Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

"Gwen!" Grego barked. "Gwen! Are you all right?"

She reappeared on Grego's screen, leaning against the left wing of the Kiosk, with her arms folded across" her chest. Her face was contorted with pain.

"Gwen!" Grego said again. There was no point in asking if she was all right.

The grayness of her face and the gasping, labored breathing made it plain she was not. "Where are you?" Grego asked. "I '11 get an ambulance car there at once. What happened?"

Her eyes rolled back and she began to slowly slide down the kiosk's baffle panel.

"Gwen!" Grego said, loudly and sharply. "Don't pass out on me! Tell me where you are!" He felt so damned helpless, but he knew he had to keep her attention focused on his voice.

She reached out with her right hand and, with a snatching motion, grabbed the hush-hood bar on the other wing of the kiosk. Blood was soaking through her

dress just above the right breast. She pulled herself back into a full standing position and braced herself between the two wings of the kiosk. Her face was contorted with pain, and then she coughed uncontrollably for a moment. She shook her head, as if to clear her vision, spat something at her feet, and leaned close to the pickup. "Ingermann," she rasped hoarsely, "ifs INGERMANN!" Then her grip on the hush-hood bar loosened and she slid down out of the pickup's range.

"Gwen!" Grego shouted. "Gwen!" No answer, no sound of movement. His mind was racing. As long as the circuit was open, he could have the call traced. He sprang to his feet to do just that, then stopped.

From one side of the pickup area, a hand reached into the transmission frame.

The screen went blank.

Chapter 38

It was quiet in the conference room that adjoined Alex Napier's office. It was quiet because Commodore Napier liked it that way. He liked for everything to be quiet. He did not always get his way.

Regardless of what time it was anywhere else in the cosmology, it was 2000

hours on Xerxes. Xerxes ran on Fleet Standard Time, which was the same as Galactic Standard Time, in universal use by all mariners.

Colonel Tom McGraw was the last officer to come in from the passageway. He shut the hatch behind him and folded his lanky frame into his chair. He was tall, rail-thin, with close-cut gray hair, and commanded the Marine brigade that was attached to Xerxes Base. There was a small spot on his chin where a lipstick smudge had not been totally scrubbed off-hardly noticeable. Alex Napier noticed it.

Napier spoke from the head of the long oval table. "Gentlemen, you have probably been hearing some scuttlebutt to the effect that electronic gear of presently unknown origin has been found on Northern Beta Continent in conjunction with the wrecked hypership we are excavating there. For once, the scuttlebutt is correct."

Everyone chuckled obligingly.

"This material," Napier went on, "has been impounded under Priority One and is being brought to Xerxes by Jim O'Bannon and Master Gunnie Helton on The Ranger. That vessel will arrive early tomorrow afternoon, our time.

Accompanying them will be Dr. van Riebeek and his wife- uh-the other Dr. van Riebeek, who have been studying the Fuzzies for something over a year now.

Pancho Ybarra is coming up from Mallorysport and is due to arrive tomorrow morning. There will also be a couple of Fuzzies in the van Riebeek party.

Liaison Officer-Commander Ybarra-the Navy's only MOS-official Fuzzy Watcher, as some say- will divide the escort duties for the civilians and the Fuzzies between himself and my special aide, Lieutenant Gilbert." He waved his hand to identify Moshe Gilbert in the event someone might not know who he was.

"You will notice," Napier continued, "that several staff officers are not here. That is because the work to be done has nothing to do with their sections. I want the entire matter kept as quiet as possible until we know pretty well what we have, here. I'm not imposing any security restrictions on this, but neither do I expect any one of you, or your subordinates, to engage in social conversation on the subject until I pass the word. Captain Greibenfeld will conduct the balance of the briefing. Connie. . ."

The Exec picked up a file folder and a yellow, ruled note pad and got to his feet. He moved to the lectern in one comer of the room. Moshe Gilbert sat down at the projection console in the comer facing him and threw a map of North Beta onto the screen. Greibenfeldharrumphedpolitely and began.

Grego paused for just a second. The shock of what he had just seen soaked in as his mind rapidly catalogued the information that could be useful. He lunged forward at the communications screen and punched out a combination-playing the call board with his whole hand, instead of his usual

one-digit-at-a-time-with-the-index-finger method.

The screen cleared to reveal a Company police sergeant with his feet up on his desk-who was nothing if not astonished to see the purposeful-looking face of the Company Manager-in-Chief glaring out of his comm screen. He jerked his feet off the desk as though it were hot and cinched up his neckcloth's knot.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Grego," he said.

"Who's your watch captain?" Grego snapped.

"Uh-Captain Lansky, sir," the sergeant said.

"Put me through to him-instantly," Grego said.

"Yes, sir, " the sergeant replied briskly.

The screen image switched to that of Captain Lansky.

"Morgan," Grego said, "where's Chief Steefer? Right this minute?"

Lansky was almost as astonished as the sergeant. "Why, I imagine he's at home, Mr. Grego. Why?"

"Look on your locator log, man," Grego said. "This is important."

Lansky peered at something on his desk. "Yes, sir," he said, "he's at home.

Checked in from there at 2100 hours."

"Thank you, Morgan," Grego said. "No time to explain now. We'll be getting back to you."

An equally bewildered Chief Steefer appeared to be in the middle of getting ready for bed when Grego screened him.

"Listen carefully, Harry," Grego said. "I only have time to go over this once." He launched the information he had about Gwen; her first name, her physical description.

As Grego talked, Steefer was thinking, Ghu; what's all this fuss about some Junktown floozie? Mallorysport P.D. sweeps up a couple of them a week, drilled by person or persons unknown. Nifflheim, it's not even my jurisdiction. But he continued to dutifully make notes on the yellow pad in front of him.

"Okay?" Grego said.

Steefer nodded.

"Two things make this important, Harry. She was desperate to get in touch with Christiana. And, the last thing she said, when whoever it was shot her was-now get this- 'Ingermann. It's Ingermann.' "

It took Steefer about two seconds to get it. "I-think I see what you mean, Mr.

Grego. He may have really stepped in it this time."

"Ghu, I hope so," Grego said. "I fervently hope so."

"I'll make some calls from here and get the ball rolling right away," Steefer said.

"Right," Grego said. ' Then, you pull your pants back on and get down to fifteenth level. I want you to run this personally. Have the entire detective bureau drop what they're doing and stay on it till we find her-if it means looking behind every grimy door in Junktown. She may still be alive. At least that's what I'm hoping for."

"I'm on the way, Mr. Grego," Steefer said. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Grego said, "two things. I want you to have a detective go to Christiana's apartment and determine if she's there, and, if so, that she's all right. If she's not there; find her. They may be trying to get her, too.

We won't know until we can piece some more of this together. If she is there, have a man watch the place, but don't let her know about it. Your man is to report directly to me from the public screen in that building as soon as he has anything."