Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

Weisberg smiled across the bar at him. ' "That's all right," he said. "I'll take care of it and collect from him later."

Chapter 41

The Rev keyed the next item of data onto the screen. "We've had one hundred ninety-four arson fires this year, sixty-six in the past six weeks, and six last weekend," he said to the group of men in his office. ' "Things are starting to strain."

Emmet Taylor held up his index finger. "My cheese shop has been broken into twice this month," he said, "and they didn't even try to find money. They just stole some merchandise."

' "These crimes aren 't being committed by common thieves and footpads," Floyd Kalisher said. "These people are getting hungry."

"And there's no work for them," added Sam Quo.

Irv Schneider spoke up. "They're borrowing money like crazy in my pawnshop,"

he said, "on just about anything that can be carried. I know some of it is stolen, but there's no way to prove it-so I have to look over each situation individually."

"The saloon business has never been better," Dan O'Hara remarked. "The place is packed most of the time-but it's not a crowd that laughs and jokes and enjoys themselves. They mostly just sit and stare and mutter to each other."

"What's the government doing about this-if anything?" Mike Morgan asked.

The Rev shrugged. " As much as they can, from what I can tell," the Rev said.

"Governor Rainsford and Victor Grego both strike me as being decent, honest men-men who are caught in the middle. They're spread pretty thin. The police are spread pretty thin-"

"-And we're spread pretty thin," George Patterson interrupted. "Every centisol I have is plowed into my business. If that goes up, I'd have to go find a job to support my family."

"Except there are no jobs," Sam Quo repeated.

The aircar grounded quietly on the esplanade, then lifted off a few inches to adjust its position so the light from above would fall on the contragravity housing.

Hugo Ingermann still had a few henchmen he felt he could trust. He peered anxiously out the door. Good, good. Early in the evening. Hot, sticky, uncomfortable weather. There was a splendidly large crowd of people outdoors tonight. These were his friends; they wouldn't let the police get him.

He climbed out, carrying the audio pickup for the external hailing system, and hopped up on the contragravity housing. The esplanade lights shined down on him. "My . . . friends," he began, and the crowd started to accumulate in front of him.

As Ingermann spoke, another aircar proceeded slowly north through Mallorysport, keeping low to the ground and moving under the trees in the open spaces whenever possible. In it were three rough-looking men and an

accumulation of cataclysmite, incendiaries, and detonators. By the time it had wound its way to Mortgageville, Ingermann had the ever-increasing crowd in a very unhappy mood and was about to reveal how they could alleviate their sufferings.

Lolita Lurkin burst into the Rev's office. "Father, Father," she gasped.

Everyone in the room turned toward her. There was a bruise on her left cheekbone and tearstreaks on her dirty face.

The Rev got quickly to his feet and came around the desk to her."What is it, Lolita?" he asked anxiously."What is it?"

"It's Uncle Charley," she blurted out. "He's goin' crazy. I tried t' stop him, but he knocked me down the ramp."

The Rev frowned. "But why, child?"

"I don't know," she said. "He came runnin' in to get his gun. I asked him what was goin' on, and he said somethin' about we, was all going to be rich-and then he knocked me down and ran out, again." She started to cry. "I think he's goin' crazy."

The Rev turned back to the group. He sighed. "I guess we can knock off working on the list of aims and goals," he said. "Let's see if we can keep the hatch down on this."

The others were already moving toward the door.

"Lolita," The Rev said, "you go down to the dispensary and have them take a look at you. And, stay here until I get back."

Out on the esplanade, smoke was drifting low to the ground from several bonfires that had been lighted. The light from them flickered across Ingermann's face. There was a strange look in his eyes.

"Citizens of Zarathustra!" he shouted. "We are all- all-citizens of the Federation. Zarathustra is Federation territory; we its citizens. The Federation doesn't want you to be broke and without work, but the Colonial Government surely must; else they would do something about it. My friends, they haven't lifted a finger! All this while they are sitting on a deposit of sunstones out on Beta-them and Old Man Holloway!-that is huge beyond imagination!"

He paused, to assess the muttering of agreement. "What right," he said in measured tones, "has this damned jackleg government to tell us-its citizens-that we have no right to the comforts of life?" The sound of the hailer speakers echoed between the buildings. "My friends, there's enough for everyone. Why should we go without? Why should we break our backs to dig sunstones, when they're lying on Beta-waiting to be picked up?"

"Whatta we gonna do about it?" shouted a voice from the crowd.

Ingermann smiled, inhaling deeply. "Go out there and TAKE them!" he shrieked.

"NOW!"

There was a moment of silence. "Take the sunstones!" the crowd, which had just turned into a mob, chorused raggedly.

The people began to break up, milling about and running in every direction at

once-rushing home to get weapons and pile into anything they could put on contragravity.

The Rev found Charley Walker on the outskirts of the crowd, where he was gleefully jumping up and down. The Rev grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Charley!" he shouted above the din of voices. "This is crazy!"

Charley glared at him. "Gettin" rich ain't crazy!" he barked.

"Can't you see he's just using you?" The Rev shouted.

Charley's lip curled back from his upper teeth.

The Rev began to shake him by the shoulders, but he knew it was useless.

"Charley! Charley! Use your head!"

Charley hit him in the jaw with a roundhouse punch.

The Rev fell to the pavement and the crowd surged over him.

Already, aircars, boats, jeeps, work buses, cargo scows, and anything else that would fly, were beginning to rise in clumps from the shack-rows, jumbled old log buildings, and the low buildings that made up the old part of Mallorysport. Their running lights and bottom floods bathed the esplanade and all of Junktown in an eerie light.

When Harry Steefer screened him, Victor Grego was tossing a ball back to Diamond, who sprang at it as though it was something to eat. He had brought some papers from the office to go over, but decided to play with Diamond for a while. He hadn't spent as much time with Diamond lately as he might have, and Grego didn't want him to feel neglected. Christiana had gone to the hospital to visit Gwen. When she returned, they would have cocktails while Diamond watched his favorite bloodthirsty 'screenplay in the Fuzzy room, and then the three of them would have dinner together in the apartment. It would be a nice, quiet evening with everyone together.

When the screen chimed, Grego tossed the ball out onto the terrace through the open doors. Diamond galloped after it as fast as his little legs would carry him. -

"Yes, Harry," Grego said when the image cleared.

"Thought you ought to know, Victor," Steefer said. "Most of Junktown is in the air-in a bob-tailed fleet of civilian vehicles. They're heading for Beta to take all the sunstones they can lay their hands on."

Grego compressed his mouth. So, things had finally cracked open down there.

Well, a hot, uncomfortable night would be the time for it. "Do we know how this got started, Harry?" he asked.

"No one seems too sure, but the word is that Ingermann whipped the crowd into a mob frenzy," Steefer said.