Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

"Might be more than we can chew, Jack," George said. "I'm stretched pretty thin, now. We'll have to monitor that operation mighty close; make sure nobody goes sneaking off on his own inside the Reservation. Have to keep track of everything going in or out, watch that they don't bother any of the Fuzzies-that sort of thing."

"I know, George," Holloway said.

"Have to patrol the borders-tight electronic surveillance-be certain no one goes in or out except at our check-points. Take more men than I've got right now just to do that."

"I know, George," Holloway repeated. "Start working something up for me in the way of what you'll need, both men and equipment, if we have crews up there cracking- say-three hundred tons of flint a month."

"Jack-we can't afford it!"

Holloway nodded. "We can't, but the Company can. The CZC is going to reimburse us for what we spend policing their leasehold."

Major Lunt chuckled. "I see. Do they know it yet?"

"No," Holloway said, "but Grego will see the wisdom of it once it's explained to him. In the long run, it's a toss-up as to whether it's cheaper for the Company Police do the job or for the Company to hire us to do it. Besides, I won't grant the lease unless our own people are specified to do the law enforcement.

"Grego knows a good thing when he sees it. His bottom line won't be much different at the end of the year. This deal will be good for the Company, good for the Fuzzies, and good for the Government-all the way around."

"Okay," George agreed. "111 get something together that you can take to Grego-maybe not down to the last paper clip, but in general terms of how much it's going to cost."

"Good," Holloway said. "Grego won't say yes or no right away. He'll take the breakdown to his own Company Police Chief first-have Harry Steefer look over the figures to see whether we're gouging the Company."

He turned to leave, then added a question. "Today, George?"

Lunt nodded. "I imagine so."

"Hokay, bizzo," Holloway said, lapsing into Lingua Fuzzy. "How about bringing it over to the house-right around cocktail time. That way we can talk it over without being interrupted by more than four or five screen calls."

After Mr. Commissioner Holloway had left, George sat down at his desk and sighed; not in aversion to this new task, but in the realization that he was mentally waving goodbye to any immediate chance of getting rid of Lieutenant Paine and his Marines.

I've got to get Ahmed back over here, he thought. It's very good public relations to have Captain Ahmed Khadra, Chief of Detectives, ZNPF, acting as the Mallorysport liaison with the Company Police, and the Constabulary, and the Mallorysport P.D., and all that, but I've got to have a strong Exec over here if we're going into another expansion phase. He'll just have to set the date with Sandra, get hitched, and bring her over here permanently.

Then, I've got to start getting the manpower strength up-send John over to Mallorysport and goose up the recruiting office-and beef up my training program with more instructors and cadre sergeants, scrounge up some more uniforms and equipment, and. . . .

Chapter 8

Victor Grego sat in the lawn chair on his penthouse apartment's terrace and thought. He leaned back, with his eyes closed, and thought.

To look at him, one would think he was a gentle, heavy-set man who was dozing in the sun on his day off. One would not immediately think that this man was the Manager-in-Chief of the Zarathustra Company or that he was hard at work.

One might suppose that running a colonial company which did about a quarter of a billion sols in gross annual business was little more than presiding over luncheon meetings with subordinate executives and reading reports.

That was what one would think if one went to work each day, worked one's shift, and then went home-conveniently leaving the job at the office.

Victor Grego's office was inside his head, and he carried it with him night and day.

The meat-packing plants on Delta Continent were working around the clock, now.

With all this influx of population, there was a constant and heavy demand for prepared and packaged foodstuffs of all kinds. Not only was mat a blessing for the general profit picture, but it kept the supervisors so busy they didn't have time to worry about the Company losing its charter or to pester the Manager-in-Chief with minor problems.

The agreement with Governor Rainsford's Colonial Government that allowed the Company to mine on that rich sunstone deposit inside the Fuzzy Reservation was going to work out all right, too-no matter if it did cost a hefty royalty for the privilege. The continued input of sunstones owned by the Company would keep the Company in a tough position which virtually amounted to control of sunstone prices. That had been an early horror that haunted Grego right after the Fuzzy Trial; one hundred million sols in the sunstone vault combined with the prospect of a free market in sunstones could have badly eroded the Company's worth if a gang of prospectors had gotten together and formed a co-operative to sell directly to someone like the Couperin Cartel-who had the money to drive down the buying price and drive up the selling price by controlling inventories.

The private communication screen chimed softly from inside the apartment.

Grego's eyes snapped open and he got to his feet to answer it, casting a glance toward where three Fuzzies were laying out an intricate pattern of colored tiles and plastic rods.

As he suspected, the caller was Colonial Governor Ben Rainsford. Ben had left off his own two Fuzzies, Flora and Fauna, to spend the afternoon with Grego's Diamond. Diamond was very happy with Pappy Vic, but he did get lonesome for the company of other Fuzzies. Have to do something about that one of these days.

"Of course, Governor," Grego was saying to the image in the screen-a rumpled little man with bristling red whiskers who still wore bush clothes, even though he was the chief executive of a planetary government. "1730 will be quite convenient. Perhaps you 'd care to join me in a cocktail if you can spare the time."

"I'd be delighted," Ben Rainsford said. "In fact there's something I think we should chat about, and this will be a good opportunity to talk."

Grego bid Rainsford good-day and switched off the screen. He chuckled to himself as he returned to the terrace. How times change, he thought. When Fuzzy business started, Rainsford wanted nothing so much as to nail my skin to the fence and use it for target practice.

He stopped on the terrace, stretched and yawned, then looked down the wide valley below Mallorysport. Clouds were rolling up from the horizon. It looked like rain.

Just as the first large drops of rain splatted down onto the terrace, the doorway chimed and Grego admitted Ben Rainsford. The two men exchanged greetings and some small talk. Then Grego turned toward the terrace and motioned for Rainsford to follow him. "Before the rain really gets going, I want you to take a look at what the kids have been doing," he said.

As they stepped out into the afternoon light, which was now dimmed by the overcast, a fork of lightning split the sky, followed by the roll of thunder marching up the valley.

The Fuzzies looked up at the sky, decided it was really going to rain, and trotted toward the open terrace doors.

"Come on, Pappy Vic. Do-bizzo," Diamond said, "Bizzo; fazzu. Get fur all wet."

"Hokay, Diamond," Grego said. "So jash-ah; jos Flora and Fauna. I'll just show Unka Ben this pretty thing."

Rainsford stooped to get a better look at the design, which the three Fuzzies had created, paying no attention to the big raindrops which were making dark spots on his khaki jacket.

"Well?" he said to Grego. He spread his hands, then put them back on his knees. "What's unusual about it?"