Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

The maitre-d' did not turn a hair at the sight of a Fuzzy in the company of a heavy-set gentleman and a good looking strawberry blonde. His establishment had been graced by the presence of non-Terran diners before, and its resources were available to the task of dealing with any requirements any of them might have. So was the maitre-d'. He was a huge African who had more the look about him of a bouncer in a Junktown dive, but was so at ease in his tuxedo and so in place with his environment that he seemed not at all out of place in this luxurious dining room.

He picked up three scarlet menus and stepped from behind his station. "Your reservation, please, sir," he said. "Mr. Grego, I believe."

"Good evening, Walter," Grego said. He extinguished his cigarette in the stand next to the velvet roped archway. "We will be three for dinner."

Walter cleared his throat deferentially. "There is one problem, Mr. Grego," he said.

Grego's eyebrows shot up. "If you mean the Fuzzy-" he began.

Walter held up a placating hand. "That, sir, is not a problem at all.

Alfredo's is accustomed to an occasional non-Terran-and we have no prejudice in the matter at all."

"Then what's the difficulty?" Grego asked.

"Well, Mr. Grego," Walter said, "the rules of the house are totally inflexible in one respect."

"And that is-?" Grego began to bristle.

Diamond sidled up to Christiana and she placed a protecting hand down over his back.

Walter looked uncomfortable. "During the entire history of this room, Mr.

Grego, no male creature has ever been seated unless he was wearing a neckcloth. Your guest does not have one."

"Well, for Ghu 's sake!" Grego exploded. "I 'm sure you keep a couple around in the checkroom to avoid this kind of embarrassment to people who are not

aware of the rule."

Diamond tugged at Grego's trouser leg, a sad look upon his face. "Pappy Vic,"

he said. "We go home?"

"Indeed we do, sir," Walter said, "but I cannot see how a neckcloth designed for a Terran will be of any service to a being who is only sixty or so centimeters tall."

Grego tapped his foot impatiently. He was not a man who was accustomed to problems he could not dissolve with his own mental assets.

Diamond again tugged at Grego's trouser leg, his face sadder than before.

"Just a minute," Christiana said quietly.

She picked up Diamond and seated him on the counter at the maitre-d's station.

She placed her index finger under his chin and lifted it up. "Now, hold still, Diamond," she said. She reached behind her head and pulled loose the black velvet ribbon that was holding her hair. As her strawberry blonde hair fell loose about her shoulders, she shook it free and unfurled the ribbon. Then, stooping slightly, she pulled the ribbon around Diamond's neck, snugged it down, and tied it into a bow knot. "There;" she said, "not only a neckcloth, but a very formal one, at that."

She picked Diamond up and set him on his feet on top of the counter. "Take a look, Diamond," she said, as she turned him around to face the mirror behind the counter.

Victor Grego and Walter exchanged glances.

Diamond looked at himself in the mirror, registered broad approval, and then took each end of the little bow tie between a tiny thumb and index finger, snugging down the knot. "Hoksu," he said simply. Then he turned and hugged Christiana, although his little arms only went about half way around her.

Walter raised his hand, displaying the appropriate number of fingers to indicate the waiter's station. A young man in gray semi-formals began bustling toward them.

What a remarkable young woman, Grego was thinking.

The two Marines were dirty and dusty. Sweat streaks stained the front of their shirts and spread down along their backs, as well as under their arms.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Phil Helton said intently.

One of them puffed noisily on the cigarette he had just lighted. "We're sure,

"he said. "And, we've got chips in the pola-pack to prove it."

The other Marine spread out the photo images on the table in front of Helton.

A mild breeze flapped the tent they were sitting under.

Helton looked, then stroked his chin. He thought for a moment, then looked back at the two technicians. "Okay," he said, "you guys go get something to eat, right now. Tell me. We'll leave for Holloway Station at 0100.

Chapter 25

Jack Holloway rolled over in bed and cuddled the nine-millimeter automatic

into his fist.

"Now what the hell-" he grumbled.

There was a furious thrumming of fists on the front door of his bungalow. Jack looked out the window at the brightening sky. It was just about dawn. ' "They better have a warrant," he muttered to himself as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

He crept through the darkened house to where he could see the front door.

There were three Marines there. That made no sense to him, until he recognized Phil Helton.

Holloway opened the door, the pistol still hanging in one hand. He yawned.

"Morning, Phil," he said.

Helton was excited. He motioned for the two Marines to wait outside, then stepped into Holloway's living room as Jack waved him inside with the pistol.

"Now, what's this all about?" Holloway asked as he shambled into the kitchen and moved the coffee pot control to IM. "Coffee'11 be out in a minute, "he said. "Want some?"

That all happened so fast that Helton had no chance to reply. "Put your pants on, Jack, "he said, "while I wake up whoever you want to take with you. We need some Fuzzyologists-and fast."

Holloway was bemused. "Why, you could have given me a call on the screen, Phil. I'd be glad to send a couple of people up there. What's all this bugle-blowing about?"

"I couldn't put it on screen," Helton said. "We've been going through the interior of the ship, and we've found- remains. They're about a meter tall. To my uneducated eyes they look like mummified Fuzzies-except for the fact mat they're a little bit too big."

Holloway was suddenly wide awake. "Did you say inside the ship?" he snapped.

"I did," Helton replied.

"How in hell did they get in there?" Jack asked as he poured two cups of coffee. " . . . Wander in and get trapped when the avalanche buried the ship?"

Helton accepted one of the coffee mugs. He shrugged. "I don't know, Jack.

Hardware is my business. That's why we need some Fuzzyologists."

Holloway picked up his mug and went toward the communication screen. "I'll wake up Gerd and Ruth. They'll be the ones to figure it out."

"No." Helton held up a hand. "No transmissions- especially not on civilian screens. O'Bannon will have my ass if word of this gets out before we know what it's all about. We're on total scramble for communications. You tell me where their bungalow is; I'll go get them up."

Holloway looked at Helton curiously. "It doesn't seem to me that all this security is necessary, Phil," he said.

Phil Helton gave Holloway a flat stare. "Better to use it and not need it than to need it and not have used it," he said. "Now, where's the van Riebeek bungalow?"

Holloway was a little startled to see that the two Marines with Helton were parked outside the front door of his bungalow, at parade rest, and at sling arms.

He pointed across Holloway's Run toward Fuzzy Institute. "You go across the footbridge, there, and-you see the bungalow just to the left of the big building-behind the featherleaf tree?"

Helton nodded. "Okay. Remember, Jack-no screen calls," he said. "Heusted, you come with me. Strauss, you stay here."

Heusted fell into step behind Helton. "Say, Phil," Holloway called after him.

"Is it okay if I give this guy a cup of coffee?"

Helton grinned back over his shoulder. "Sure," he said. "He won't bite."