Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

"Hey! You^re not supposed to be up and around," Stag-well admonished.

Jack Hollo way gave him a haughty stare. "I'm the Commissioner," he said.

"It's my job to be 'up and around,' as you put it."

George Lunt had set up a command post at the approximate spot where Stagwell drew his battle line and his ZNPF cops were systematically disarming and making arrest reports on the members of the mob that were still on their feet.

George was wondering where in the world he was going to find detention space for all of them until he could turn them over to Max Fane and the Central Colonial Courts for arraignment.

Holloway was squatting on his heels next to the field table where George Lunt was processing paperwork. "Did you find Ingermann yet?" he asked, for perhaps the hundredth time.

Stagwell caught up with him there."Jack, dammit, you 're under the care of my medical officer. Now, will you get back to the hospital tent and lie down?"

"I will not!" Holloway said. "I feel fine-and I have things to do." He waved his broken arm defiantly in the sling.

"Oh, hell," Stagwell said. "I wish Ingermann had shot you in the leg. At least

we could take your crutches away."

Holloway turned back to Major Lunt. "Now, George," he said, "what about Ingermann?"

George Lunt spread his hands. "What can I say, Jack? He's not among the dead.

He's not among the wounded; and he's not among the prisoners. He's copped out on foot and hit the woods. He'll get hungry, sooner or later, and we'll get him. Now, go lie down, like Dick says. You look all feverish to me."

"Dammit all to Nifflheim!" Holloway said. And he said some other things, more profane, as he tried to hold down the butt stock of his rifle with his forearm while trying to chamber a fresh round one-handed.

"What are you trying to do, now?" George said. He took the rifle away from Jack and slammed the heavy bolt of the Sleeker back, then forward, chambering a fresh round. He handed the weapon back to Holloway. "Now, what do you think you're doing?" he asked again.

Jack stood up. "I'm going to find that fat little son of a khooghra," he said.

"He's bound to have left tracks in this mud, and I'm going to find him. He got a whole bunch of poor, dumb slobs killed-whose only crime was being out of work and hungry-and I'm going to find him." He sloshed off over the muddy ground, in a still-slight drizzle of rain, toward the deep woods.

George Lunt got to his feet and started to say something, then let it be. He knew Jack Holloway well enough to know that there wasn 't much point in reasoning with him when he was in this kind of mood.

The dawn in Mallorysport was a dingy gray, partly from the overcast and the light rain, and partly from the pall of smoke that still hung in the heavy air after the fires in Mortgageville had been put out.

There were puddles of water on the weed-infested esplanade where the aircar set down. Hugo Ingermann, wearing now-dry-but-wrinkled clothes hopped out of the side hatch, then leaned back into the aircar to profusely shake the hand of his rescuer. "I won't forget you for this, "he said. "I promise you, I'll see that you're taken care of very well indeed-just as soon as this blows over. It'll blow over, you know. These things always do. And when it does, you'll be on my team-and on my payroll. I promise you that. Oh, yes. They've got Hugo Ingermann down right now, but he's not out. You'll see."

The man in the hat, behind the controls of the aircar, smiled cryptically, but his colorless eyes showed no emotion. "I wish you the very best, Mr.

Ingermann," the man in the hat said. "But please don't feel that you're obligated to me."

"Oh.butlam, "Ingermann said. "I never forget a debt of gratitude. That's the way I am about gestures of friendship. You'll see. I won't forget this."

"I sincerely hope not," the man in the hat said. "Be seeing you." He pulled the side hatch shut and watched for a moment as Hugo Ingermann ran off through the puddles of rainwater on the esplanade.

Chapter 45

Joe Holderman stood, again, looking out the window at the drill yard, sipping coffee from a white porcelain mug with no handle. He heard footsteps behind him. 'Too many rats in the box, Jordy," he said. "Too many rats iri the box."

Jordan Nunez threw down a stack of printout on the watch commander's desk.

"Dammit to Niffiheim, Joe," he said. "What are you doing back here? You're not on duty station again till 1200 today."

Holderman didn't move his gaze from the drill yard. "Can't sleep, Jordy," he said. "Too many rats in the box. I can see it coming. We're going to have to cut down a lot of poor bastards whose only crime is that they can't make a living. Too many rats in the box."

Nunez hooked his thumbs into his hip pockets. "You're lettin' this get to you, Joe," he said. "Why don't you just have a couple of stiff drinks and go to bed?"

"Tried that," Holderman said. "It doesn't work any more. I 'm never wrong. I don't like what I see. Too many rats in the box."

"Oh, hell," Nunez said irritably. "I'm going to call the Doc and have him give you a shot that'll put you out for twenty-four hours. I'll pull your shift.

You've got to get off this."

"I wish to Ghu you would," Holderman said. "I sure don't want it on my record."

Nunez punched up a call combination on the screen.

When it cleared he said, "Get Doctor Bob." A pause. "I know you '11 have to wake him up. I 've got an officer here that needs a sedative-I.V.-and I want it stat. What? I'm the watch commander. Now, get Bob Morton up and get him over here. I don't want to file paperwork on this."

"Son," Napier said, "you've got the whole bag in that portfolio."

Lieutenant Moshe Gilbert nodded.

"Now," Napier said,"I want you to take seriously what I told you. You keep that packet on your lap. You take it with you when you go to the head. You sit on it when you eat, and you keep it tucked under your arm-with a pistol in your hand-when you sleep. You deliver it by hand to Admiral Peterson-nobody else-and you require him-on my authority-to verify thumbprint before you put it in his hands. And then you wait-a week, a month, however long he may take-for the instructions. And then you get those instructions back here-and you burn out the drives on The Ranger if you have to. Commander Hesser is at your disposal in that respect. The Ranger is powered up and ready to lift out.

She'll strain every rivet to get you-and that packet-to Terra in four months'

time-if that's humanly possible. Do I make myself clear, Mister?"

"You do, sir." Gilbert saluted.

"Understood, aye," Napier said and returned the salute.

The two men shook hands.

"Ghu!-you smell good," Victor Grego said as he pitched the file folder of work onto the dappled marble hall table7 in his penthouse foyer and slung his other arm around Christiana, pulling her close to him as he kissed her on the neck.

"Victor!" she said in mock surprise. "Aren't we ardent this evening."

Grego regarded her at arm's length. "I know enough to grab onto a good thing when I find it. How do you think I became Manager-in-Chief, anyway?"

"I love it, and you know it, you old dog," she said.

"I know it, and I know you love it," he replied. "Cocktails before dinner?

Where's Diamond?"

"Yes," she said. "At Government House with Flora and Fauna-in that order.

We'll have a drink and then go over there to fetch him-and the Fuzzies will have their evening romp together, and we will dine with Governor Rainsford.

He wants to talk to you about this Navy reception that's coming off tomorrow."

" Ah," Grego said, accepting the frosted glass she handed him. "Alex Napier is going to tell us all. Is that it?"

"More or less," Christiana said, "as I understand it. It's to be done with a certain amount of pomp-and from what I have been able to pick up on the coffee-pot-and-water-cooler telegraph, there's a good chance that you can get the Company's fingers back into the operation of the planet."