Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

scientist named Leonard Kellogg had set the whole question of Fuzzy sapience in motion-Beta, where the Fuzzy Institute and Hollo-way Station were becoming almost as pivotal to the affairs of Zarathustra as the capital at Mallorysport.

The musicians arrived and started setting up on the outdoor platform next to the portable dance floor as the terrace was washed with the red-orange light from the setting sun. Soft lighting began to come on automatically on the terraces, with brighter patches around the bars and the huge buffet table.

Soon, now, it would be time to cut the wedding cake. Then, at twilight, the dancing would start with a solo waltz by the bride and groom.

Mr. Chief Justice Frederic Pendarvis puffed deeply on his panetella. It had been an enjoyable conversation with Hollo-way and Brannhard and Rainsford.

They had come to much agreement on their respective attitudes about several things that were going on on Zarathustra at the moment. That kind of no-punches-pulled, informal shop talk was always good for everyone concerned.

Cleared the air.

Pendarvis tilted his head back and blew a careful smoke ring toward the star filled sky, where Darius stood at the zenith and Xerxes was inching up from the horizon. "No, Jack," he said, adopting a more familiar term than he had ever used toward Holloway before. "It's not hard at all to be the Chief Justice of a colonial court system-here or anywhere else. You only need keep one thing uppermost in your mind-the law. The law is everything. It is bigger than men, bigger than courts, bigger than governments, bigger than armies; it decides things that are placed before it on evidence and testimony. That's all there is to it.

"That's all there has ever been to it. Judges get in trouble only when they start seeing men in front of the bench. In the courtroom, judges are not men; they are instruments of the legal system-officers of the court. And, judges get in trouble when they stop serving the law and start serving themselves.

"I've been serving the law for almost fifty years-started out as a file boy.

The law is my religion, and my catechism is to apply it with fairness and impartiality. I think I have always done that."

"You fellows are waxing pretty philosophical, considering that this is supposed to be a party and all," Brannhard remarked.

Pendarvis smiled. "Perhaps you're right, Gus. I want them to hurry up and cut the cake so the dancing can start. I 'm dying to get out on that floor and see if the old body is still up to the Shesha-slide and the tryex-trot."

"Too strenuous for me," Jack said. "The last dance I learned was the bob-slop.

That seems like a thousand years ago."

Rainsford fiddled with his pipe and harumphed. "It probably was, too."

A number of men had gravitated to the conversation group around Juan Jimenez-since most of the women had gravitated there first.

A number of Fuzzies had joined the group as well-the intellectual elements, led by Little Fuzzy and Diamond.

"That's a pretty ambitious project you and Gerd are talking about," Lieutenant Commander Pancho Ybarra said. He was the Navy psychologist who had first cracked the problem of Fuzzy sapience. And, he was Liaison Officer between the Navy and the CZC Native Affairs Commission, and anyone else who was active in issues pertaining to Fuzzies. "A permanent building for Fuzzy Institute,

expanded medical research and educational programs.

Where do you think you're going to get the money?"

"From the Fuzzies, if they approve of our plans," Gerd said.

Pancho snorted. "From the Fuzzies? Fuzzies are about as interested in money as a Khooghra is in Sunday."

"That's perfectly true," Juan said, "but you're forgetting one thing. That rich sunstone strike on the Fuzzy Reservation has been leased back to the CZC, who are paying a royalty of four hundred fifty sols per carat for the privilege of working the diggings."

"And they aren 't going to piddle along cracking a ton or two of flint a day, like an independent," Gerd chimed in. "We figure that in a year the Native Affairs Commission and the ZNPF, and Fuzzy Institute will all be paying their own way, without any handouts from the Government."

"That must make Governor Rainsford happy," someone said.

"He's overjoyed," Gerd said. "According to the CZC staff study, we figure we'll be able to continue expanding our research into the NFMp problem and still break ground for Fuzzy Institute in a year and a half to two years from now." "I'm still convinced that you can't crack the NFMp problem," Ernst Mallin said. "I've looked at the whole ton of studies, experiments, and conclusions drawn and I throw in with the camp that says NFMp production evolved in Fuzzies to meet some long since disappeared genetic requirement-and, once developed, couldn't be un-developed. It left them in a genetic dead end with a negative population growth. There's ample precedent already proven on several planets, Terra included. Fuzzies are going to become extinct, and that's that."

Little Fuzzy drew thoughtfully on the tiny pipe he liked to smoke, and frowned. At least, it looked like a frown. Juan Jimenez couldn't be sure of it, because he'd never seen a Fuzzy make that kind of face before. Diamond was doing it, too.

Partly to inject his own opinion as a mammologist against Mallin's as a psychologist, and partly to not sound so gloomy in front of the few Fuzzies present, Juan dove into the technical conversation pool. "Ernst," he said,

"don't be such a doom-croaker. Your field is psychosciences, anyway."

"I still have an M.D.," Mallin chided.

"Yes, yes," Juan said. "I 'm not questioning your schooling. Oh, I even used to agree with that theory. I've seen what Gerd and Ruth and Lynne have been doing since then, though. They're making steady gains on isolating the NFMp hormone and pinpointing its function in Fuzzy metabolism. When you can get that kind of information about anything produced in a mammal's body, you can find a way to chemically counteract it."

Diamond was tugging at Juan's sleeve. "Unka Won," he said. "What's a mam'a'?"

Juan explained the taxonomic class Mammalia to him. Diamond nodded.

"Thank you," he said. He propped his chin on a tiny fist and looked serious, as though inviting Juan to continue.

' "That's why I 'm one hundred percent behind Gerd's plans for a real Fuzzy Institute. They've been able to accomplish wonders over at Holloway Station

under much less than optimum laboratory standards. Ruth said it best: a tiny spot of light-what we really know about Fuzzies-surrounded by a twilight zone of what we think, mostly erroneous, probably. Beyond that, the dark of ignorance, full of surprises.

' "There's a whole new science here, just about Fuzzies. In acquiring that body of knowledge, I'm convinced we'll also whip the NFMp problem along the way."

"I agree with you, Juan," Liana Bell said. "From what little I know, it seems that there must also be a ton of things we can teach Fuzzies."

"That's right," Juan said. "Why, within twenty years, you'll see Fuzzies graduating from Terran universities."

"Oh, piddle!" Mallin snapped.

"And why not?" Liana said, rather abruptly, surprised at herself for disagreeing with her superior.

"Thorans are doing the same thing. They aren't as intelligent as Fuzzies, so far as I know. And, our studies indicate they have adapted very well to Terran social conventions and attitudes."

"With one exception," someone said.

Liana laughed, rather musically, Juan thought. "That's true," she said,"but it's a minor point. The Thorans believe in Great Ghu the Grandfather God the same way I believe in environment-conditioned responses."

"There's a summary tape on my desk right now," Juan said, "from the Xeno-Sciences Institute. It draws qualitative comparisons between all eight extraterrestrial races. It says Fuzzies are the most intelligent-hands down.