims, if only to get on the vid,” said Dane. “But that was the CZC’s lead scientist.” He looked around at the blank faces. “Don’t you all see? We’ll smear him as spewing the company line! Everything he said will be put under a microscope by the general public and then dismissed as CZC whitewash.”

  “You want me to debate him?” Darloss jumped at the idea. “Maybe I can come up with something to refute his conclusions. That will take some research—”

  “There’s no need for a debate,” Dane interrupted. “Public opinion will do the job for us. But track the web chatter and see if you can cull some useful theories while you do your own research.”

  Darloss’ expression suggested he had little interest in the opinions of lay people. “Well, if you think it would yield useful results…”

  “I doubt it, but it might give you some ideas of your own.” Dane turned to the others. “Gentlemen, things are moving along perfectly.”

  X

  Gus Brannhard was tired from the long flight back from Beta. He had planned on calling Leslie Coombes when he got in, but the three-hour trip left him too fatigued for a lengthy conversation, and two lawyers discussing law just didn’t know how to have any other kind. Natty and Allan were already asleep so Gus had to carry them into the house. Fortunately they only weighed about twenty pounds each and did not cause him any undo strain.

  Gus placed the two Fuzzies on the downsized bunk-beds that he had specially made just for them. Allan stirred but did not wake while Natty remained dead to the world. After the Fuzzies were tucked in for the night, Gus walked into his kitchen, reached into a high cupboard and extracted a bottle. He read the label and smiled: Old Atom-Bomb Bourbon. This stuff was hard to get anymore, he thought. The name was as appropriate as it was inane; one shot was enough to put most people out for the count.

  Gus set the bottle on the table then sat down and stared at it. He didn’t need a drink or even particularly want one; he was a heavy drinker because he chose to be, not out of any addiction. But being told he shouldn’t drink made him want to take a few shots out of pure contrariness. As he sat looking at the bottle he could hear Allan and Natty breathing softly in their room. He idly wondered if any Fuzzies ever snored, then decided it was unlikely as it would attract predators.

  Gus sighed then stood up and put the bottle back in the cupboard. Despite his protests he knew he couldn’t afford to damage his new liver. After all, he was a family man now. Gus had just decided to go to bed when he heard the dogs barking and howling. Normally they only did that if a contragravity vehicle flew by. The hypersonic whine of the engine hurt their ears. He turned in time to see two men holding sono-stunners take aim, then everything faded to black.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Natty Bumppo and Allan Quatermain found themselves jarred awake by a strange high-pitched noise and the barking of the dogs. Quietly, they slipped out of bed then collected their chopper-diggers and went to investigate. Peeking around the doorway of their room they could see two

  Big Ones carry Pappy Gus out the front door. Natty started to go after them but Allan stopped him. “Big Ones strong,” pointed out Allan lapsing into lingua Fuzzy. Rather than pitching his voice to the ultra-sonic that he knew Big Ones could hear some of if not understand, he whispered. “Fuzzy fight Big Ones, Fuzzy make dead. Follow, see what Big Ones do.”

  Natty was forced to agree and the Fuzzies followed the new Big Ones. Gus Brannhard and his family lived well outside of Mallorysport so there were no exterior light sources beyond his property, but Fuzzies adapted to living in the wilderness and were quite comfortable with the ambient light from Darius, Zarathustra’s inner moon.

  The two men shoved the still unconscious Gus into a contragravity vehicle, amid a great deal of grunting and swearing, and then secured his arms and legs with plastic ties. The taller of the two men looked about quickly then climbed into the craft followed by the shorter man. Not a single word passed between them as they closed the hatch and lifted off.

  “Bad Big Ones take Pappy Gus,” howled Natty. “Not follow cont’agav’ty vee’kle.”

  “Use screeno. Call Pappy Jack,” said Allan. “Call Pappy Ben. Call Pappy Vic.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  Jack Holloway learned to deal with a lot of unpleasantness in his seventy-six years of life: blistering heat, freezing cold, inimical wildlife and even more inimical low life. The one thing he never did learn to accept with grace was having his sleep prematurely interrupted. So when he was jarred out of a sound sleep by the viewscreen his first thoughts were: somebody better be dead or dying. Jack quickly pulled on a housecoat before activating the screen.

  He bit off a sharp comment when he saw that it was two Fuzzies; Allan Quatermain and Natty Bumppo. It took a moment before the Fuzzies could settle down enough for Jack to understand what they were saying. They were so upset that they reverted to lingua Fuzzy though they remembered to keep their voices in the audible range. “Big Ones took Pappy Gus!” they finally cried in unison.

  It took several minutes before Jack could settle the two Fuzzies down enough to get the whole story. Little Fuzzy, awakened by the noise, came to investigate. Jack brought Little Fuzzy up-to-date and asked him to talk to Natty and Allan and try to calm them down. While the Fuzzies spoke on the viewscreen Jack ran out to his contragravity vehicle and screened Ben Rainsford. Ben was just settling down for the night when he got the call.

  “I’ll issue a planet-wide alert,” Ben said. “If we’re lucky we can catch them in the air before they have a chance to hole-up. I’ll call Victor Grego and let him know, too. He might be able to loan us some more men for the search. Are you coming over to Alpha?”

  Jack considered for a moment. Ben would have oomphty dozen men scouring Alpha continent; one more wouldn’t be much help, especially after the three-hour flight over. “I’ll stay here and alert the Native Protection Force and the local cops in
case our Gus-nappers try to hole-up on Beta.”

  “Good idea,” Ben said. “If I bagged someone as high profile as the Colonial Chief Prosecutor I would try to find someplace remote to hide. I’ll have Natty and Allan picked-up and have them look through some mug-books. Maybe, we’ll get lucky and know who we’re dealing with.”

  Jack agreed and signed off then contacted Gerd van Riebeek. When he finished bringing everybody up to speed he went back into the house to get dressed.

  Little Fuzzy stayed on the viewscreen until a team of men wearing the blue uniforms with shiny badges came and collected Natty and Allan. Jack arrived just in time to see Little Fuzzy turn off the screen. “Allan Quateh’main and Natty Bumppo went to Gov’men house-place, Pappy Jack.”

  “Good,” Jack said, as he ruffled the fur on Little Fuzzy’s head. He noticed the look of concern on Little Fuzzy’s face and added, “Don’t you worry. We’ll find Pappy Gus and get him back.” That seemed to satisfy the Fuzzy and he scampered off to spread the word.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Grego activated the screen to discover a distraught Ben Rainsford staring out of it.

  “Victor, Gus has been abducted,” the Governor said, without preamble or pleasantries.

  “What? When?”

  Rainsford filled in the Charterless Zarathustra Company CEO. “We’re organizing search parties now. I contacted Lieutenant Commander Pancho Ybarra and he’s sending down some troops to help the local police force go through Mallorysport. He’ll also increase the satellite surveillance. I’m getting ready to head out and join the search myself.”

  “That would be a very bad idea, Ben.” He said. Rainsford wanted to know why and Grego explained, “This might be a ploy to get you out where you are vulnerable. I don’t want to worry you even more, but this could be an assassination plot.”

  “Assassination? Who’d want to kill me?” Rainsford never considered that he could be a target.

  “The forty-nine percent that didn’t vote for you would be a good place to start. I suggest you get a couple of men to stay with you and keep out of sight. I’ll get Chief Steefer to take some men and join the search. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

  “I’ll let you know, Victor.”

  The two men discussed some details then screened-off. Grego immediately turned on the screen again, this time calling Chief Steefer’s office. Instead of getting Chief Harry Steefer, Captain Morgan Lansky’s face stared out of the viewscreen. Lansky usually worked the midnight to six shifts. He was an hour early.

  “Mr. Grego,” Lansky said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. The last time Grego caught him off-guard he made less than a stellar impression. This time, however, his uniform was picture perfect and his eyes wide and alert. “Is there something wrong, sir?”

  “Where’s Chief Steefer?”

  “He’s doing a surprise inspection of the night shift,” the captain replied. “He asked me to come in and hold down his desk while he did so.”

  Chief Steefer was a retired Federation Army officer with an impressive record who tended to run the company police like a military organization. “Call him and ask him to contact me immediately.” Captain Lansky gave Grego a ‘yessir’ and screened-off. Grego mentally counted to ten as he waited. He made it to six just as Chief Steefer screened in. He updated the Chief on Gus Brannhard’s abduction and asked him to send as many men as he could spare to help out with the search. “I’ll be down to join in as soon as I get a sitter for Diamond.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” the Chief said, “I can’t allow that.”

  What? “Excuse me, Chief, but I didn’t quite get that.”

  “Sir, an important government official has been grabbed up,” Chief Steefer explained. “This is a capital crime and will likely earn the grabbers a bullet in the head. That means they will not be playing nice. My first duty to the Charterless Zarathustra Company is to protect its interests. That means protecting you.” Steefer jabbed an index finger at Grego through the screen for emphasis. “I will not have my boss getting shot at on my watch. You have your work and I have mine. This is mine.”

  He considered what Steefer said, then replied, “Chief, I would be very put out with you if I hadn’t given essentially the same speech to the Governor a few minutes ago. Just out of curiosity, what would have happened if I fired you, put Lansky in charge, and then told him I was going out on the hunt?”

  “Then Lansky and I would both be unemployed,” the Chief answered. “Captain Lansky has his rough edges but I trained him well. Rule number one is to protect the primary at all costs, even if it means taking a bullet.”

  Grego didn’t know that rule and realized he should have. “Okay, Chief, you win. Tell your men that there will be a hefty bonus for the team that finds Brannhard in one piece.” He almost added that he wanted no heroics but realized that Chief Steefer didn’t need to be told how to do his job.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Raul Laporte stared coolly at his visitors. Bad enough he had to deal with those mutts from Terra, now there were two men from Ghu-knowswhere sitting across from him with an even more outrageous plan than his previous guests had ventured. He was tempted to just have them tossed into the M/E converter, but Laporte knew better than to kill somebody before he had all the facts.

  “Gentlemen, I do not know where you got the idea that I could assist you on such a cape-, um, undertaking, but I assure you I have no interest in doing so,” Laporte said in his most reasonable voice. “In fact, I should contact the authorities and have you both arrested for conspiracy.”

  The man on the left, Dane, laughed out-loud while his associate lost all color in his face. Dane was clearly a lawyer of some type. Likely a criminal defense attorney from the way he handled himself. The other man seemed like a tech-freak. He had soft hands and looked as though he hadn’t been in direct sunlight in years.

  “Mr. Laporte, We both know you have no intention of contacting anybody, let alone a law enforcement agency.” Dane extracted an envelope from inside his jacket and handed it over to the gangster.

  Laporte opened the envelope and extracted the papers inside. After a moment of perusing the pages he grew pale. “Where did you get this?”

  “Suffice to say,” Dane said, “we have a friend in common. Now, since neither of us wishes to have this particular information come to light, what do you say we put aside the posturing and talk business?”

  Laporte nodded and took out his knife and whetstone.

  “Good. Now, as we already explained, we intend to extract Leo Thaxter from prison….”

  “Can’t be done.” Laporte worked the blade as his visitors stared silently at him.

  Thaxter, his sister Rose, her husband Conrad Evins, the former chief gem buyer for the Chartered Zarathustra Company and Phil Novaes were serving ten to twenty for attempted grand theft of the CZC sunstones. When their sentences were up, they would be retried on the faginy charges, illegally capturing, enslaving, and forcing incompetent natives to commit a crime, and would likely be shot in the head for it, except for Novaes, who died in prison. Moses Herckerd, the fifth member of the gang, got himself conveniently dead in a shoot out with the company police.

  Hugo Ingermann, the penultimate shyster on Zarathustra, had promised to get them off on the faginy charge, then skipped planet with 250,000 sols worth of stolen sunstones. When the four conspirators arrived in court, their defense counsel was aboard the Terra-Baldur-Marduk liner The City of Konkrook in hyperspace headed to Terra, leaving the four defendants nowhere in terms of legal council; so much for crooked lawyers and their promises.

  “Oh, come on,” the younger man argued, possibly to break the silence, “Nothing is impossible with sufficient study and planning.”

  Laporte stabbed his knife into the top of his desk for emphasis. “Fine, say you bust Leo out of the pokey. How do you plan to get him off Zarathustra? Leo has a very memorable face.”

  “Plastic surgery—”


  Laporte interrupted. “Once Thaxter was processed into the prison system they took his DNA, did a retina scan, mapped every scar and blemish, X-rayed his teeth and skeletal structure, then, just for laughs, implanted a microchip in his brain that allows him to be tracked anywhere on the planet. Fingerprints can be altered, retinas can be covered with implants, scars can be removed, teeth and bones can be worked on and, as I recently learned, DNA can be masked under the correct circumstances, but that microchip comes with a lifetime guarantee.”

  “Microchips can be disabled,” the younger man volunteered.

  “Maybe back in the old days when they were vulnerable to an electromagnetic pulse, but these days you need the exact code and frequency combination…”

  “I can hack it,” the younger man said with a smug expression.

  “Hack?”

  “My associate likes to use archaic terminology,” Dane explained. “He means that he can override the security protocols on the microchip and disable it.”

  “Really,” Laporte said slowly. Now that’s a useful talent, thought the gangster. “I see. Now all we have to do is get Thaxter out of prison, fit him with contacts, do a series of surgeries and arrange for a new identity. Sure, nothing to it.”

  “Really, Mr. Laporte, there is no point in—”

  “The point is that we have no way of breaking into or out of the prison. The perimeter walls are all lined with collapsium, as are the cells. The perimeter guards are all armed with 10 mm auto-fire Martian Express machine guns.”

  “We could gas them and grab Thaxter while they’re all asleep,” the younger man suggested.

  “The guards all have oxy-masks with them. Anybody passes out; they all mask-up and put the place on lockdown. The warden used to run a prison on Uller. He was there during an attempted jailbreak fifteen years back,” Laporte explained. “The cons had outside help that lobbed anesthezine gas bombs over the walls. Unfortunately, they failed to account for the wind and the gas was dispersed before it took effect. Afterwards, the warden made it a policy for all of his guards to carry protective gear at all times.”