“No,” Grego said. “No, I didn’t have a tree-house, but one place we lived had a lilac thicket next to the house. I was about nine, I guess. I hollowed out that lilac thicket— carefully, a little bit at a time, so no one would know. If you knew where the entrance was, you could get in; if you didn’t, it was just a big lilac bush.” He shrugged. “Must’ve been about six feet tall—a lot taller than I was, anyway. On hot summer days, I’d crawl in there and read. It was absolutely perfect. Quite enough light, and it was cool and smelled so good I can’t begin to describe it.”
Both men stared into the distance, not really seeing each other, but looking into the past.
“I had a tree-house,” Rainsford said. “I worked like a slave getting the roof weather-tight. I liked to go up there when it rained. When there was an electrical storm, I’d go up there and spend the night. Damned wonder I wasn’t struck by lightning.” Suddenly, Rainsford jerked open the cupboard door and took down two glasses. “Well, let’s go in the living room, shall we? There are a couple of mutual goals I want to chat with you about before my guest arrives.”
When they were comfortably situated, Rainsford filled his pipe and lighted it. “When are you going to file a suit to regain the CZC charter?” he asked. That was one thing about Ben; he always got right to the point.
Grego blinked with surprise he couldn’t conceal, then recovered. “Why, Bennett,” he said, “what possible causes of action could we use to frame such a complaint?”
Rainsford leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily, making his bristly red whiskers shake with mirth. “Oh, Victor,” he chuckled. “It’s no wonder you’re Manager-in-Chief. You’re as smooth as a tilbra’s belly.”
“I think that’s a compliment,” Grego said, “but I repeat—how could we hope to get such a case into court, much less think of winning it?”
Rainsford wiped his eyes and leaned forward, suddenly serious. “You know, Victor, just because I spent a lot of time over on Beta, counting tree-rings and banding birds, a lot of people think I’m an eccentric old fud who has staffed the government with roughnecks and has about as much business being Governor General as a khooghra does being an archbishop.”
“You’re nothing like Nick Emmert. That’s for sure,” Grego said. “A few people have found some difficulty getting used to that.”
“Well, Victor,” Rainsford said, “the point is this—just so we can stop being coy. You think I don’t know about Garrett’s Theorem? I’m a xeno-naturalist, and not one that just popped out of college with a diploma stuck in my ear. I’ve been keeping touch with van Riebeek’s research on this NFMp hormone thing. It’s no secret, either, that the Company Science Center is drilling a few holes along this line of reasoning. Now, whatever the Navy is onto over on North Beta, there’s more to it than some anonymous starship. Yes, yes,” he interjected,“I was there when they dug it out and saw it with my own eyes.”
“What makes you think there’s more to it than that?” Grego asked.
Rainsford smiled. “The simple fact that Alex Napier won’t tell the Governor General—me—anything more about it. The information I was getting from him just leveled out and stopped at that point.”
“If you can’t get anything out of him, what can the Company do?” Grego asked.
“Why, file a lawsuit in Central Courts, alleging that there are no sapient beings on Zarathustra who are native to the planet. Therefore, the Company’s charter was unlawfully voided—or voided by mistake if you want to put it more politely. As a principal party in such an action, that will give the Company certain Rights of Discovery to make legal establishment of information that now has its legal existence on the basis of ‘to the best of knowledge and belief.’ You’ll be able to take veridicated depositions, and they’ll have to open records for your examination which you wouldn’t otherwise be able to get your hands on.”
“Sounds like you’ve been talking to Gus Brannhard,” Grego said.
Rainsford snorted. “You bet your boots I have! What’s the good of an Attorney General if he isn’t the slipperiest lawyer on the planet? Gus says there’s precedent in colonial law for this sort of thing. The Chartered Yggsdrasil Company took a whack at it after the Yggsdrasil Khooghra was declared sapient. They lost, of course, because they didn’t have much of a case. Maybe they had the wrong lawyer. Gus could probably have gotten them at least a draw—and tied up the courts with the case long enough for the Company to bail out its investment.”
Grego decided then and there not to tell Rainsford anything remotely connected with his spy in the ZNPF or the fact that he had Leslie Coombes digging through colonial case law, looking for applications of Garrett’s Theorem. He sipped his drink and smiled. The old boy’s been doing his homework, Grego thought. Everyone thinks he just fusses with that ghastly pipe—when he’s not arguing with someone or throwing a temper tantrum. “Why are you being so good to me, Bennett?” he asked.
Rainsford fussed with his pipe for a moment. “Aw, hell, Victor,” he said, slightly embarrassed. “I’ve been worried about you. You’ve been mooning around over that girl like a lovesick banjo-bird. And I—well—let’s just say I know how that sort of thing can distort a man’s perspective.”
“I didn’t know it showed,” Grego said, unruffled.
“Not to everyone, maybe,” Rainsford said, “but to me, it shows.”
“You think my judgment is out the airlock?” Grego asked.
Rainsford squirmed a bit. “Now, I didn’t say that, Victor,” he said. “I just said I’ve been concerned.”
“And you want me to try and get the Company’s charter back,” Grego said, “so I can resume my role as ‘the petty despot of Zarathustra.’ You once called me that several times, you know.”
“Well, dammit,” Rainsford said irritably, “you’d better make an effort at it. You’ve got a Board of Directors to answer to. They’ll be standing in your hip pockets before long. I expect a gaggle of them to show up every time a ship docks on Darius.”
“That’s not their way,” Grego said quietly. “They’ll send out some spies, first. Just to see if they need to bring a rope with them when they do come.”
“But are you doing anything about it, confound it,” Rainsford said.
“The Company is looking after its interests,” Grego replied. “You realize, of course, that if we do get the charter back, you’ll be out of a job.”
Rainsford chuffed on his pipe. “No; I’ll be out of this job—” He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. “—something I have been devoutly hoping for ever since Alex Napier shoe-horned me into it.”
Grego stubbed out his cigarette and held out his glass for the refill Rainsford preferred from the now unstoppered jug. Rainsford set the jug back on the coffee table. Both men looked at each other for a moment.
“The Company,” Grego said, “in such an eventuality, would petition that you be retained as Resident-General.”
“I don’t want to be Resident-General,” Rainsford insisted, “or Governor General. I want to go back over to Beta and help out at Fuzzy Institute.”
“Well,” Grego said, “there’s no blinding rush to come to a decision at this point. I just wanted you to know that I think you’ve been doing pretty good, and—”
The chiming of the entry door interrupted.
Rainsford leaped to his feet. “Ah!” he said. “That will be—mmmmm—” He rummaged around in his pocket, took out a slip of paper, and read from it. “The Right Reverend Father Thomas Aquinas Gordon. We will now see what’s what with this so-called whiskey priest who’s supposed to be holding Junktown together with his fingernails. I want your opinion about his young fella, Victor. That’s the main reason I asked you over here.” He straightened his bush jacket and started for the door.
Outside, The Rev put the palm of his hand in front of his face, blew at it and quickly inhaled through his nose—for perhaps the twentieth time since leaving the mission. It wouldn’t make a good first impression for his br
eath to betray the fact that he’d had a couple of bracers beforehand. Meetings with Colonial Governors General were not occurrences that happened to him frequently. He was nervous, but his head was quite clear. That was the trouble; his head was always clear. Perhaps the true loss of innocence occurred when one reached the point of being able to see through every sham, con-game, deliberate lie, and frailty to which the human spirit was subject.
“And they wonder why I drink,” he muttered to himself, just as the door was opened by a rumpled little man with bristly red whiskers, who looked like he had just come out of the deep woods.
“Father Gordon,” Rainsford said cheerfully, shaking hands with his visitor, “do come in. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Rainsford ushered him into the living room. “I’ve been hearing lots of good things about you, and I wanted to meet you. I’d like your opinion on something.”
As the introductions were being made, Grego thought, Says he isn’t qualified to be Governor General. Faugh! I haven’t heard such a smooth line of patter since the last time I talked to someone I wanted to get on my side.
“We were just about to have another drink, Father,” Rainsford said. “Will you join us?”
“I’d be delighted,” The Rev said.
“Anything in particular you’d like?” Rainsford asked.
The Rev chuckled engagingly and nodded his head. “If you pour it, Governor, I’ll drink it.”
“Fine, “Rainsford said. “Just fine. Well, I’ll be back in a moment. You and Mr. Grego can be getting acquainted.”
This is rich, The Rev thought. Here’s a chance to look over this guy Christiana’s all out of shape about—and he doesn’t even know she’s been pouring her heart out to me about him.
No sooner had Rainsford returned from the kitchen than the Fuzzies came rushing in with an empty plate and hopeful looks on their faces. The Rev was momentarily startled. He had heard a lot about Fuzzies, but never really seen one in person.
Grego handled the introductions.
“They certainly seem trusting,” The Rev said to Grego and Rainsford.
He was startled again when Diamond spoke. “We know good Hagga from bad Hagga,” he said. “‘Sides, you come see Pappy Vic and Unka Ben. That make you hokay, too.” He scratched his head. “Unka Wev,” he said thoughtfully. “Not know name like Unka Wev.”
“Come on, now, Diamond,” Grego said. “It’s Rev, with an ‘R,’ Auntie K’istanna has been teaching you about ‘R.’ Now try to say Unka Rev.”
Diamond screwed up his tiny face. “Ehr-hev,” he managed. “Eh-rhev.” He took a deep breath. “Unka Rrrrrev,” he said. It still gargled a bit, but the pronunciation was coming through. Diamond looked pleased.
The Rev took a long sip at his drink and studied Diamond. Diamond studied him back, with his little head cocked over to one side.
“Remarkable,” The Rev said. “I used to think people were exaggerating the humanity of Fuzzies.” He made a quick, noncommital gesture. “But, then, I’ve always throught they exaggerated the humanity of Terrans, too.”
“Everyone thinks that—until they meet a Fuzzy,” Grego said. “I used to think it. In fact, I blush to think what I used to think about Fuzzies.”
“They’re little people—just like us—” The Rev said, “—except they’re covered with soft, golden fur.”
“Not exactly like us,” Rainsford said. “Nature never makes exact duplications—even in character. However, Fuzzies are a totally sane race. And, they cannot be driven insane. They know the difference between right and wrong, good and bad—and their ethical system is highly developed, more highly developed than ours, I’m bound to think. For example, they have no concept at all of crime or doing hurt to another in any premeditated way.”
Diamond made a sweeping gesture to include everyone in the room—Terrans and Fuzzies. “Make friend, make help, have fun; is only way be good. Hagga—” He made a pointing gesture, with his fingers spread, toward the Terrans. “—Big Ones—make good place for Fuzzies, keep Fuzzies from hurt. Big Ones make dead dem things hurt Fuzzies; make dead the hah’pie, the dam’ting, and make dead Bad Big Ones. Fuzzies love Hagga. So much—many-many—for Hagga to teach Fuzzies.”
“You see what I mean about ethical systems, Father Gordon?” Rainsford said.
The Rev abruptly turned his attention from Diamond, at whom he had been staring in rapt attention. “Oh,” he said absently. “Please call me Rev. Every time someone says ‘Father Gordon’ I get the uncomfortable feeling that my dowdy old bishop has come around to check up on me.”
Rainsford chuckled, around his pipestem. “Very well,” he said. “Rev it is.”
“I may be jumping to conclusions,” The Rev said, “but it seems to me that Fuzzies are totally innocent creatures.”
“There’s much to that idea,” Grego said. “They learn anything that arouses their curiosity faster than hyperspeed. They’ve been around Terran humans, now, for a bit over a year and already they seem to have developed some instinct—I call it an instinct because I don’t know what else to call it at this point—that lets them instantly distinguish between good guys and bad guys. They won’t have anything to do with bad guys.”
“It’s strange,” The Rev said reflectively. “Beings that are totally good; the Vision finally realized. And we had to come this far through space and time to find it.”
“I don’t know much about theology,” Rainsford said, “but I think Fuzzies are the most extraordinary discovery ever made by homo s. terra.”
The Rev laughed. “I don’t know much about theology, either, Governor. At least that’s what they kept telling me at university. I just try to help people who can’t help themselves—feed ‘em, keep them well, heal them when they’re sick, get ‘em going again when they want to give up. Theology never cured a kid of malnutrition. Theology won’t make a man able to do a day’s work when his belly is empty.”
“The Fuzzies must sense that in you,” Grego said.
The Rev leaned forward. “I don’t like to pry, but why is Diamond wearing a bow tie?”
“You’re a lot like a Fuzzy, at that,” Grego said. He told The Rev about that evening at Alfredo’s when Christiana made a bow tie for Diamond from her hair ribbon. “He insisted on wearing it all the time, after that,” Grego said, “so I had some made up in Fuzzy-size—pastels for daytime, black for evening, and a white one for formal affairs.”
“He’s a sentimental old fool,” Rainsford said, half-apologetically, as he fussed with his pipe.
“Me, sentimental?” Grego snapped. “I happen to know your Fuzzies sleep on the bed with you.”
Rainsford blanched. “How did you—” he began.
Grego grinned. “Flora and Fauna told Diamond, and Diamond told me,” Grego said with satisfaction.
“That’s the hell of it,” Rainsford said. “With Fuzzies around, nobody has any secrets.”
“With Fuzzies around,” Grego said, “nobody needs to have any secrets.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” The Rev said, taking another sip of his drink.
“You will,” Grego said, “after you’ve been around Fuzzies for a while.” He paused a moment, choosing his words. “Fuzzies show us what we are capable of being. We sometimes lose track of that, as we scramble to earn a sol or two here and there. That’s because Fuzzies freely give us what we all yearn for more than anything else—love. Love with no strings attached.”
Mmmmmmm, The Rev thought, Christiana picked a pretty good guy, here. No wonder she’s getting a little frantic to hang on to him.
Diamond rushed over and hugged Grego’s leg. “Fuzzies make Hagga happy,” he said. “That make Fuzzies happy. Everybody make friend, have fun, make help, be good.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“You say why to me, plis.”
“Not say why to you!”
Two tiny figures were silhouetted against the star-filled sky, and lighted faintly by Xerxes, which was at about the half-full
phase. One of them had a khaki barracks cover cocked on the back of his head. The other was quietly smoking a little tobacco pipe. They were sitting on a rock outcropping above Fuzzy Valley.
“So noho-aki dovov heeva aid. Aki gashta, shi so,” Little Fuzzy said intensely, lapsing into Lingua Fuzzy to make his point. “You tell me how no say to me. Me Fuzzy, like you.”
“Is secret duty,” Starwatcher said, speaking slowly as he worked through the unfamiliar Terran words for an abstract concept. “Come down from old one to me—to me when old one say I now Haigun of these Fuzzies. He told by old one who make him the Haigun. That how duty pass from old one to young one—many-many times. So many-many no one know when start; just that is, so.”
“Me see—is, so—but must know why,” Little Fuzzy said.
“Me no have say you,” Starwatcher replied tersely. “Me Haigun. Not have to make answer—no to gashta, no to Hagga.”
“Hagga only want help Fuzzies,” Little Fuzzy said.
Starwatcher fingered the visor of his barracks cover. “Me know,” he said quietly.
“You, Haigun,” Little Fuzzy said, “but, see.” He took the two-inch silver disc that hung on a chain about his neck and showed it again to Starwatcher. The dim light glinted faintly on it, not enough to read the lettering, but enough to see it was there: the numeral 1. Below that was LITTLE FUZZY, and below that, Jack Holloway, Cold Creek Valley, Beta Continent.
“You see—” Little Fuzzy paused. “—idee-disko. You, Haigun; me, Numba’-One Fuzzy. Big job, be Numba’-One Fuzzy. What if Pappy Jack ask Little Fuzzy why Starwatcher all the time look at stars and moons? If Little Fuzzy have to say, ‘Me not know, Pappy Jack; he won’t say to me,’ so-then Pappy Jack maybe think Little Fuzzy not much of a Numba’-One Fuzzy. Not know easy fact, so-such. Maybe Pappy Jack say, ‘You Fuzzy; dem Fuzzies. Why you not know? You Numba’-One Fuzzy—and dem Fuzzies no trust you?’ Make Little Fuzzy feel bad—let Pappy Jack down. Not help Pappy Jack is bad thing to do. Must be good to Pappy Jack. Pappy Jack find Fuzzies—help Fuzzies—save Fuzzies.”
Fuzzy Bones (v1.1) Page 25
