“True,” Courland agreed. “I’ll have to call my reporters in for a meeting, listen to everybody deny that they have anything, then wait for one of them to come see me privately.”
Grego raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Good Ghu, yes!” Courland threw his arms up in exasperation. “Reporters are all like selfish little children trying to out-scoop each other on every story and they don’t want to share resources. Not a chance in Nifflheim that any of them will admit anything in front of his colleagues.”
Grego developed new respect, as well as sympathy, for the work Courland did in his division. “All right, do what you have to but get me those names. Put whatever carrot on the stick you think will work.”
“You got it, Victor. I’m sure I’ll have something by tomorrow at the latest.”
After Miguel Courland left Victor Grego moved quickly out of the conference hall to his office. It wasn’t until he was past Myra and through the door to his office that he realized that Juan Jimenez had followed him from the hallway. “Oh, Juan, was there something you needed?”
“Actually, I thought you might need something.”
“Me? What would that be?”
Juan smiled broadly. “A sounding board. You almost never close a meeting early, at least not in the two years since you made me a division head, and Jacque DeCarr’s report lit a fire under you.”
Grego nodded, “It did. Whoever bought out B.E. knew the stock was going to drop and was there to snap it up. That makes me think the late Mr. Bowlby’s overdose may not have been accidental. Somebody wants control of one or all of Bowlby’s businesses.”
“I agree, but which one? Ivan Bowlby was into everything from television to prostitution and drugs.”
“I’m putting Chief Steefer on it. It wouldn’t hurt if he tickled Marshal Fane’s ear, too.”
“The only business concern that B.E. had that could have any impact on the Company was his television interests,” Juan observed. “Specifically, the news and talk show programs.”
“Exactly.” Grego punched in the code for Chief Steefer but waited to press the SEND button. “Remember the Darloss interview?”
Juan admitted it was still fresh in his mind.
“Imagine a network company owned by someone with an axe to grind against the Company. First thing they’ll do is stick another crackpot like Darloss on, maybe even Darloss himself, looking for ways to punch holes in our government contract. We might be seeing the opening gambit of a land-grab scheme. Land we hold the lease on for the next ten centuries.”
Juan took in the possibilities and then added another one. “Interesting how all this is happening at the same time.”
“What do you mean?” Grego’s finger still hovered over the SEND button.
“First John Morgan hits town to dig through our files, then the Darloss interview. Next Mr. Brannhard is abducted, then Bowlby is found dead and his stocks are instantly grabbed up the second they hit the market.”
Grego didn’t like where Juan’s train of thought was going. “You think this is all tied together?”
Juan shrugged. “Don’t you?”
Grego hit the SEND button.
XX
Akira was up to her backside in work. While off the clock, she was still hard at it, digging through the computer files and news archives. She tracked the men on John Morgan’s potential father list from when they first left Terra to the present. Morgan had only tracked the men from their time on Freya to the present, but a lot could be found out about a man by going into his background.
She set up multiple screens and tracked the histories of the five men on each one of them. John Morgan had told her only that his chief suspect was Gus Brannhard, but by tracking the research the Freyan had already done she quickly put together the other candidates for paternity. Using a password she got from a friend in Security Division, a young man she used to date, she pulled up the personal information on Chief Harry Steefer, Jack Holloway, Markus Rikitake, Gus Brannhard and Morgan Richards. She put the files with photo I.D.s up and looked them over. Gus Brannhard, Harry Steefer and Markus Rikitake looked nothing like John Morgan, but that didn’t prove anything as he might take after his mother’s side.
Akira was about to get busy when she noticed that each of the men’s blood types were listed on the I.D.s. Gus Brannhard was O positive, Jack Holloway AB positive, Chief Steefer B negative, Markus Rikitaki O negative and Morgan Richards A negative. Next she called up John Morgan’s I.D. file. AB positive. She tried to find out what Morgan’s mother’s blood type was, but the file was not in the computer.
Of course not, though the young woman, only people that were processed through Zarathustran customs would be on file. She saved the information on a microdisc and shut down the computer screens. Somebody had dropped the ball in John Morgan’s education. Basic medical knowledge was taught in high school on most worlds. But perhaps this was not the case on Freya. Of course blood typing was nowhere near as accurate as comparing DNA, but it would eliminate a lot of people from consideration.
Then another thought struck her; Morgan might already know the name of his father and set a false trail for her benefit. He admitted that he always suspected that she was watching him for Mr. Grego. Jack Holloway was on the short list and John Morgan was currently on Beta with him. Was he really over there looking for Gus Brannhard, or had he already found what he was looking for?
* * * * * * * * *
“Just hang your hat next to mine, John.”
The two men had just returned from the police station where Jack collected one of the aircars seized from the Fuzzy slavers. John Morgan went along to fly the second vehicle back. Morgan placed his hat on the indicated peg and accidently knocked Jack’s hat to the floor.
“F’troogt! Sorry about your hat, Jack,” Morgan quickly scooped it up and brushed it off with his bare hand before replacing it on the peg.
“No worries. That hat has been through a lot worse. It looks like we’ll have to pick up the search tomorrow, though.” Jack grimaced. “Damned paperwork is going to kill my evening. I’ll set you up in the guest room.”
“Actually, I was planning on pitching a tent for the night, if that’s not inconvenient.” Jack asked why and Morgan explained that he liked to camp out at least a few nights under the stars of every planet he visited. “Except on Nifflheim, of course. We didn’t get the chance to really camp out last night since we were stuck at the police station filling out depositions and introducing the new Fuzzies to the Rez.”
He was still aching from the catnap he took on Major George Lunt’s office couch. Some days he felt his age more than others. John Morgan didn’t even get the chance to take a nap since he had twice as many papers to fill out and a veridicated statement to make. Anyone killing somebody in the commission of a crime was immune to prosecution, but it needed to be verified. Especially in the case of a little known off-worlder.
“It looks like a nice night for it, but the local wildlife might make getting any sleep a challenge,” Jack cautioned.
“Oh? Should I worry about another damnthing?”
“Nope.” Jack smiled. “Fuzzies. Somebody new is going to get them curious. Don’t be surprised if you wake up with a dozen Fuzzies sawing logs next to you.”
Morgan laughed. “Sounds like a good way to stay warm!”
“I’ll mix-up some dinner before you start roughing it.” Jack went into the kitchen. Before he could open the refrigerator Morgan declined saying he was too tired to eat. He bid Jack a good night and went out to set up his tent.
Jack considered offering to help put up the tent, then remembered from the first night out that Morgan had one of those fancy self-erecting fibroid weave jobs that cost almost as much as an aircar. This particular model could become almost invisible, much like TFN CGU uniforms. He could even set the opacity of the top so as to appear open to the sky, which he did. Jack shrugged. To each his own.
* * * * * * * * *
In his tent with the
walls opaque and the ceiling transparent, Morgan quickly stripped off his clothing and sat down on his sleeping bag. He extracted a small device from his field pack and opened it. Inside were five clear glass tubes, the first three with hair strands in it. Each had a name label on it except for the last two. Morgan extracted the fourth tube and dropped in a few white hairs, then replaced the tube in the device and wrote a name on it. He then extracted the fifth tube. After plucking a few hairs from his own head he placed them in the tube and returned it to its position in the device and filled out the label.
Morgan stared at the device for several heartbeats before he let out a long sigh and pressed a button. Several minutes later it pinged and displayed two green lights and three red ones. He stared at the lights for an hour before exhaustion overtook him.
* * * * * * * * *
Victor Grego finished his breakfast and ruffled Diamond’s fur affectionately. With everything that had been going on he had neglected to spend real quality time with the Fuzzy. He resolved to do something about that as soon as he reasonably could. Maybe Diamond would like to spend a few days out at the Rez. Grego made a mental note to speak with Jack about that later in the day.
Diamond no longer needed a sitter to keep him out of trouble. Fuzzies learn fast what they should and shouldn’t do in a Big One’s home or business. But Fuzzies were also gregarious and needed a great deal of social interaction. For that reason, Grego arranged for Diamond to be taken on play-dates with Fuzzies who were adopted by CZC employees in a specially equipped room on 12th level.
After dropping off Diamond, Grego went up to his office and checked his messages. Nothing from Harry Steefer or Miguel Courland, yet, but there was a new text message from Akira O’Barre. Grego hit the intercom button on his desk.
“Myra, would you please call Miss O’Barre up from Records Division? Have her take my private lift up.”
“Yes, Mr. Grego.”
Grego was a quarter-way through his cigarette when Akira entered his office. He indicated a chair and she took a seat. Grego remembered that Akira didn’t like cigarette smoke and stubbed it out. It seemed more people were refraining from tobacco, these days, reflected the CEO, well, these things run in cycles.
“Miss O’Barre, I received your message that you needed to see me,” Grego said conversationally. “Dare I assume this is connected to our Mr. Morgan?”
“I think he’s going to kill somebody, maybe Jack Holloway,” Akira blurted. “I can’t be one hundred percent certain, but I think that’s what he intends to do. Either Mr. Holloway or Mr. Brannhard…I mean if we find Mr. Brannhard alive….”
The young woman was extremely upset but she wasn’t breaking out in tears, Grego noted. “Why do you think he wants to kill Jack or Gus?”
Akira related what Morgan had told her about searching for his father and then what she discovered in her research on Freyan society. Next, she admitted to accessing confidential files with an illegal password, leaving out where the password came from, and what she suspected based on the blood-types of the men on Morgan’s list.
Grego stabbed a button with his finger. “Myra, call Dr. Mallin, Chief Steefer, Juan Jimenez and Leslie Coombes to my office right away!”
“Yes, Mr. Grego.” Myra noted that her boss failed to use his normal manners and summoned the men quickly. Something big must be up.
Five minutes later everyone but Leslie Coombes entered the office. Coombes was in court dealing with a larceny case in his capacity as Colonial Prosecutor pro tem. Akira was asked to repeat her suspicions, which she did in more concise terms.
Grego turned to the chief Fuzzyologist. “Ernst, what do you think?”
Juan Jimenez interrupted, “Wait, if Gus or Jack is Morgan’s father, why isn’t his last name Brannhard or Holloway?”
Dr. Mallin screwed up his face as he considered the ramifications of Akira’s research. “He may not know it, Juan. Or the father might have changed his name. I think Miss O’Barre is on the right track, though. My own cursory examination of Freyan culture tells me that things like family honor are paramount, much like Pre-Atomic feudal Japan. Without a father in evidence, John Morgan has no real name. Were he not raised by his uncle he would have been a virtual pariah. To claim the family name he has to take it from the father who abandoned him. That usually means a duel to the death.”
“Usually?” Grego prompted.
“A severe wound can also satisfy the requirement,” he said, “provided it either prevents the party from continuing the fight, or the challenged party accepts defeat and admits his fault in the matter. At the minimum, blood will be spilled.”
“Do you think either Jack or Gus could have abandoned their families like that?” Jimenez asked.
“From what I currently know of them now, no,” Dr. Mallin said. “But a lot can change in thirty-five years. Look at us; we’ve all changed significantly in the last two years alone. It could even be argued that both men were ready to accept the responsibility of adopting their Fuzzies as a way of making up for abandoning their own natural offspring.”
Chief Steefer shook his head. “I don’t buy it. I don’t know Jack as well as any of you, but Gus is a drinking buddy and in my opinion the man would sooner abandon his own gonads than his family.”
“Gus Brannhard is a remarkably heavy drinker,” Dr. Mallin countered. “That is often an indication that he is trying to drown a traumatic memory. Abandoning one’s wife and child easily qualifies as such a reason. The fact that he significantly reduced his intake after adopting Allan and Natty suggests that he has found a surrogate family to replace the one he lost.”
Grego considered Mallin’s words carefully. Nobody was more qualified in the psycho-sciences on Zarathustra. But he knew both Jack Holloway and Gus Brannhard and could not bring himself to believe either of them was capable of leaving their families. Jack was a wreck when his Fuzzies came up missing before the famous Fuzzy Trial, mostly due to Grego’s interference, and again when Little Fuzzy went missing while visiting Diamond at Yellowsand. Still, as Dr. Mallin had pointed out, a lot can change in thirty-five years.
“We won’t get anywhere trying to psychoanalyze two men in absentia,” Grego said, “and what they may or may not have done three and a half decades ago is not the issue. John Morgan is. Ernst, how do you think John Morgan will handle his little affair of honor?”
“Handle?” Dr. Mallin mulled it over. “He’ll do everything in as legal a way as possible, I would have to guess. He is currently operating within the strictures of his culture, a fairly law abiding people. If he plans on challenging anybody, he’ll most likely purchase a dueling license, hire a second to go through, set a time and place—“
“…all the niceties according to Colonial Law,” Harry Steefer interrupted.
“If he is following the law, then can’t Jack or Gus legally refuse to accept the challenge?”
“Yes, Juan,” Chief Steefer replied, “But there is a social stigma attached. Refusing a challenge will get a man branded a coward. Then there is the hit to Jack’s reputation as a man not to cross. Besides, I never heard of Jack or Gus backing down from a fight.”
“Less importantly, perhaps, is that the challenged party would be barred from ever returning to Freya,” Mallin added. “While I doubt that either man ever plans on leaving Zarathustra, just knowing he was forbidden to return there would, ah, ‘stick in his craw’.”
Grego had to agree. Jack Holloway was a man who didn’t like restrictions being placed on him. Gus would likely handle it better, but it would still rub him the wrong way. But could either of them kill their own son?
“Mr. Grego, I need to use your screen.” Without waiting for permission the Chief quickly moved to the communications screen and punched out a code. In a Technicolor splash Colonial Marshal Max Fane appeared. “Max, I need something quick, fast and yesterday.”
“Sounds big,” Fane said. The fact that Steefer ignored normal viewscreen protocol was significant. “What do you need?�
�
“Has John Morgan purchased a dueling license since arriving on Zarathustra?”
The Marshal’s eyebrows shot up at the question, and then he turned to the computer terminal on his desk and banged some keys. “He purchased an open dueling license the day after he hit dirtside.”
Grego, Mallin and Juan said in unison, “Open dueling license?”
“That means the name of the opposing dueler can be added later,” the Chief explained.
Fane added from the viewscreen, “To be legal it has to be signed by the other party and witnessed by at least two people, usually the seconds. Does somebody want to bring me up to speed, here?”
Chief Steefer gave a concise account of the situation as he understood it.
“Great Ghu on Nifflheim! Well, Morgan gets points for style; I’ll have to give him that. He even saved Jack’s life so he could kill him himself, if that’s what it comes to.”
“And why he was so determined to join the search for Gus,” Juan added.
“What can we do about it?” Dr. Mallin asked.
“Nothing,” the Marshal replied. “Morgan has yet to break any laws, and seems determined to do everything all nice and legal.”
“I saw Jack kill Kurt Borch,” Juan interrupted. “One second he was beating Leonard Kellogg to a pulp, the next he pumped three rounds into Borch’s chest. I’ve never seen anybody move so fast. If Jack is the father, maybe it’s Morgan who’ll be in trouble.”
“Don’t count on it,” Akira said. “Freyans are trained from a very young age to handle firearms. John took me to the company firing range and we did some target practice and fast drawing. One time I blinked and completely missed seeing the gun go from holster to hand.”
“Mr. Morgan is very motivated, as well,” Dr. Mallin added. “If he is Jack’s son he may have inherited his father’s reflexes. And, I hate to add, Jack is well into his seventies. He’s no spring chicken.”
Grego started to swear, then remembered that a lady was present and swallowed his words. “Wait a second…Jack is the Native Affairs Commissioner. Isn’t there a regulation to keep him from dueling?”
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