Fuzzy Ergo Sum

by Diehr Wolfgang

  The tribe muttered among themselves. Red Fur was right about how slow they were becoming. “What we do?” asked Makes-Things, who was still in the splints.

  “We stop taking the Big One’s food,” Red Fur replied. “We hunt, we find food for ourselves. No more Big One’s food.”

  Some of the Fuzzies yelled that they wanted the Wonderful Food. The tribe argued back and forth until Red Fur called for quiet. He wanted the people to hunt for their own food, but only the Big Ones had the Wonderful Food. After many heartbeats he made a decision. “We take the Wonderful Food, but hunt for hat-zu’ka and zuzoru.”

  The tribe discussed it for a while and then finally agreed. They would accept the Wonderful Food, but not the Big One’s meat offerings. Red Fur breathed a sigh of relief. All was well…for now.

  * * * * * * * * *

  “…Yeah, old peace loving Jack.”

  “How many did he kill before you got there?” Colonial Marshal Max Fane’s voice came out of the viewscreen in Major George Lunt’s office. Lunt could see on the Marshal’s face that he was more worried about the resultant paperwork than any number of dead Fuzzy slavers.

  “Actually, there was only one fatality,” Lunt replied, as he fought to keep a smile off his face. “And it wasn’t Jack that caused it. It was some offworlder by the name of John Morgan. Ahmed Kadra took the statement. He told me he went through the details with Jack Holloway and John Morgan three times to make sure he had it straight. One of the slavers tried sneaking up on Jack from behind and this Morgan sniped his head clean off with Jack’s 12.7 double express from over one hundred meters.”

  Max Fane let out a long low whistle.

  A 12.7 wasn’t designed for sniper work. In fact, it kicked like a rebranded veldbeest. Lunt wondered if even Jack Holloway could have managed that shot. Probably.

  The Marshal gave Lunt a quick rundown on everything he knew about John Morgan, which wasn’t much. “I’m going to have a talk with Harry Steefer and see if he did a background check on the off-worlder.” The Marshal looked up from the note he was writing. “Wait a second, this story isn’t adding up. Jack found a Fuzzy slavery cell practically in his own backyard and didn’t express his annoyance with a few well placed rounds?”

  “He said that Morgan talked him out of doing anything rash,” George Lunt explained. “But I’ve known Jack as long as anybody on Beta and I can tell you he doesn’t kill people just to make a point…or even for revenge.”

  “Still, that must have been some talk! Ah, well, these slavers will likely get the death penalty, anyway. No point in Jack doing all the work,” Marshal Fane chuckled. “And I didn’t mean to suggest Mr. Holloway kills people for fun, George, though in this case I can’t think of anybody who would blame him if he did.”

  Lunt agreed then shifted the topic of conversation. “Any word on Mr. Brannhard, yet?”

  The Marshal filled Lunt in on the details of Leo Thaxter’s interrogation. “I’m afraid Thaxter may be right; Gus Brannhard was disposed of right after being grabbed up. But we won’t stop looking until we either have a body, live or dead, or the people that grabbed him.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’ve met Gus a few times when he came over to go hunting. Eats what he kills, doesn’t hunt from an aircar and obeys the rules. A true sportsman.”

  “No slouch in the courtroom, either.” The Marshal started to say some more then realized that they were talking about Brannhard as if he were dead. That was no way to conduct a missing person’s case. “We’re going to find him. Alive, damn-it. I’ll talk to you later, George. Time to go back to work.”

  “Sure thing, Marshal. I’ll transfer the prisoners, body and depositions to you first thing tomorrow. Oh! What should we do with the slavers aircars and equipment?”

  “They were seized as assets in the commission and/or furtherance of a crime, right? Well, as I see it, they’re now the property of the Native Protection Force. Or will be after the trial. Hold it all as evidence, have forensics go over it, then put it in secure storage until sentence is carried out. Make sure the aircars have clear titles then ask Jack what he wants to do with it all after the slavers are executed.”

  “Will do, Marshal.”

  George Lunt screened-off and Marshal Fane punched in the code for Chief Harry Steefer at the CZC. A youngish man with captain’s bars on his uniform appeared instead.

  “This is Captain Lansky, how may I help…oh, Marshal Fane. Chief Steefer is out right now.”

  Damn, I should have expected that, he thought. “Any idea when he’llbe back?”

  “Actually, he should be at police headquarters, right now,” Lansky explained. “He and Piet and some company security men are reviewing new search strategies to find Mr. Brannhard.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll just stroll on down and say hi in person, then. Thanks.” he screened-off. No point trying to get any information from one of Harry’s men, he thought, they’ll just clam up. Better to go to the source.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Raul Laporte organized the receipts into neat little piles then poured himself a drink. In truth his accounting skills were somewhat lacking, he had a man for that, but he liked to look them over all the same. It kept the people working for him honest, in a manner of speaking. Nobody wanted to risk the boss catching them skimming the take. Besides, whether he understood it all or not, the desk computer collated the data and gave a nice, concise readout of the end product. What the computer couldn’t do was play with the numbers. This was a talent only human type calculators could do, hence the need for the accountant. Laporte’s quasi-legal activities generated significant revenue, and that revenue had to be accounted for if he were ever busted for something he couldn’t bribe his way out of.

  Laporte had just placed a fresh cigarette into a holder and lit it when there was a knock at the door. He grimaced in annoyance; his people knew he was never to be interrupted when going over the receipts, which meant it had to be something important for them to dare disturb him. He pressed a button on his desk and the door retracted sideways into the wall. From the outside it took Laporte’s own handprint to open the door. Eric Mugami entered with a distressed look on his face.

  “What is it, Eric?”

  “Boss, there’s a man outside who says he has to see you and that it is very important. We would have sent him away, but he said he knows about your involvement in that Thaxter business.”

  “Really? What Thaxter business is he referring to?”

  “He said you wouldn’t want him to say anything to anybody but you. You want I should give him the bum’s rush?”

  Laporte considered doing just that, then decided it was better not to take chances. No telling what this individual might know, and how it would affect him, personally. “Send him in, but check him over real good. He might be a cop fishing for something. Can’t take any chances that he might be carrying something nasty.” Laporte’s office was shielded against external surveillance but a portable recording device carried in by a guest was a different matter.

  Mugami nodded and left, then returned with a large man with a beard wearing a bush hat and dark glasses. Laporte gave the man a quick visual once-over then asked him what his business was.

  “I think we should speak privately, Raul.”

  Laporte nearly dropped his cigarette holder when he heard the voice. “Eric, wait outside and make sure we aren’t disturbed.” Mugami left and Laporte sealed the door after him. “I’ll be damned, they pulled it off!”

  Leo Thaxter removed the hat, shades and phony beard. “Hiya, Raul, I got a business proposition for you.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  Akira O’Barre was bored and lonely. She didn’t feel like going out even though she had some time off while John Morgan was off in Beta continent. To keep herself busy, she decided to do a little research on Freya, Morgan’s home planet.

  As a Charterless Zarathustra Company employee, Akira had limited access to the Company library through her home computer station. Vi
ctor Grego encouraged his employees to read and do private research; something or other about well-informed workers being more productive. Akira scrolled down through the information on her screen.

  Roger Baron and company first discovered Freya in 223 A.E. They immediately established relations with one of the princedoms and started trade with Yggdrasil; gunpowder for foodstuffs. Some of the details were sketchy. There was some interaction in the local politics resulting in a friendly government signing a treaty with the Charterless Freya Company. No doubt the Yggdrasil gunpowder played a part in that. The claim was filed on Yggdrasil for the entire planetary system. Unlike most planets with indigenous sapient life forms, Freya had a fairly sophisticated if mostly pre-industrial society. Some of the natives grasped the advantages of investing in the Charterless Freya Company. Of course the only ones who could were successful merchants and the land holding noble class.

  John Morgan mentioned that he was the nephew of a minor noble with substantial holdings in the CFC. How minor the noble and how substantial the holdings?

  After an hour she located a list of Charterless Freyal Company stockholders in the CZC data files. As it turned out, a lot of the same investors with the CZC were also invested with the CFC. Companies often bought stock in each other. Sometimes it was just to diversify, other times it was a takeover bid. Either way, the CZC had a lot of background information on CFC stockholders as well as the company itself.

  Xeterus Honirdite invested with the Chartered Freya Company in 227 A.E. Each generation increased their holdings in the company and none took out more than half the dividends, choosing instead to roll most of the profits back into the company. Unfortunately, while the Honirdite line enjoyed considerable financial gains, the family suffered greatly from illness, war, and intrigue. By the time of Orththeor the Greater, the family consisted of only himself and his sister.

  John had mentioned he had no cousins or siblings. His entire family was reduced to just him and his uncle.

  Akira shifted the focus of her research from historical to cultural. Freya, when first discovered, was a feudal society. While they had progressed considerably technologically and socially under the aegis of the Federation, at heart they still retained a feudal core.

  Akira perused the various facets of Freyan life until one section in particular caught her eye. She re-read the page from the beginning. As Akira read more, she began to become uncomfortable with the subject matter and how it might relate to what she knew of John Morgan.

  According to the research, dueling was a common manner of dealing with a perceived insult in Freyan society. Such insults could include cheating at some sport or game of chance, allowing cattle to graze in a neighbor’s pasture without permission, failing to meet family obligations, engaging in conversation with another man’s wife or sister in a private setting…the list went on, as did the appropriate responses. For minor offences, a sound thrashing was acceptable. A duel to the death was deemed necessary for more serious offences.

  Akira went further down the list until she came to one passage in particular that caught her eye. The eldest son could challenge a man who abandoned his family when he came of age. In such cases a duel to the death was considered to be appropriate, and even necessary.

  John is going to kill Gus Brannhard…or whomever his father may be!

  Akira shut down the computer then poured herself a glass of wine with unsteady hands. As a resident of a colony world the idea of a duel was far from shocking. Dueling licenses were issued on an almost daily basis on Alpha continent alone. But the idea of a fight to the death with your own father was a difficult concept for her to grasp. Even though she didn’t know Gus Brannhard personally, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who would willfully abandon his family.

  Akira sat for a while drinking her wine. Around the halfway point of her second glass she had an idea. She threw back her drink and headed for the door. John Morgan was good, but Records Division was her job. She would dig through the files and see if she couldn’t find proof one way or the other who John’s father really was. If he was on Zarathustra she would talk to him herself, maybe even warn him. She would at least learn why he abandoned his unborn son.

  Akira had one other thought as she hailed a taxi: what if John’s father was the kind of man who needed killing?

  * * * * * * * * *

  “They took the Extee-Three but not the meat?”

  “Yes, sir.” Hendrix held up the goofer carcasses before throwing them into the M/E converter.

  The leader considered the new development. “Any chance the meat wasn’t fresh enough? Or maybe diseased?”

  “It was no different from the previous offerings, sir.”

  Hendrix activated a viewscreen and called up a surveillance file. The image of several Fuzzies out hunting filled the screen. Hendrix fast-forwarded the footage to show the Fuzzies returning to their encampment with two goofers and three land-prawns. The two men watched the screen as the Fuzzies skinned, gutted and shared the meat. One thing struck the leader as odd; some of the Fuzzies ignored the land-prawns.

  “I thought land-prawn consumption was a species wide trait. The Fuzzies need something in the land-prawn digestive tracts in order to successfully reproduce,” the leader observed.

  “That is the common belief,” Hendrix confirmed. “Wait a sec…the ones not eating the land-prawns are the same ones passing on the Extee- Three. The titanium stuff in Extee-Three is supposed to be more effective than what is found in the digestive tract of land-prawns.”

  The leader reviewed the footage. “Check the archives and see if there is any other footage of this nature. This could be significant.”

  Hendrix leaned forward. “Maybe, but significant of what?”

  “Damned if I know, but transmit the image files with the next report. Maybe upstairs can do something with it.”

  Granger entered the cabin in time to catch the end of the conversation. “You’ll want to send this, too.”

  The leader inspected the photo images Granger handed him. They were of some sort of quasi-primate skeletons. According to the legend at the bottom, the bones would have made up a being roughly four feet in height when standing fully erect. “Are these what I think they are?”

  “Beats me,” Granger admitted. “Best to check them with Anthropology. It just looks like leftovers from a barbeque to me. There are at least three different skeletons, judging by the skulls.”

  “This keeps getting better and better,” Hendrix said.

  * * * * * * * * *

  “How in Nifflheim did somebody beat us to it?”

  “As soon as the news broadcast hit the airwaves the stock in all of his legitimate enterprises dropped like a rock,” Jacque DeCarr from Acquisitions Division reported. “It dropped even further when Bowlby’s illegal enterprises came to light. Every single stockholder dumped his shares on the market hoping to avoid any suspicion of being connected to either his death or his illicit activities. Well, some as-yet unknown person snapped up all of that stock for about two centisols on the sol. It was all gone before my people had a chance to move.”

  Victor Grego wanted to yell at somebody, but CEOs don’t yell. It makes them look like they have lost control. “Jacque, Ivan Bowlby’s death was broadcast on CZCN, meaning we were the first people with any foreknowledge that the stock might drop. Why did you wait for the actual broadcast?”

  Jacque let out a sigh. “To avoid the appearance of impropriety, Victor. We had to wait for the broadcast to air or risk being accused of unfair trading practices. The Company has become very popular with the general public since Science Division discovered Hoenveldzine, but any perception that we were manipulating the stock market and PR Division starts having nightmares at noon.”

  “Damn straight we do,” Edgar Burlisson from Public Relations division agreed.

  Jacque was right, which made it all the worse. Grego personally accepted responsibility for the bad PR during the Colony of Zarathustra versus Kellogg and
Holloway trial. The fact that his actions afterward resurrected the Company’s image didn’t mitigate the potential for more damage.

  “How soon after the broadcast did you try to acquire the B.E. stock?”

  “Thirty minutes. I thought that gave us plenty of time to beat any possible competitors and still look like we weren’t using foreknowledge of the event.” Jacque slumped a bit in his seat. “I truly didn’t expect anybody else to be interested in it.”

  Grego leaned forward. “How fast did the other group get there?”

  “They were in and gone before I even arrived,” Jacque said. “I tried to find out who bought the shares up, but as you know stock transactions are not public knowledge.”

  Victor Grego considered the implications of that. The only people on the planet that knew Ivan Bowlby was dead were the police, the secretary that discovered his body and the Company when the information was released to the news services. And, of course, the other broadcast companies. Yet some mysterious group of investors appeared out of thin air to snatch up Bowlby Entertainment the second the news was aired.

  “Jacque, you’re off the hot seat,” Grego declared. “You acted correctly. Had you been there any sooner it would have looked bad. Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I would like to adjourn the meeting early, today.” Nobody objected. “Thank-you, gentlemen. If there are any issues to be dealt with before next week’s meeting, we can do a special session later this week. Meeting adjourned.”

  As the men filed out of the conference room, Grego signaled Miguel Courland to stay behind. “Miguel, we both know those stock transactions aren’t as confidential as they’re supposed to be. More often than not either a reporter or some paid-off stockbroker gets the low-down on all those transactions. I’ve seen enough of them end up on the news.”