Gus digested that, then asked, “Wait, why do you have Jack’s name? Wouldn’t your uncle have changed that?”
“He couldn’t. My mother named me before she died. Before I was born, really. This was recorded by the midwives and physician. To change my name he would have had to face my father and either get him to sign away his rights or beat him in a duel. Orphtheor was no duelist. Instead, he raised me to believe Jack had abandoned my mother and me.”
“I don’t want to stir the pot, but how do you know that letter is legitimate?”
“This is my uncle’s stationary. The writing is in Sosti, the Freyan language, and I can recognize Orphtheor’s handwriting. I won’t say I couldn’t be fooled by a clever forgery, but there would be no point in it after the duel. Honor is satisfied, I don’t have to challenge him again.”
Gus nodded. It all made sense. “Had you seen all this before the duel, would you have gone through with it?”
Morgan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Had I seen all this before the duel, I would have thought them fakes. Besides, the challenge, once given, cannot be revoked. Freyan tradition, again.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you Freyans seem a little trigger happy.”
“This from a representative of a race that turned half their planet into a radioactive wasteland,” Morgan said with a smile. Gus laughed and agreed that Morgan had him on that one.
“Are you going to read Jack’s letter?”
Morgan nodded and started reading. It was written in passable Sosti. Some of the tenses were off, and Jack confused a few of the nominatives, but the meaning was clear:
John Morgan,
I, John Morgan Holloway the Greater, also known as Jack Holloway, hereby recognize the son of Adonitia Honirdite, known as John Morgan, as my legitimate son and heir, with the right to bear the family name of Holloway, work the family lands, defend the family honor, and make war on those allied against the family.
John Morgan will be known as John Morgan Holloway the Lesser until such time as John Morgan Holloway the Greater is unable to fill his role as patriarch, at which time the Lesser will assume those responsibilities as the new Greater Holloway.
John, by now you have read the documents and the letter from Orphtheor Honirdite and know that I did not knowingly abandon you. Still, I find myself filled with shame that I did not return to Freya to see for myself what had become of you. For that I blame myself and no other. I knew that Orphtheor never approved of me. He had even black-balled me from getting a decent job while on Freya. You wouldn’t believe how many oukrey stalls I mucked out to put food on the table. Your mother was pregnant, I knew that, but I was offered a job on Fenris working for the Hunter’s Cooperative. The money was good and we would have been set for the next five-years when I got back.
I wanted to take her along, but she would have been alone on a strange planet while I was out on the seas. Have you ever been to Fenris? Damned nasty place for a Freyan woman used to the open air. We agreed she would be better off with her family while I was gone. I knew I could count on Orphtheor to take care of her, and bad talk me, while I was gone.
I had completed my one year commitment and was preparing to return to Freya when I received the letter from Orphtheor. In the letter he claimed that you and your mother died in childbirth and provided the certificates to prove it. I should have realized your mother would have named you after me, not some relic from the family tree. I should have gone back to Freya and seen for myself. Instead I bounced around Baldur, Loki and Fenris for the next five years. I met Pancho Ybarra, an ensign then, during one of my visits to Fenris. If you have any questions, he may be able to help.
Assuming I am not dead, I intend to pay a visit to Orphtheor on Freya the first chance I get. I owe him a severe beating at the bare minimum.
If you succeeded in killing me, do not mourn. I lived a longer and happier life than I expected to.
On the microdisc is a video recording of me in a veridicator verifying my story in this letter. I don’t want there to be any question in your mind about what is true. If you have to be mad at me, be mad for the right reasons.
Your father,
P.S. I hope my Sosti wasn’t too bad.
Morgan set the letter down. “I have to admit that I didn’t want to believe he would abandon me or my mother,” Morgan said. “But I was raised on Uncle Orphtheor’s stories about him.” He examined the microdisc then stuffed it back into the envelope in disgust. Jack Holloway had faced him with honor. On Freya, the word of such a man was beyond reproach. No fancy Terran machine was needed to support his word.
“I think Jack will want a word or six with your uncle when he recovers,” Gus mused.
“No need. He left this plane of existence thirteen years ago. Freyan years, that is. He left everything to me as he had no heirs of his own.”
Gus grunted then shook his head. “Title and everything? And he put you through school, I imagine. Well, the lies aside, I think he did a fair job of raising you.”
“Were he still alive I would shoot him myself,” Morgan snarled. Gus couldn’t help but notice how much he looked like Jack at that moment. “Gus, would you do me a favor? Call Jack’s doctor in here. I’m going to make it very clear how badly I want my father to pull through. And since you currently have his power of attorney, we’re going to fix those other little things he’d been neglecting, too. As soon as he is strong enough, of course.”
“Jack’s coverage is good, but I don’t think all of his pre-existing—”
“I have it covered,” said Morgan. “After we speak with the doctors, I want to go see him.”
XXVII
The leader awoke to the sound of birds warbling in the trees. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t; they were swollen shut. He tried to move but found he was bound from head to toe.
Where the hell am I? I was outside the camp, saw some Fuzzies, then boom! The Fuzzies! They must have found me and tied me up. They blame me for the one that got killed. Well, why shouldn’t they? It is my fault. So why am I still alive?
He struggled a bit and some of the bindings fell away. It was only grass, not ropes or vines as he thought at first. Didn’t the Fuzzies wrap their dead in grass then bury them under stone Cairns? Maybe the Fuzzies thought he was dead and rated a funeral. But then, where were the stones for his funeral Cairn?
“Yeek!”
The leader could not understand the yeeking he heard, but suspected a Fuzzy just announced that he was awake. He could hear the sound of several Fuzzies scampering over to investigate over the ringing in his ears. He freed an arm and searched his pocket. The hypersonic hearing aid was still there. The leader fumbled it into his ear amid more excited yeeking.
“Bal-f'ke! Kannii! Ashkii-Koo-wen dohla!”
Now he could hear what the Fuzzies were saying, if not actually understand them. He tried to concentrate and remember what little he knew of the Fuzzy language. “Me…Joe Quigley,” he croaked out. How long was I unconscious? “Me…ola.” Ola is friend, right? Ghu, I hope I didn’t just tell them I’m a harpy or something.
* * * * * * * * *
“There are new Koo-wen at the thunder noise place,” Climber said. “Give this Koo-wen to them.”
“Big Ones made Sun Fur dead,” Tells-things argued. “Maybe make us dead.”
“Kill the bad Big One,” Stonebreaker yelled.
“No!” Red Fur glared at the tribe. “People do not kill people without cause. People make friends. We sometimes fight, but we always try to make friends. Not know if this Koo-wen killed Sun Fur.”
“You say we make Big Ones dead, now you say we not make Koo-wen dead,” Silver Fur said.
“Many Koo-wen made dead when the thunder noise thing happened,” Red Fur countered. “Only one not dead. We help him…”
“Him?” Makes-things asked. The strange not-fur covering of the Koo-wen made it difficult to identify their gender.
“Him,” Healer said.
&nbs
p; “What do we feed this Big One?”
“The strange food they left with Sun Fur’s body.” Some of the Jinf’ke grumbled about that. “We help him and learn from him,” Red Fur continued. “Koo-wen are a new thing. We must know if they are bad for us or good for us.”
“Bad,” Stonebreaker said.
“Then we must learn how bad,” Red Fur said. “We watch the hurt one. We watch the others at the big thunder noise place. See what they do.”
“And if they make bad things for Jin-f’ke?”
“Then we find more people,” declared Red Fur. “We gather together and become ready to make the bad Big Ones dead.”
* * * * * * * * *
“Mr. Morgan, this is extremely irregular,” Doctor Drogan argued. “Mr. Holloway is in a deep coma. You can’t go barging into his room.”
From his contragravity chair, Morgan glared up at the doctor. “Jack Holloway is my father. I will not be barred from seeing him, especially if this could be the last time I see him alive. If I have to, I’ll buy this damn hospital, fire you, then see him anyway.”
Gus whispered something in Morgan’s ear. “Really?”
Gus nodded. “As it turns out, this hospital is owned and run by the Charterless Zarathustra Company, of which I am a major stockholder. That means I already own this hospital, more or less. Now step aside.”
Flustered, Dr. Drogan stepped out of the doorway and allowed Morgan and Gus to pass, then followed them in. It was a small private room crowded to overflowing with Fuzzies. Jack’s entire family was there; Little Fuzzy, Mama Fuzzy, Baby Fuzzy, Mike, Mitzi, Koko and Cinderella. Gus’s Fuzzies, Allan Quatermain and Natty Bumppo and Victor Grego’s Fuzzy Diamond accompanied them.
Morgan turned to Dr. Drogan and demanded why the Fuzzies were allowed in when he was denied access.
“Mr. Grego insisted. However, I made sure each and every one of these Fuzzies were bathed and checked for parasites and pathogens before I allowed them in. I even had their chopper-diggers disinfected.”
Morgan glanced at Gus who nodded.
“Very good, doctor.” Morgan steered his chair to the left of the bed where he wouldn’t accidently run afoul of any medical equipment.
The Fuzzies, who had seemed oblivious to everything but Jack, became aware of the newcomers. After a moment, Little Fuzzy screamed something in his hypersonic voice, jumped up and leaped over the bed, chopper-digger swinging wildly. It was a jump any human athlete would have applauded.
Morgan tried to catch the Fuzzy with both hands forgetting that the right was immobilized. Despite the pain the act caused him, he still managed to catch his attacker’s weapon before it connected with his throat.
By this time the rest of the Fuzzies realized that Morgan was the man who had hurt Pappy Jack and scrambled to collect their weapons.
Dr. Drogan slapped the security button then joined Gus in trying to corral the furious Fuzzies.
Morgan’s good arm was occupied with Little Fuzzy while he fought to use the right hand to adjust the elevation of his chair. The restraints on the arm made it difficult to move his fingers, but he managed to work the contra-gravity controls and raise himself to the ceiling, bumping his head in the process. The sudden jarring caused another surge of agony through the shoulder and down the arm.
With one arm and his weapon held by Morgan, Little Fuzzy punched and kicked any target he could reach. He launched a particularly vicious kick into Morgan’s injured shoulder. Morgan screamed in pain and dropped Little Fuzzy. Gus barely managed to catch him before he fell onto the unconscious Jack.
“That is enough!” Dr. Drogan roared. The Fuzzies and humans alike froze in place. “This is a hospital room, not a war zone. Fuzzies there,” Drogan pointed to one side of the room, then pointed to the other, “and humans there. Move it!”
The Fuzzies filed over to the far side of the room and glared at Morgan. Morgan floated near the ceiling unconscious. The pain from Little Fuzzy’s kick to his shoulder had caused him to pass out. Gus, being the allest, had to reach up and fumble with the chair controls until it lowered back to floor level. Dr. Drogan examined Morgan’s head for signs of a concussion, then tapped a few buttons on the back of the chair to revive him.
“You hurt Pappy Jack!” Little Fuzzy cried. “Go ’way!”
Through the haze of pain, painkillers and stimulants Morgan fought to remember what he’d learned of the Fuzzy language and explained himself as best he could.
Dr. Drogan, unable to follow what Morgan was saying, asked Gus to translate. “Morgan is saying that he is not here to kill Pappy Jack. He wants to talk and make friends.”
Gus turned to the Fuzzies who were still yelling and yeeking at John Morgan. “People, be quiet! Let John Morgan make friends.”
Slowly, the Fuzzies quieted down, though they kept their chopperdiggers at the ready. Jack’s family took up protective positions around his bed while Natty and Allan stayed near Pappy Gus. Diamond, who had met John Morgan at Company House, was uncertain what to do. He had liked the new Koo-wen, but he liked Pappy Jack, too.
“I’m afraid Mr. Morgan will have to wait to make friends with, um, Pappy Jack,” Dr. Drogan said. “Pappy Jack is in a coma. A deep sleep. Mr. Morgan can make friends when Mr. Holloway wakes up.”
Drogan tactfully omitted the possibility that Jack might never regain consciousness.
“Mo’gan go ’way,” Little Fuzzy repeated. “Big One not like Fuzzies. Big Ones say not-so things. I not trust Mo’gan.”
Little Fuzzy had a point; Big Ones lie to each other all the time. Morgan slumped in his chair and started to leave, then had an inspiration.
“Gus, are you familiar with the Freyan Blood Oath? You were on Freya for a while. Surely you picked up some of the culture.”
Gus stroked his beard for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I am. That’s the one where two parties swear an oath, usually to defend something or enter into a binding contract. As I recall, to break such an oath means exile or death on Freya.”
“Death. Exile is no longer considered sufficient punishment with a whole galaxy of planets to run to.” Morgan turned to Dr. Drogan. “Doctor, is there anything in my system that would be harmful to a Fuzzy?”
“What? Well, no. The drugs I just pumped into you leave the bloodstream and enter the soft tissues almost instantly. But why would… wait. Blood Oath? Are you going to…?”
“Yes. Gus, would you explain to Little Fuzzy what the Blood Oath is and what it entails? I suspect he won’t take my word for it.”
Gus nodded explained about the Oath and what they would have to do to make it binding. Little Fuzzy was a bit shocked. “Why you make oat’?”
“I will pledge my protection to Pappy Jack,” Morgan explained. “That means I will not hurt Pappy Jack. If I do, then I make dead. Gus, as the witness, it falls to you to carry out my execution if I renege.”
“Like I said before; you Freyans are way too trigger happy,” Gus grunted. “Oh, Nifflheim, if it will keep the peace, I’m in.”
“Doctor, we need a cup.”
“Now see here, I will not just stand here and let you—”
“Doctor, you get to fix it when we are done. Would you rather we did this outside away from your ready care?”
Drogan grumbled and grabbed a coffee cup from the nurse’s lounge, washed it, doused it with alcohol, washed it again and returned with it.
“Thank-you, doctor,” Morgan said. “Little Fuzzy, as the kin’sha of your family, will you take the oath with me?”
Little Fuzzy didn’t hesitate. “Hokay.”
“May I use your chopper-digger, please?”
Little Fuzzy handed Morgan the weapon and watched with fascination as the Freyan carefully held the blade with his immobilized right hand and sliced open the palm of his left by dragging the hand over the blade. He then held the open wound over the cup let the blood flow into the receptical. After an ounce or two he pressed a cloth to the wound, which Dr. Drogan quickly wrapped, and held the weapon out f
or the Fuzzy to take. Drogan seized the chopper-digger before Little Fuzzy could take it.
“I can’t stop this barbaric ritual, but I won’t risk this Fuzzy getting an infection.” Drogan quickly used an alcohol wipe on the blade then turned it over to Little Fuzzy.
Little Fuzzy duplicated Morgan’s palm cut and held his own hand over the cup. After several drops joined with the Freyan’s blood, Drogan quickly wrapped the wound.
Morgan held the cup between himself and Little Fuzzy and said, “I, John Morgan Holloway the Lesser, swear in the name of Min’tro, god of Truth, to act in defense of John Morgan Holloway the Greater, also known as Pappy Jack, that I will not do him further harm, and that I will make friends with him when he awakens.”
Gus translated the oath into Fuzzy for clarification. He omitted the part about Min’tro as Fuzzies had no concept of gods or religion.
“What I do?” Little Fuzzy asked. Morgan explained in the simplest terms he could. “I, Li’l Fuzzy, accep’ the vow of John Mo’gan Hollow-way the Less’r. Hokay?”
“Okay. Now we drink.” Morgan drained half the contents of the cup, then turned it over to Little Fuzzy who drank the remainder. Dr. Drogan looked a little sick at the act, though Little Fuzzy had no problem with the ritual. It had only been two years since he had learned to cook his food, after all.
“Is that all? Good. Now let’s disinfect and stitch up those cuts…” The swarm of security men that barged into the room interrupted Drogan. “Now you show up?”
XXVIII
Colonial Marshal Max Fane entered the Colonial Governor’s office, saw he was speaking with somebody on the viewscreen, and waited quietly near the desk.
“…Yeah, Gerd thinks the military might want to be involved in whatever is buried out there,” Ben Rainsford finished.
“I appreciate your bringing us in on this, Governor,” Lieutenant Commander Ybarra’s voice replied from the screen. “Any update on how Jack is doing?”
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