Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

"But, Reverend Sir," O'Gorman protested. "Rental buildings are in very scarce supply. This is the only building of the size you describe which is on my lists for rent." He wrung his hands.

"Then I shall have to go to another broker, Mr. O'Gorman," The Rev said. "My superiors expect me to produce results, not the refurbishment of some drafty old barn like this. Why, if I send my bishop the bills to rebuild this rickety mess, he'll have me clapped in a mental institution."

O'Gorman waved his hands with massaging motions. "I assure you, Reverend Father, it will be no problem to put the place in very fine shape. The owner is a kinsman of mine-an honest, Christian person like myself. I shall speak to him personally, and all will be well. You'll see. Take my word for it; there is no other place in all Mallorysport that can be assembled for the size and the price you are able to pay.

"Perhaps when he learns the purpose of your tenancy, my cousin will even reduce the rent-to the Glory of God, you understand."

"It would be tax-deductable," The Rev said.

"Oh, an excellent point, sir," O 'Gorman replied. "I shall bring it up to him at the first opportunity.

"We are settled, then. This must be the place for your mission. Let us return to my office and settle everything at once. My other cousin, Nima Bactrian, shall supervise all the repairing. You will be saving heathen within the week, Father."

"At least we can bake our own bread," The Rev said, eyeing the row of ovens along the back wall. "You'll put in new power converters and see that those ovens are operational?"

O 'Gorman waved his hands once more, as they walked out through the remains of the old bakery's storefront and onto the esplanade. "All will be taken care of. We will make notes for the lease and agree upon everything right after we have some tea and sweet rolls from the bakery of my cousin Stoudhi-he sends them to my office fresh every morning, bless him."

"Tea?" The Rev said.

Hiram Mustaphah O'Gorman blinked at him in the Zarathustran sunlight. "Of course," he said. "The mullah himself tells us that the most satisfactory deal is never struck before the third cup of tea."

Chapter 11

"Dammit, Sandra!" Victor Grego pounded his cigarette into the ashtray so hard he almost burned his thumb. "You can't just up-and-flat leave me without a sitter for Diamond. I know you and Ahmed want to get married, but you've got to give me a chance to select someone who is appropriate and qualified to be

your successor."

The tall redhead smiled at him from across the coffee table in the living room of the penthouse on top of the Company House building. She smiled broadly enough to make wrinkles at the corners of her green eyes. "Why, Mr. Grego,"

she said. "You've been saying that for over seven months, now. Ahmed is beginning to think you're after me yourself. He's getting quite jealous."

"Faugh!" Grego snorted. He waved his hand as though to dismiss the entire discussion. "It's not a bad idea," he said, "but I never stand in the way of young lust, or poach in another man's pasture-especially not when the man is a police captain and carries a pistol."

"And, as for the careful selection part of your argument," Sandra continued,

"I remember exactly how careful and scientific you were about that. You said,

'. . . you've just been appointed Fuzzy-Sitter-in-Chief. You start immediately; ten percent raise as of this morning.' "

Grego leaned back in his chair and tried to look stern. "That was different,"

he said. "I could tell right away that Diamond liked you and trusted you.

Fuzzies have an instinct for that sort of thing."

"Governess would be a better term, anyway, Mr. Grego," Sandra Glenn said. "I think he's smarter than I am; either that or he learns faster than any Fuzzy I've seen. I just can't stay ahead of him any more."

"Ah-ha!" Grego cried triumphantly. "That's exactly why I must be very choosy about who takes over your job-and there has to be an overlap period while whoever-it-is learns everything you know about Fuzzies and about Diamond. Why, we can't just switch Fuzzy-sitters on him without any notice, like that. It would break his little heart. He's very fond of you, you know."

"But, Mr. Grego; really! Ahmed and I have been engaged so long, the ring is starting to grow to my finger." Sandra had stepped into another Grego-trap and she knew it. It was not any great surprise, either. The Manager-in-Chief of a Colonial Company might be expected to be a fairly good, fast-talking negotiator.

"We could compromise," Grego added quickly. "How?" she said, half-dreading the answer. Grego warmed to the deal. "You and Ahmed could get married right away-something simple and private-and get a little place right here in Mallorysport until we can break in a new sitter. You could cut your hours back to whatever meshes with Ahmed's schedule-at the same wages you get now, of course-and I would take up whatever slack that caused."

"But what about the honeymoon?" she said in a rising voice.

"Oh, faugh!" Grego replied. "Plenty of time for that after the two of you move out into the sticks, there, at Holloway

Station."

"But, that might be a year!" She almost wailed.

Grego snorted. "No such thing! You go along with me on this, and help me interview candidates for your job, and I'll tell you what I'll do. Well-I'm going to do it anyway, but-" Grego stopped short.

Sandra sniffed. "Do what?"

"Throw the wedding reception," he said. "Right here on top of Company House.

There's enough room here to properly entertain and feed a couple hundred people."

Their conversation was interrupted by the soft chiming of the entrance door.

"That must be Leslie," Grego said. "I forgot to tell you; no need to go and fetch Diamond home. Leslie told me he would pick him up on his way back from Government House."

Company Chief Counsel Leslie Coombes entered the foyer, preceded by an energetic ball of bounding fur which jumped up onto the arm of Grego's chair.

"Heyo, Pappy Vic," Diamond shouted from the chair arm, then leaped on Grego's chest, danced around on his lap, pummeled his stomach playfully, and hugged him as hard as his little arms could manage.

Grego laughed heartily and scuffled a bit with Diamond. ' "There's Extee-Three on the kitchen counter, if you want," he said. "You know where the can opener is."

Leslie Coombes frowned. "Shouldn't you-?" he began.

"-work the can opener for him?" Grego finished.

"He might hurt himself." Coombes said.

Grego shook his head. "Yes, Leslie," he said, "and you might fall in the bathtub and fracture your skull, too. But I don't see that's a good reason why your Mommy should still bathe you."

Coombes' face reddened as Sandra Glenn chuckled over the mental image of a grown Leslie Coombes splashing the bath water with his rubber duckie while a gray-haired matron scrubbed him down with soap and a wash cloth.

Grego smiled. "The Fuzzies are people. We can't go on forever treating them like little china dolls, much as it might please us to have someone around who is going to be eternally ten years old, always stay with us, always depend on us, and never grow up."

Coombes sighed. "I see your point, Victor. Most folks cherish Fuzzies like their own kids, and no one ever wants his own children to grow up and leave home."

"And we're not going to have that luxury with Fuzzies, either," Grego said,

"so we might as well get used to the idea."

"They learn like a house on fire," Sandra said. "The people over at Science Center are beginning to wonder if they are smarter than we are."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Coombes said gloomily. "You don't see Fuzzies wearing themselves out trying to keep a charterless colonial company in the black. That's what I came to see you about, Victor. Do you know we've had seventy-six aircars stolen in the past two months, mostly by veldbeest herders who take off to make their fortune and take a Company vehicle along to speed the process?"