Fuzzy Ergo Sum

by Diehr Wolfgang

  The aircars settled to the ground a short distance from the warehouse. Chief Steefer stepped out and organized the men. By unspoken agreement, Chang deferred to the chief’s greater experience.

  “Okay, since this is CZC property, now, we won’t need a warrant,” Steefer said. “What say we split off the men with one of yours, one of mine and a marine or two per group?”

  Chang thought about it and agreed. Two aircars with four men each covered the sky while the ground contingent surrounded the building. When Chang gave the signal, they all kicked in a door, tossed in an anesthezine gas bomb and then entered the building with gas masks on and guns at the ready. They found half a dozen men slumped over a card table. The men had been in the middle of a poker game when the gas overcame them. One man had a Royal Flush.

  “Too bad we didn’t wait another minute,” Chang said, after glancing at the cards. “It looks like this one was ready to clean-out his buddies.”

  “Guess his luck isn’t all it could be,” agreed Steefer. “See what happens when you don’t post a look-out?” he said to the unconscious man. He then said into his radio, “all teams report.”

  “Team Alpha, all clear.”

  “Beta Team, nothing to report.”

  “Gamma Team. Chief, you might want to see this.”

  “Brannhard?” Chang asked. Chief Steefer relayed the question.

  “Negative, sir. Something else.”

  The Marines clearly preferred to answer to Chief Steefer rather than the resident police. This was due partly to Steefer’s military background, but mostly because of the Space Federation Medal of Honor he proudly wore on his uniform along with the rest of his numerous military awards and citations. When the three teams had first met up, the Gunnery Sergeant called his men to attention and saluted the chief. Though no longer required to return the salute, Steefer did so out of habit.

  Steefer and Chang walked over to Gamma Team’s position while receiving the rest of the reports. No Gus Brannhard. What they found instead was a treasure trove of vid-screens, Extee-Three, computers and other merchandise. Most of it was still in the original packaging with the CZC logo on it.

  “Well, it’s not Brannhard, but we’ve been looking for these guys, anyway,” the Chief sighed. “A couple of our warehouses were coming up short on inventory. It looks like we just found it.”

  “Did you recognize any of those mugs back there?” Chang asked.

  “No, but they might be newly hired. The CZC has had a high turnover rate in personnel the last couple of years.” The Chief looked over the assorted loot. “You and your men can have credit for this bust. I figure you would have found all this with or without us.” Something occurred to the Chief. “That’s an awful lot of Extee-Three. We should do another sweep for any signs of Fuzzies being held, here. I don’t think any of these clowns were eating the Extee-Three for dessert.”

  Officer Chang issued the orders and the men started a second more thorough sweep of the building. After a moment Beta Squad found a hidden trap-door. One man pulled the door open while a second covered it with his machine gun. When nothing happened, Chang took the lead down the stairs followed by Chief Steefer and two Marines.

  The room was completely devoid of light. Chang and Steefer turned on the wrist lights that were standard issue for company and colonial police and scanned the area.

  “Great Ghu! Chief, do you see this?”

  “I wish I didn’t. Let me get this light switch.” Steefer flicked a switch and the room was illuminated from several sources. Revealed in the full light were four dozen cages, each occupied by one or two Fuzzies. Steefer turned to the Marine closest to him and told him not to let anybody else down until the prisoners were safely locked up. “We don’t want this to turn into a bloodbath.”

  Chang called for reinforcements and ordered that the prisoners be immediately taken to the police station. “And don’t let anybody down here except medical personnel.”

  Chang swore in old Terran Chinese as he walked over and started opening cages. The Fuzzies were afraid to come out at first. Steefer noticed dark marks on their fur that resembled the electrical burn marks from high-powered cattle prods like the ones used on veldbeests.

  Steefer put a hand on Chang’s shoulder. “We better wait for Fuzzy Protective Services personnel to get here. These Fuzzies are going to have a hard time trusting anybody for a while.”

  Reluctantly, Chang pulled back from the cages. “You think they’re pets or slaves?”

  “Either one will get those idiots a bullet in the head. You can’t make a pet out of a sapient being, so it would come under kidnapping or enslavement. The Governor takes a very stern and final approach with guys like this.”

  Chang nodded in agreement. “He isn’t the only one. I have a pair of Fuzzies at home. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I see this…” Chang took a deep breath and switched topic. “You figure Brannhard might be in one of these other abandoned buildings?”

  “No. We’ve been sweeping this and the surrounding areas with infrared and sonic detectors with no results until we found this bunch.” Steefer sighed again. “If the door-to-door doesn’t yield any results it may be time to move the search out of Mallorysport and Junktown.”

  XII

  When John Morgan awoke he was momentarily startled to find that he wasn’t in his suite at Company House. The room was much smaller and decorated with relics he didn’t recognize. After some thought he realized that the smaller items that looked like tiny weapons made of wood and bone had to be Fuzzy crafts. As his brain got up to speed he also realized that one of them was a chopper-digger made of wood. Morgan had seen Diamond carry a similar one made of metal.

  On another wall was a sword similar to those used on Freya but of a design he was unfamiliar with. Next to it was a cloth garment like a plaid skirt, but also of unfamiliar design. A third wall had a sword that Morgan recognized from his college days. It was a Katana. Morgans’s roommate at the Epsilon Rho Burroughs fraternity had a collection of ancient Japanese weapons. There were also a number of throwing stars, a Kama, a Tanto, a Bo staff, Nunchaku and a matching set of Tonfa.

  That’s right, Morgan thought, I had drinks with Akira last night and accompanied her to her home. This must be her bedroom.

  The door opened and Akira walked in bearing a tray. “Good morning, sleepy-head. I have some breakfast for you.”

  Morgan got up and started getting dressed. “…uh…I don’t want to sound like a…jerk...but did we do something I should remember last night?”

  Akira laughed and set the tray on the nightstand. “Yeah, but not what you’re thinking. I slept on the couch. How much do you remember?”

  “Well, we were having drinks at The Bitter End when we bumped in to some people who had been to Freya. We all got to talking, but then it gets a bit fuzzy.”

  “Well, this is the right planet to get fuzzy on.”

  Morgan looked blankly at Akira.

  “Sorry. Bad joke. You and Mark Szymanski got into a drinking contest. Mark said he could keep up with any Freyan…”

  “Mark?”

  “Big guy with dark hair,” explained Akira. “He had worked construction for the Charterless Freya Company before coming to Zarathustra. Anyway, you and Mark started throwing down Freyan ale like it was soda pop.”

  “That explains the hydrogen fission process taking place in my head.” Morgan grabbed the coffee and took a drink. He didn’t like it but the warmth and caffeine helped his headache. “Did I at least win?”

  “Oh, yes. Mark passed out around the twelfth round. You both had quite a following and the betting got pretty heated.”

  “Betting?”

  “Don’t you remember? You had me bet one hundred sols that you could put Mark under the table.” Akira took some bills out of her purse. “Here are your winnings.”

  “Gods above and below, I haven’t done anything like that since college.” Morgan looked at the money with distaste. “Keep it. You earned it.”
>
  “What?” Akira took a step back “What do you think I am?” She was afraid that Morgan knew about her keeping tabs on his actions at the CZC.

  Morgan’s head renewed its earlier pounding. “Gaaah! Please, stop yelling. I mean that you got me out of that lounge in one piece when I was in no condition to defend myself. That couldn’t have been easy with that crowd. And as I recall, you loaned me the money to bet since I never carry much cash. Your risk, so your reward.”

  Akira fought to keep the relief she felt off her face. “Oh…I thought it was…something else.”

  “You mean watching me for Victor Grego?”

  Akira fell back into a chair. “How did you find out?”

  Morgan grinned then winced as his head pounded even more. “You just told me. Frankly, I was prepared to suspect any assistant Mr. Grego sent to help me. A major stockholder comes out of nowhere and wants to dig through his files…how could he not have me watched? I would be very disappointed if he didn’t.”

  Akira slumped further into the chair. “So, what happens now?”

  “Nothing.” Morgan drank more of the coffee and grimaced. “I don’t suppose you have any tea? Maybe some Earl Grey Green?” She didn’t. “You should just keep doing what Mr. Grego tells you to do and I’ll keep going on about my business.”

  “What…what is your business, here? You don’t really seem all that interested in the company.” Akira leaned forward. “Oh, sure, you’ve looked through the financials, mostly for my benefit, I think, but you seem far more interested in Epsilon Continent and certain Terrans that had been to Freya than anything connected to the Company.”

  “Hmm. You are very observant. I thought I had managed to hide that. Ah, do you have any headache pills?” Akira pulled a packet out of the nightstand and handed them to Morgan. After washing two capsules down with the coffee he continued, “No, I don’t have any real interest in the Company. Mr. Grego has been working miracles considering what he has had to deal with since the Fuzzies were discovered. There is a Terran expression that has caught on with Freyans: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. My interest in Epsilon Continent will remain my secret for now. As for the Terrans that have been to Freya, well, that is personal.” John took in a breath then let it out slowly. “I’m looking for my father.”

  “Your father? But you’re Freyan….”

  “My father is Terran.”

  Akira absorbed that revelation then asked, “Have you found him, yet?”

  John picked at the breakfast on the tray that Akira brought in. He recognized the Terran chicken eggs and home fries—presumably made from introduced Terran potatoes—but the sausage was a mystery. Likely something local with ‘zara’ in its name, like zarapig or something. “I don’t know. I’ve been hopping from planet-to-planet for fifteen years since I finished college. The man I am looking for is between fifty-five and eighty Terran years of age, by now. If he is on Zarathustra, I’ve narrowed my search down to five people.”

  Akira was interested and her face showed it. “Anybody I know?”

  “Maybe. Right now Gustavus Brannhard is my chief suspect.”

  Akira again leaned forward. “Gus? I met him once in a bar. Now, there’s a man you wouldn’t want to engage in a drinking contest!”

  “Right this second I couldn’t out-drink a Fuzzy,” said Morgan as he downed a second pill pack. “I plan on making an appointment to see him later today….”

  “Haven’t you heard? Gus has been kidnapped. It’s been all over the news.”

  Morgan stopped eating and stared at Akira. “Have there been any… what’s the word?”

  “Leads? No. Only that it was two men with a sono-stunner. Gus’s Fuzzies saw the abduction, and they are working on a better description, but they didn’t get a good look at the men’s faces.”

  “Damn!” Morgan jumped up and grabbed his jacket and started to race out, but stopped himself before he reached the door. He turned to face Akira. “I have to go. Maybe I can join one of the search parties…they are using search parties, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, they are,” she said.

  “Then I’m going to join one of them. I have to find him, Akira.”

  “You said you weren’t sure if he was your father or not….”

  “True. He may not be. But I can’t take the chance.”

  Before Akira could say anything further, Morgan was though the door and out of the apartment.

  * * * * * * * * *

  “Sir, Zarathustra is a big planet,” said Colonial Marshal Max Fane. “Larger than Terra, in fact, with more temperate land masses. A ground search is simply impossible.”

  “How can we make it possible?” Colonial Governor Bennett Rainsford asked.

  “How? Borrow about ten million men from other planets. I would even settle for a massive force of Yggdrasil Khooghras. They’re all dumb as stumps, but at least they know how to track.” Marshal Fane realized he was raising his voice at the Governor and stopped himself before he did or said something he would regret.

  “Max, I think you have something, there.” Ben turned away from the confused Colonial Marshal and punched in a code on his communications screen.

  “Governor, I was kidding about the Khoo…”

  Ben signaled for quiet as the connection was made. “Jack, the search of the city hasn’t turned up anything.”

  “What can I do to help?” replied Jack from the screen.

  “How is the dog rider program coming along?”

  Eighteen months earlier Sandra Khadra noticed two Fuzzies riding on the back of a large mixed breed dog and mentioned it to Victor Grego, Jack Holloway and Ben Rainsford at a dinner party. That started a discussion about the merits of Fuzzy mounted dogs since Zarathustra lacked for any animal that could do the job of a horse, especially for the diminutive natives. Eventually, it was decided to bring in a number of breeding pairs of sturdy dogs and train them as ‘horses’ for Fuzzies.

  This opened another debate about what breed of dog would be best suited to the task. One of Gus’s friends, Larry Wolvin, a handyman and mechanic who also bred dogs, suggested the Curtys, a relatively new breed dating back to second century A.E. The Curtys were smart, strong, quick and good trackers. Larry later demonstrated the Curtys’ potential and Victor Grego arranged for two hundred breading pairs to be brought in from near-by planets, along with five hundred Curtys’ embryos to be grown in artificial wombs.

  “We have over one hundred trained dogs here on Beta,” Jack reported. “They’re grown enough to carry a Fuzzy and some supplies. I’ll check with Larry Wolvin and see what he’s got—”

  “I’ll do that, Jack,” he said. “Do you think it would be possible to start a ground search in suspect areas using Fuzzy cavalry?”

  “That’s a cracker-jack idea, Ben,” Jack agreed. “Can you send over some of Gus’s dirty laundry? The dogs might be able to sniff him out.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll send that along with Natty and Allan. They need some happy time on the Rez. Maybe letting them join the search will help perk them up.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep them too busy to worry about their old Pappy Gus,” Jack said. “Why don’t you send Flora and Fauna along, too? They might enjoy seeing my little mob here.”

  “That’s a good idea, Jack. I hate to admit it, but since Gus went missing I haven’t spent as much time with them as I should.” The two men said their good-byes then Ben cut the connection and pulled up the code for Mr. Wolvin.

  Larry Wolvin had the kind of face normally associated with Pre-Atomic era prospectors. Thin to the point of being gaunt, balding, bushy mustache, chin covered in stubble and widely gapped teeth. In a galaxy where cosmetic surgery and hair replacement was widely and inexpensively available he chose to be as nature had made him. He even wore prosthetic vision enhancers rather than get corrective surgery on his eyes.

  “Governor! This is a surprise,” Larry said from the screen. “What can I do you for?”

  “Mr. Wolvin, I need t
o know how many trained dogs you have available right now?” Ben asked, without preamble or pleasantry. The Colonial Governor quickly explained his plan. Larry explained that he had one hundred and eighty dogs ready to go if there were Fuzzies with the training to ride them.

  “Nifflheim! How long does it take to train a Fuzzy to ride?”

  “Two days for the basics and a week to get fancy. Fuzzies are fast learners and take to dogs like ducks to water.”

  “All right, we’ll get as many Fuzzies into training as we can. Mr.Wolvin…”

  “Call me Larry, Governor.”

  “…Okay, Larry, but you have to call me Ben…see if you can borrow some dogs from your private sales to boost the numbers. We need every dog we can get.”

  Larry assured Ben he would pull out all the stops then screened-off.

  “Fuzzies on dogs will cover a lot of territory, but they’ll need backup,” Marshal Fane pointed out. “I’ll organize the force to ride herd on the Fuzzy search parties. Hmm…you didn’t check with the Fuzzies to see if they would volunteer.”

  “I very much doubt that will be a problem, Marshal.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  “…Fuzzies on dogs are expected to join the search on Alpha and Beta Continents. Colonial Native Affairs Commissioner Jack Holloway had this to say: “Eighteen months ago we started training some dogs to accept a specialized saddle. The average Curtys can hold two Fuzzies plus saddlebags without strain and they can run rings around a damnthing. While they don’t have any bloodhound in them, they are still superior trackers and hunters. If Gus is out there, we’ll find him.”

  “In other news actress Darla Cross has been dropped for the part of—”

  Anthony Nicholovich Anderson turned off the radio and let out a long breath. He was bracing himself for what he knew must surely follow.

  “Nobody said anything about dogs!”

  And there it was. “Ripper, calm down before you wake our guest.”

  Rippolone started pacing back and forth yelling. “Tony, you know how I feel about dogs…”