Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

"Yes, Leslie; yes I would," Jimenez said. "I had to juggle around a cocktail date to get this stuff over here." He wanted to get that one in. He hadn't been Director of Science Center all that long and it showed a certain devotion to the Company. When they were comfortably situated in the living room, Jimenez opened the packet and read over the main points which he had already highlighted on the printout that afternoon in his office. He laid down the sheaf of paper on the coffee table. "That's all the data we have on it at Science Center," he said. "I think I see what you're driving at, Victor. The postulates of Garrett's Theorem indicate the disturbing notion mat Fuzzies may not be native to Zarathustra. There's utterly no evidence to support such an idea, though. . ."

"I knew it!" Grego interrupted. He smacked the table with his fist, hard enough to make the nibblements bowl jump about a centimeter off the surface.

Leslie Coombes pursed his lips. "Knew what?" he asked in an irritated tone.

Grego beamed. "Don't you get the drift? All this crap - about the North Beta Excavations . . . If the wrecked spaceship story is true, and // Garrett's Theorem is true, and if Fuzzies aren't native to Zarathustra, then that wrecked ship might be how they got here."

Jimenez sipped at his drink. "That's all a little preposterous, Victor," he said.

Grego pierced him with a gaze. "So was hyperdrive-five hundred years ago," he said evenly.

"Now, now, chaps," Coombes remarked. "We're not arguing a court case or anything."

"I'm glad you brought that up, Leslie," Grego said, "because I was just about to. Leslie; do you know if Garrett's Theorem has ever been used as evidence in a court case?" Coombes chuckled. "I doubt it, Victor. It's only a theory."

Grego was deadly serious. "Just the same," he said, "I want you to check it out thoroughly in case law. Find out if it's ever been rajged as any kind of evidence in a court case."

Leslie Coombes averted his eyes. "I'll look into it first thing tomorrow," he said.

Jimenez took another sip of his drink and fetched some nibblements for himself. He had never seen Victor Grego in such a state. "Victor," he said hesitantly, "this is only a matter of speculation on the part of an obscure scientist. Why all the excitement?"

Grego sloshed the brandy in his snifter irritably. "If we can mount a legal action which cites case law involving Garrett's Theorem," he said, "we may stand a chance of getting the Company's charter back. Don't you see?" He looked around the table, seeking a glimmer that the other two men seemed to follow his line of reasoning.

Leslie Coombes was nervous. "Victor, "he said, "even if there is case law precedent on-ah-Garrett's Theorem, we haven't got anything resembling a chance of winning such a suit. There just isn't enough evidence that we can prove."

Grego frowned deeply. "We don't have to prove a con-founded thing, Leslie," he said. "All we have to do is-I believe the phrase in your business is-'raise a reasonable doubt' in the minds of a jury. The case will stay in the courts for years, anyway. In the meantime, maybe we can get some of the Company's assets unfrozen and start showing a profit again."

"I can see that," Jimenez said thoughtfully. "Why, the expert testimony alone will eat up hundreds of hours."

"You see?" Grego asked triumphantly. 'It will buy us some time. While it's all churning around in the legal system, new information may come to light which will help us. On the other hand, it may hurt us. But, at least we'll be doing something. We can say that we've done something-and sooner or later we'll have to be able to say that, because sooner or later somebody from the Board of Directors is going to come out here with a tar-bucket and a feather pillow and want to know why we've been carrying the Colonial Government with Company funds."

"And sitting on our hands while we do it," Jimenez added.

"Precisely," Grego said.

Coombes stroked his long, aristocratic jaw. "Hmmmmm," he said. "There're good points to what you say. But after I've done the check on case law in my computer, I'd like to talk to Fred Pendarvis and see how he would feel about

such a case."

"No!" Grego said emphatically. "Judge Pendarvis is exactly the man I want to try the case. The law is his religion. If anyone talks to him about it before we file, he'll disqualify himself from sitting. After it's on the docket-and it will be onhis docket-we can confer in chambers. That's the time to find out how he feels."

Jimenez was looking at his watch. A smile flickered over Grego's face. "Got a date, Juan?" he asked.

Jimenez looked up quickly.

Coombes turned his thin features in Grego's direction, with the half-amused expression he always wore. "He said something about that when he got here," he said.

Jimenez looked pained. He was being teased about Liana and he knew it, but he knew it was only teasing.

"Well, no matter," Grego said. "I think we've done about all there is to be done for the moment. We'll get back on this as soon as Harry Steefer's people come up with something we can put some weight behind about this hyper-ship thing."

Grego glanced up at the readout on the wall. "Besides," he said, "Christiana will be bringing Diamond home from Government House any time now." He got to his .feet. "Anyone for a refill before we break up?" "I've got to be going,"

Jimenez said. "I'll have just a splash with you," Coombes said, "until Miss Stone arrives."

No sooner were they comfortably situated in the living room than Christiana did arrive with Diamond. Grego leaped to his feet and took her wrap.

Leslie Coombes was bemused. This was the only occasion he could recall when he had ever seen Victor Grego rise to greet one of his own employees.

As the screen cleared, a young man in gray semi-formals looked out of it at Ivan Bowlby. For a moment, Bowlby did not recognize him. Then he said, "Good evening, Anthony."

"Hello, Mr. Bowlby," Anthony said. "I thought I'd give you a call before the dinner-hour rush started."

Bowlby concealed his irritation. "What is it, Anthony?"

"Well," Anthony said, "when you helped me out of that bind over the chuckleweed last year, I told you I'd keep my eyes open for you. I think I may have something that would interest you. I don't know."

"Yes?" Bowlby said.

"You remember that prostie you put out of business in Junktown?" Then he added quickly, "The one I helped you out on?"

"Yes. "Bowlby said.

"She was in here a couple nights ago for dinner-with Victor Grego." Anthony paused to let the remark soak in.

Bowlby sat straight up in his chair. "Are you sure?" he asked sharply.

"Sure I'm sure," Anthony said. "They sat on my station-and there was a Fuzzy with them. They was all very friendly."

"How do you think she's connected with Grego?" Bowlby asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I gotta go now. Walter's looking at me with the bad eye." Anthony broke the connection.

Ivan Bowlby sat back in his chair and peered at the ceiling. Whatever it is, he thought, she's connected with Grego. Ingermann has been foaming at the mouth to get an information source inside the CZC, and I think-if she's trying to turn straight-that it shouldn't be too big a job to persuade her to help out. Hmmmmm. I think I can turn this one into ready cash.

Phil Helton jumped down from the edge of the ramp about two feet from the bottom. He had two pair of coveralls slung over his arm. "Here," he said to the van Riebeeks. "Slip these on. It's pretty dirty and dusty in there."

"What if we get lost?" Ruth asked as they both started shucking on the coveralls.

Helton smiled. "Can't happen," he said. "We've strung engineer's tape to the locations of the remains. Just follow it in and follow it out."