Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

". . . and so, today, local police agencies are seeking the arrest of Hugo Ingermann on a charge of attempted murder. Now, for a live report, we switch to news director Franklin Young at the scene of the crime."

". . . Thank you, Hal. With me this morning here at Pequod Plaza is police Public Information Officer, Lieutenant Grisha Kodoulian. We are standing directly in front of a public screen kiosk where a young woman was gunned down late last night. Lieutenant Kodoulian, how can the police be certain that this crime was actually committed by Hugo Ingermann?"

"We have," said a rather rumpled-looking young man in plain clothes, "a statement from the victim, who is alive, but still in critical condition, and we have an eyewitness to the actual shooting itself."

"And who might that be?" Young asked, although he knew perfectly well what the answer would be.

"I'm not in a position to comment on that at this time, Frank," Kodoulian said." We have the witness in protective custody at the present time, and a police guard on the victim until she's out of danger."

"Then you're certain of a conviction?" Young said.

Kodoulian smiled. "Assuming we can arrest Mr. Ingermann, yes, I think the Colonial Attorney General expects he can get a conviction."

"Thank you Lieutenant Kodoulian," Young said. "We have been talking with police lieutenant Grisha Kodoulian, at the scene of last night's murder attempt in Junktown. This is Franklin Young for Zarathustra News Service. Back to you, now, Hal."

"Thank you, Frank. And now, here with the weather, is ZNS's own meteorologist, Doctor George."

Christiana appeared in the doorway, pushing up the sleeves of Grego's too-large spare robe she was wearing. "What was that?" she asked.

Grego smiled. "The weatherman, "he replied. "I like the way he throws himself into his work."

She came over behind Grego's chair and put her arms around his neck from behind, kissing him on top of the head. "You're not so bad, yourself. Hungry?"

she said, nuzzling around his ear.

"Ravenously," Grego said and took a sip of his coffee.

"Don't worry," Christiana said. "I'll get you to work on time, but I want you well-fed. You have to keep up your strength."

Grego leaned back in the chair and kissed her again.

She stood up straight, again. "Breakfast is almost served, my dear," she said,"but if you distract me very much more, I just may pounce upon you and let it burn."

"Is Diamond up and about?" he asked. "I haven't seen him at all this morning.

He's usually jumping up and down on my stomach at dawn."

"Fuzzies are very discreet creatures," she said in a tone of mock-seriousness.

"Actually, he's out playing on the terraces somewhere. Later on, I'm going to take him over to the Pendarvis's. He's gotten very^keen about teaching Pierrot and Columbine the fine points of eating with silverware, and Claudette Pendarvis is quite charmed about the whole project." Grego frowned. "Does he-?" he began.

"-know about us?" She finished the question. "Of course he does. You can't keep secrets from a Fuzzy, Victor. I talked with him while you were in the shower, although I didn't really need to explain. He understands that Hagga are much like Fuzzies-they prefer privacy when mating."

Grego suddenly sat bolt-upright in his chair. "Mating? I hadn't quite thought of it as-mating!"

"Well, Fuzzies do, and Diamond does too, darling, so we might as well get used to it."

He was about to reply when the private communications screen chimed. "Now, what the Nifflheim," he said irritably and motioned Christiana to move out of the pickup range.

She made cooking motions with her hands and blew him a kiss as she returned to the kitchen, shoving up the sleeves of her robe.

Grego opened the access key. Hmmmmm. Have to do something about getting her one of those that fits, I suppose.

The image cleared and became that of Harry Steefer. "Good morning, Victor," he said. "Sorry to disturb you before you get to the office."

"Quite all right, Harry," Grego said. "What's up? Have you picked up Ingermann yet?"

"Not yet, sir," Steefer replied, "but he can't get out of Mallorysport. Ian Ferguson has the city buttoned up tighter than a new airlock, and Al Earlie and I have a cop on every esplanade and escalator in town. I expect they 're all equipped with the wanted photo by now, and we have detectives combing Junktown; we're putting the pressure on all his known associates and watching his haunts."

"Mmmmmm," Grego said. "How about a reward? The Company will put up forty thousand sols. I'm going to be talking with Gus Brannhard and Ben Rainsford later today. I '11 see what I can do about getting a similar amount posted by the Colonial Government."

"Rainsford'11 rant and rave about the money," Steefer said. "You know how expense conscious he is."

Grego smiled. "Yes, Harry," he said,"I know that. I also know that Gus has been trying to sink his fangs into Ingermann 's throat for a long time. I '11

just bring it up, and let Gus do the convincing. That's my department. In the meantime, get hold of Max Fane and see what the Marshal's Office can work out with Judge Pendarvis about immunity from prosecution to the rat who turns Ingermann in. That's your department."

Steefer stroked his chin. "Yes, yes," he said. "I can see that. Eighty

thousand sols and amnesty ought to get one of Ingermann's pals to blow the whistle on him."

"Any other developments?" Grego asked.

"Well," Steefer said, "we've still got the two Marines in the bucket. So far, no one has showed any interest in getting them sprung."

"I '11 get around and have a chat with them; might not make it today, though.

Have Nifflheim's own itinerary today."

Steefer grinned. "No rush, Mr. Grego," he said. "Bert Eggers is staying on for a few hours after his duty shift. He's not real fond of Marines to begin with, and he takes a fiendish delight in interrogating suspects who are hung over."

Grego chuckled. "Anything else?"

Steefer's grin disappeared. He inclined his head and frowned. "You remember our man on Beta?" he asked.

Grego nodded. "Did he get anything yet?"

"He got nailed," Steefer said.

"What do you mean?" Grego asked.

"I mean," Steefer said, "that he got caught. George Lunt has him in jail at Hollo way Station."

"Mmmmmm," Grego said. Then, "Ghu! Harry. We've got to get him out of there before they can sweat him down."

Steefer shrugged. "I'm doing what I can, Mr. Grego. They've got to turn him loose tomorrow-I don't think they've really got a charge they can hold him on.

But, under the-well-the circumstances, I can't bring any real pressure to bear."

Grego was silent for a moment. "Well, do what you can, Harry, and see that he's de-briefed before he talks to anyone here-especially the damned news media. We will, of course, lodge the stiffest possible written protest with the Native Affairs Commission."

"Holloway won't like that," Steefer said, "and neither will George Lunt."

"Well, then, they'll just have to lump it, won't they?"

"Uh-yes, sir," Steefer said.

Grego caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye of Christiana standing in the kitchen door, with a worried look on her face. At first he thought that meant breakfast was starting to get a little black and crisp around the edges, then he realized why she was listening. "Harry," he said, "how 's Miss Ramsey doing? Anything new?"

"I talked with the doctor this morning," Steefer replied. "She's officially not out of danger yet, but he says she's young and strong, doing nicely, and should pull through with no complications."

"Good, Harry," Grego said. "I'm very pleased to hear that. I'll get back to you sometime before lunch." He blanked the screen and got out of the chair.