 CHAPTER XI. The two lawyers had risen hastily when Chief Justice Penn Darvus entered. He responded to their greetings and seated himself at his desk, reaching for the silver cigar box and taking out a panatella. Gustavus Adolphus Brannard picked up the cigar he had laid aside and began puffing on it. Leslie Coombs took a cigarette from his case. They both looked at him, waiting like two drawn weapons, a battle-axe and a rapier. Well, gentlemen, as you know, we have a couple of homicide cases and nobody to prosecute them, he began. Why bother, Your Honor, Coombs asked. Both charges are completely frivolous. One man killed a wild animal, and the other killed a man who was trying to kill him. Well, Your Honor, I don't believe my client is guilty of anything legally or morally, Brannard said. I want that established by an acquittal. He looked at Coombs. I should think Mr. Coombs would be just as anxious to have his client cleared of any stigma of murder too. I am quite agreed. People who have been charged with crimes ought to have public vindication if they are innocent. Now, in the first place I plan to hold the Kellogg trial first and then the Holloway trial. Are you both satisfied with that arrangement? Absolutely not, Your Honor, Brannard said promptly. The whole basis of the Holloway defense is that this man Borsch was killed in commission of a felony. We are prepared to prove that, but we don't want our case prejudiced by an earlier trial. Coombs laughed. Mr. Brannard wants to clear his client by pre-convicting mine. We can't agree to anything like that. Yes, and he's making the same objection to trying your client first. Well, I'm going to remove both objections. I'm going to order the two cases combined, and both defendants tried together. A momentary glow of unholy glee on Gus Brannard's face. Coombs didn't like the idea at all. Your Honor, I trust that that suggestion was only made facetiously, he said. It wasn't Mr. Coombs. Then, if your Honor will not hold me in contempt for saying so, it is the most shockingly irregular. I won't go so far as to say improper, trial procedure I've ever heard of. This is not a case of accomplices charged with the same crime. This is a case of two men charged with different criminal acts, and the conviction of either would mean the almost automatic acquittal of the other. I don't know who's going to be named to take Muhammad O'Brien's place, but I pity him from the bottom of my heart. Why, Mr. Brannard and I could go off somewhere and play poker while the prosecutor would smash the case to pieces. Well, we won't have just one prosecutor, Mr. Coombs. We will have two. I'll swear you and Mr. Brannard in as special prosecutors, and you can prosecute Mr. Brannard's client, and he yours. I think that would remove any further objections. It was all he could do to keep his face judicially grave and unmerthful. Brannard was almost purring like a big tiger that had just gotten the better of a young goat. Leslie Coombs' suavity was beginning to crumble slightly at the edges. Your honour, that is a most excellent suggestion, Brannard declared. I will prosecute Mr. Coombs' client with the greatest pleasure in the universe. Well, all I can say, Your honour, is that if the first proposal was the most irregular I had ever heard, the record didn't last long. Why, Mr. Coombs, I went over the law and the rules of jurisprudence very carefully, and I couldn't find a word that could be construed as disallowing such a procedure. I'll bet you didn't find any precedent for it, either. Leslie Coombs should have known better than that. In colonial law you can find a precedent for almost anything. How much do you bet, Leslie? Brannard asked, a larsenous gleam in his eye. Don't let him take your money away from you. I found inside an hour sixteen precedents from twelve different planetary jurisdictions. All right, Your honour, Coombs capitulated. But I hope you know what you're doing. You're turning a couple of cases of the people of the colony into a common civil lawsuit. Gus Brannard laughed. What else is it, he demanded, friends of little fuzzy versus the chartered Zarathustra Company. I'm bringing action as friend of incompetent aborigines for recognition of sapiens, and Mr. Coombs on behalf of the Zarathustra Company is contesting to preserve the company's charter, and that's all there is or ever was in this case. That was impolite of Gus. Leslie Coombs had wanted to go on to the end, pretending that the company charter had absolutely nothing to do with it. There was an unending stream of reports of fuzzies seen here and there, often simultaneously in impossibly distant parts of the city. Some were from publicity-seekers and pathological liars and crackpots. Some were the result of honest mistakes or over-imaginativeness. There was some reason to suspect that not a few had originated with the company to confuse the search. One thing did come to light which heartened Jack Holloway, an intensive, if concealed, search was being made by the company police and by the Mallory's Port Police Department which the company controlled. Max Fein was giving every available moment to the hunt. This wasn't because of ill-will for the company, although that was present, nor because the Chief Justice was riding him. The colonial marshal was pro-fuzzy. So were the colonial constabulary over whom Nick Emmett's administration seemed to have little, if any, authority. Colonel Ian Ferguson, the commandant, had his appointment direct from the Colonial Office on terror. He had called by screen to offer his help, and George Lunt over on Beta screened daily to learn what progress was being made. Living at the Hotel Mallory was expensive, and Jack had to sell some sunstones. The company gem buyers were barely civil to him. He didn't try to be civil at all. There was also a noticeable coolness towards him at the bank. On the other hand, on several occasions, Space Navy officers and ratings down from Xerxes Base went out of their way to accost him, introduced themselves, shake hands with him, and give him their best wishes. Once in one of the weather-domed business centers an elderly man with white hair showing under his black beret greeted him. Mr. Holloway, I want to tell you how grieved I am to learn about the disappearance of those little people of yours, he said. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to help you, but I hope they turn up safely. Why, thank you, Mr. Stenson. He sure can'ts with the old master instrument-maker. If you could make me a pocket veridicator to use on some of these people who claim they saw them, it would be a big help. Well, I do make a rather small portable veridicators for the constabulary, but I think what you need is an instrument for detection of psychopaths, and that's slightly beyond science at present. But if you're still prospecting for sunstones, I have an improved micro-race scanner I just developed, and he walked with Stenson to his shop, had a cup of tea, and looked at the scanner. From Stenson's screen he called Max Fane. Six more people had claimed to have seen the fuzzies. Within a week the films taken at the camp had been shown so frequently on telecasters to wear out their interest value. Baby, however, was still available for new pictures, and in a few days a girl had to be hired to take care of his fan-mail. Once entering a bar, Jack thought he saw Baby sitting on a woman's head. A second look showed that it was only a life-sized doll held on with an elastic band. Within a week he was seeing baby fuzzy hats all over town, and shop windows were full of life-sized fuzzy dolls. In the late afternoon, two weeks after the fuzzies had vanished, Marshall Fane dropped him at the hotel. They sat in the car for a moment, and Fane said, I think this is the end of it. We're all out of cranks and exhibitionists now. He nodded. That woman we were talking to, she's crazy as a bed-bug. Yeah, in the past ten years she's confessed to every unsolved crime on the planet. It shows you how hard up we are that I waste your time and mine listening to her. Max, nobody's seen them. You think they just aren't any more, don't you? The fat man looked troubled. Well, Jack, it isn't so much that nobody's seen them. Nobody's seen any trace of them. There are land prawns all around, but nobody's found a cracked shell. And six active, playful, inquisitive fuzzies ought to be getting into things. They ought to be raiding food markets and fruit stands, getting into places and ransacking. But there hasn't been a thing. The company police have stopped looking for them now. Well, I won't. They must be around somewhere. He took Fane's hand and got out of the car. You've been awfully helpful, Max. I want you to know how much I thank you. He watched the car lift away, and then looked out over the city, a vista of tree-top green, with roofs in the domes of shopping-centres and business-centres and amusement-centres showing through and the angular buttes of tall buildings rising above—the streetless, contra-gravity city of a new planet that had never known ground-traffic. The fuzzies could be hiding anywhere among those trees, or they could all be dead in some man-made trap. He thought of all the deadly places into which they could have wandered—machinery, dormant and quiet, until somebody threw a switch, conduits which could be flooded without warning or filled with scalding steam or choking gas. Poor little fuzzies, they'd think a city was as safe as the woods of home where there was nothing worse than harpies and damn things. Gus Brannard was out when he went down to the suite. Ben Rainsford was at a reading-screen studying a psychology text, and Gerd was working at a desk that had been brought in. Baby was playing on the floor with the bright new toys they had gotten for him. When Pappy Jack came in, he dropped them and ran to be picked up and held. George called, Gerd said, they have a family of fuzzies at the post now. Well, that's great. He tried to make it sound enthusiastic. How many? Five, three males and two females, they call them Dr. Crippen, Dillinger, Ned Kelly, Lizzie Borden, and Calamity Jane. Wouldn't it be just like a bunch of cops to hang names like that on innocent fuzzies? Why don't you call the post and say hello to them, Ben asked? Baby likes them, he'll think it was fun to talk to them again. He let himself be urged into it and punched out the combination. They were nice fuzzies, almost, but of course not quite as nice as his own. If your family doesn't turn up in time for the trial, have Gus Sopinarras, Lump told him. You ought to have some to produce in court. Two weeks from now, this mob of ours will be doing all kinds of things. You ought to see them now, and we only got them yesterday afternoon. He said he hoped he'd have his own by then. He realized that he was saying it without much conviction. They had a drink when Gus came in. He was delighted with the offer from Lunt, another one who didn't expect to see Pappy Jack's fuzzies alive again. I'm not doing a damn thing here, Rainsford said. I'm going back to beat it till the trial. Maybe I can pick up some ideas from George Lunt's fuzzies. I'm damned if I'm getting away from this crap. He gestured at the reading screen. All I have is a vocabulary, and I don't know what half the words mean. He snapped it off. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe he may not have been right, and Ruth Ortheras is wrong. Maybe you can be just a little bit sapient. Maybe it's possible to be sapient and not know it, Gus said, like the character in the old French play who didn't know he was talking prose. What do you mean, Gus? Gerd asked. I'm not sure I know. It's just an idea that occurred to me today. Kick it around and see if you can get anything out of it. I believe the difference lies in the area of consciousness, Ernst Mullen was saying. You all know, of course, the axiom that only one-tenth, never more than one-eighth of our mental activity occurs above the level of consciousness. Now, let us imagine a hypothetical race whose entire mentation is conscious. I hope they stay hypothetical. Victor Grego, in his office across the city, set out of the screen. They wouldn't recognize us as sapient at all. We wouldn't be sapient as they'd define the term. Leslie Coombs in the same screen with Grego said. They'd have some equivalent of the talk-and-build-a-fire rule, based on abilities of which we can't even conceive. Maybe, Ruth thought, they might recognize us as one-tenth, two as much as one-eighth, sapient. No, then we'd have to recognize, say, a chimpanzee as being one-hundredth sapient, and a flatworm as being sapient to the order of one-billionth. Wait a minute, she said. If I understand, you mean that non-sapient beings think, but only subconsciously. That's correct, Ruth, when confronted by some entirely novel situation, a non-sapient animal will think but never consciously. Of course, familiar situations are dealt with by pure habit and memory response. You know, I've just thought of something, Grego said. I think we can explain that funeral that's been bothering all of us in non-sapient terms. He lit a cigarette while they all looked at him expectantly. Fuzzies, he continued, bury their audio. They do this to avoid an unpleasant sense stimulus about smell. Dead bodies quickly putify and smell badly. They are thus equated subconsciously with audio and must be buried. All fuzzies carry weapons, a fuzzy's weapon is still subconsciously regarded as a part of the fuzzy, hence it must also be buried. Malon frowned portentiously. The idea seemed to appeal to him, but of course he simply couldn't agree too promptly with a mere layman, even the boss. Well, so far you're on fairly safe ground, Mr. Grego, he admitted. Association of otherwise dissimilar things because of some apparent similarity is a recognized element of non-sapient animal behavior. He frowned again. That could be an explanation. I'll have to think of it. About this time tomorrow it would be his own idea, with grudging recognition of a suggestion by Victor Grego. In time, that would be forgotten, it would be the Malon theory. Grego was apparently agreeable as long as the job got done. Well, if you can make anything out of it, pass it on to Mr. Coombs as soon as possible to be worked up for use in court, he said. END OF CHAPTER XI Ben Rainsford went back to Beta-continent and Gerd Van Riebeek remained in Malory's port. The constabulary at post-15 had made steel chopper-diggers for their fuzzies and reported a gratifying abatement of the land-prawl nuisance. They also made a set of scale-down carpenter tools, and their fuzzies were building themselves a house out of scrap crates and boxes. A pair of fuzzies showed up at Ben Rainsford's camp, and he adopted them, naming them flora and fauna. Everybody had fuzzies now, and Pabby Jack only had baby. He was lying on the floor of the parlour, teaching baby to tie knots in a piece of string. Gus Brannard, who spent most of the day in the office in the central court's building, which had been furnished to him as special prosecutor, was lolling in an armchair in red and blue pajamas, smoking a cigar, drinking coffee. His whiskey consumption was down to a couple of drinks a day, and studying texts on two reading screens at once, making an occasional remark into a steno-memophone. Gerd was at the desk, spoiling note-paper in an effort to work something out by symbolic logic. Suddenly he crumpled a sheet and threw it across the room, cursing. Brannard looked away from his screens. Trouble, Gerd? Gerd cursed again. How the devil can I tell whether fuzzies generalize, he demanded? How can I tell whether they form abstract ideas? How can I prove even that they have ideas at all? Hell's blazes, how can I even prove to your satisfaction that I think consciously? Working on that idea I mentioned, Brannard asked. I was. It seemed like a good idea, but— Suppose we go back to specific instances of fuzzy behavior and present them as evidence of sapience, Brannard asked—that funeral, for instance. I'll still insist that we define sapience. The communication screen began buzzing. Baby Fuzzy looked up disinterestedly, and then went back to trying to untie a figure eight knot he had tied. Jack shoved himself to his feet and put the screen on. It was Max Fane, and for the first time that he could remember the colonial marshal was excited. Jack, have you had any news on the screen lately? No, something turn up? God yes, the cops are all over the city hunting the fuzzies. They've audiced to shoot on sight. Nick Emmett was just on the air with a reward offer—five hundred souls apiece, dead or alive. It took a few seconds for that to register. Then he became frightened. Gus and Gerd were both on their feet and crowding to the screen behind him. They have some bum from that squatters camp over on the east side who claims the fuzzies beat up his ten-year-old daughter, Fane was saying. They have both of them at police headquarters, and they've handed the story out to Zarathustra News and Planet Wide Coverage. Of course, their company controlled, they're playing it for all it's worth. Have they been veridicated? Brannet demanded. No, and the city cops are keeping them under cover. The girl says she was playing outdoors and these fuzzies jumped her and began beating her with sticks. Her injuries are listed as multiple bruises, fractured wrists, and general shock. I don't believe it, they wouldn't attack a child. I want to talk to that girl and her father, Brannet was saying, and I'm going to demand that they make their statements under verification. This thing's a frame up, Max, I'll bet my ears on it. Timing's just right, only a week till the trial. Maybe the fuzzies had wanted the child to play with them and she'd gotten frightened and hurt one of them. A ten-year-old human child would look dangerously large to a fuzzy, and if they thought they were menace, they would fight back savagely. They were still alive and in the city, that was one thing, but they were in worse danger than they had ever been, that was another. Fane was asking Brannet how soon he could be dressed. Five minutes, good, I'll be along to pick you up, he said, be seeing you. Jack hurried into the bedroom he and Brannet shared. He kicked off his macaissons and began pulling on his boots. Brannet, pulling his trousers up over his pajama pants, wanted to know where he thought he was going. With you, I've got to find them before some dumb son of a cougar shoots them. You stay here, Gus ordered. Stay by the communication screen and keep the view screen on for news. But don't stop putting your boots on. You may have to get out of here fast if I call you and tell you they've been located. I'll call you as soon as I get anything definite. Gert had the screen on for news and was getting planet-wide, openly owned and operated by the company. The newscaster was wrought up about the brutal attack on the innocent child, but he was having trouble focusing the blame. After all, who'd let the fuzzies escape in the first place? And even a skilled somaticist had trouble in making anything called a fuzzy sound menacing. At least he gave particulars true or not. The child, Lolita Lurkin, had been playing outside her home at about twenty-one hundred when she had suddenly been set upon by six fuzzies armed with clubs. Without provocation they had dragged her down and beaten her severely. Her screams had brought her father and he had driven the fuzzies away. Police had brought both the girl and her father, Oscar Lurkin, to headquarters where they had told their story. City police, company police and constabulary troopers and parties of armed citizens were combing the eastern side of the city. Resident General Emmett had acted at once to offer a reward of five thousand souls apiece. The kids lying, and if they ever get a verudicator on her they'll prove it, he said. Emmett or Grego or the two of them together bribed those people to tell that story. "'Oh, I take that for granted,' Gerd said. I know that place, Junktown. Ruth does a lot of work there for juvenile court.' He stopped briefly, pain in his eyes, and then continued, "'You can hire anybody to do anything over there for a hundred souls, especially if the cops are fixed in advance.' He shifted to the inter-world news frequency. They were covering the fuzzy hunt from an air-car. The shanties and parked air geloppies of Junktown were flood-lighted from above. Lines of men were beating the brush and poking among them. Once a car passed directly below the pickup, a man staring at the ground from it over a machine-gun. "'Who am I glad I'm not in that mess?' Gerd exclaimed. Anybody see something he thinks is a fuzzy in half that gangle massacre each other in ten seconds. I hope they do.' Inter-world news was pro-fuzzy. The commentator in the car was being extremely sarcastic about the whole thing. Into the middle of one view of a rifle bristling line of beaters, somebody in the studio cut a view of the fuzzies taken at the camp, looking up appealingly while waiting for breakfast. These, a voice said, are the terrible monsters against whom all these brave men are protecting us. A few moments later a rifle flash and a bang and then a fuselard brought Jack's heart into his throat. The pickup car jetted towards it. By the time it reached the spot the shooting had stopped and a crowd was gathering around something white on the ground. He had to force himself to look, then gave a shuddering breath of relief. It was a Zara-goat, a three-horned domesticated ungulate. Uh-oh, some squatter's milk supply finished, the commentator laughed. Not the first one to-night, either. Attorney General, former Chief Prosecutor O'Brien's going to have quite a few suits against the administration to defend as a result of this business. He's going to have a goddamn thundering big one from Jack Holloway. The communication screen buzzed. Gert snapped it on. I just talked to Judge Penn Darvis, Gus Brannard reported out of it, his issuing an order restraining Emmett from paying any reward except for fuzzies turned over alive and uninjured to Marshall Fane, and his issuing a warning that until the status of the fuzzies is determined any one killing one will face charges of murder. That's fine, Gus. Have you seen the girl or her father yet? Brannard snarled angrily. The girl's in the company hospital in a private room. The doctors won't let anybody see her. I think Emmett's hiding the father in the residency, and I haven't seen the two cops who brought them in or the Desk Sergeant who booked the complaint or the Detective Lieutenant who was on duty here. They've all lambed out. Max has a couple of men over in Junktown trying to find out who called the cops in the first place. We may get something out of that. The Chief Justice's action was announced a few minutes later. It got to the hunters a few minutes after that, and the fuzzy hunt began falling apart. The city and company police dropped out immediately. Most of the civilians hoping to grab five thousand Sol's worth of live fuzzy stayed on for twenty minutes, and so, apparently to control them, did the constabulary. Then the reward was cancelled, the airborne floodlights went off, and the whole thing broke up. Gus Brannard came in shortly afterward, starting to undress as soon as he healed the door shut after him. When he had his jacket and necklace off, he dropped into a chair, filled a water tumbler with whiskey, gulped half of it, and then began pulling off his boots. If that drink has a kid's sister, I'll take it, Gerd muttered. What happened, Gus? Brannard began to curse. The whole thing's a fake. It stinks from here to Niflheim. It would stink on Niflheim. He picked up a cigar butt he had laid aside when Fane's call had come in and relighted it. We found the woman who called the police—neighbor. She says she saw Lurkin come home drunk, and a little later she heard the girl screaming. She says he beats her up every time he gets drunk, which is about five times a week, and she'd made up her mind to stop it the next chance she got. She denied having seen anything that even looked like a fuzzy anywhere around. The excitement as the night before had incubated a new brood of fuzzy reports. Jack went to the marshal's office to interview the people making them. The first dozen were of a piece with the ones that had come in originally. Then he talked to a young man who had something of different quality. I saw them as plain as I'm seeing you, not more than fifty feet away, he said. I had an auto-carbine, and I pulled up on them. But gosh, I couldn't shoot them. They were just like little people, Mr. Holloway, and they looked so scared and helpless. So I held over their heads and let off a two-second burst to scare them away before anyone else saw them and shot them. Well, son, I'd like to shake your hand for that. You know, you thought you were throwing away a lot of money there. How many did you see? Well, only four. I'd heard there were six, but the other two could have been back in the brush where I didn't see them. He pointed out on the map where it had happened. There were three other people who had actually seen fuzzies. None were sure how many, but they were all positive about locations and times. Plotting the reports on the map, it was apparent the fuzzies were moving north and west across the outskirts of the city. Brannard showed up for lunch at the hotel, still swearing, but half amusedly. They vex-humed Hamill Bryan, and they put him to work harassing us, he said. Whole flock of civil suits and dangerous nuisance complaints and that sort of thing. Ideas to keep me amused with them while Leslie Coombs is working up his case for the trial. Even tried to get the manager here to evict Baby. I threatened him with a racial discrimination suit, and that stopped that. And I just filed suit against the company for seven million souls on behalf of the fuzzies—million a piece for them and a million for their lawyer. This evening, Jack said, I'm going out in a car with a couple of Max's deputies. We're going to take Baby and we'll have a loud speaker on the car. He unfolded the city map. They seem to be travelling this way. They ought to be about here, and with Baby at the speaker we ought to attract their attention. It isn't see anything though they kept at it until dusk. Baby had a wonderful time with the loud speaker. When he yeaked into it he produced an ear-splitting noise until the three humans in the car flinched every time he opened his mouth. It affected dogs too. As the car moved back and forth it was followed by a chorus of howling and baying on the ground. The next day there were some scattered reports, mostly of small thefts. A blanket spread on the grass behind a house had vanished. A couple of cushions had been taken from a porch couch. A frenzied mother reported having found her six-year-old son playing with some fuzzies. When she'd rushed to rescue him the fuzzies had scampered away, and the child had begun weeping. Jack and Gerd rushed to the scene. The child's story, jumbled and imagination coloured, was definite on one point. The fuzzies had been nice to him and hadn't hurt him. They got a recording of that on the air at once. When they got back to the hotel, Gus Brannard was there, bubbling with glee. The Chief Justice gave me another job of special prosecuting, he said. I'm to conduct an investigation into the possibility that this thing the other night was a frame-up, and I'm to prepare complaints against anybody who's done anything prosecutable. I have authority to hold hearings and subpoena witnesses and interrogate them under verification. Max Fane has specific orders to cooperate. We're going to start tomorrow with Chief of Police Dumont and work down. And maybe we can work up, too, as far as Nick Emmett and Victor Grego. He gave a rumbling laugh. Maybe that'll give Leslie Coombs something to worry about. Gerd brought the car down beside the rectangular excavation. It was fifty feet square and twenty feet deep and still going deeper, with a power shovel in it and a couple of dump-scows beside. Five or six men in coveralls and ankle-boots advanced to meet them as they got out. Morning, Mr. Holloway, one of them said, it's right down over the edge of the hill, we haven't disturbed anything. Mind running over what you saw again, my partner here wasn't in when you called. The foreman turned to Gerd. We put off a couple of shots about an hour ago. Some of the men, who'd gone down over the edge of the hill, saw these fuzzies run out from under that rock ledge down there and up the hollow, that way, he pointed. They called me and I went down for a look and saw where they'd been camping. The rock's pretty hard here and we used pretty heavy charges. Shock waves in the ground was what scared them. They started down a path through the flowered apple tall grass toward the edge of the hill and down past the grey-out cropping of limestone that formed a miniature bluff twenty feet high and a hundred in length. Under an overhanging ledge they found two cushions, a red and grey blanket and some odds and ends of old garments that looked as though they'd once been used for polishing rags. There was a broken kitchen spoon and a cold chisel and some other metal articles. That's it all right. I talked to the people who lost the blanket and the cushions. They must have made camp last night after your gang-stop work. The blasting chased them out. You say you saw them go up that way, he asked, pointing up the little stream that came down from the mountains to the north. The stream was deep and rapid, too much so for easy fording by fuzzies. They'd follow it back into the foothills. He took everybody's names and thanked them. If he found the fuzzies himself and had to pay off on an information-received basis, it would take a mathematical genius to decide how much reward to pay whom. Gerd, if you were a fuzzy, where would you go up there? he asked. Gerd looked up the stream that came rushing down from among the wooded foothills. There are a couple more houses further up, he said. I'd get above them. Then I'd go up one of those side ravines and get up among the rocks, where the damn things couldn't get me. Of course there are no damn things this close to town, but they wouldn't know that. We'll need a few more cars. I'll call Colonel Ferguson and see what he can do for me. Axe is going to have his hands full with this investigation, Gus started. Pete Dumont, the Mallory Support Chief of Police, might have been a good cop once, but for as long as Gus Brunner had known him, he had been what he was now—an empty shell of unsupported arrogance, with a sagging waistline and a puffy face that tried to look tough and only succeeded in looking unpleasant. He was sitting in a seat that looked like an old-fashioned electric chair or like one of those instruments of torture to which beauty-shop customers submit themselves. There was a bright conical helmet on his head and electrodes had been clamped to various portions of his anatomy. On the wall behind him was a circular screen which ought to have been a calm turquoise blue, but which was flickering from dark blue through violet to mauve. That was simple nervous tension and guilt and anger at the humiliation of being subjected to veridicated interrogation. Now and then there would be a stabbing flicker of bright red as he toyed mentally with some deliberate misstatement of fact. You know yourself that the fuzzies didn't hurt that girl, Brunner told him. I don't know anything of the kind the police chief retorted. All I know is what's reported to me. That had started out a bright red. Gradually it faded into purple. Evidently, Pete Dumont was adopting a rules of evidence definition of truth. Who told you about it? Luther Waller, Detective Lieutenant on duty at the time. The veridicator agreed that that was the truth and not much of anything but the truth. But you know that what really happened was that Lurkin beat the girl himself and Waller persuaded them both to say the fuzzies did it, Max Fane said. I don't know anything of the kind, Dumont almost yelled. The screen blazed red. All I know is what they told me. Nobody said anything else. Red and blue juggling in a typical quibbling pattern. As far as I know it was the fuzzies done it. Now, Pete, Fane told him patiently, you've used this same veridicator here often enough to know you can't get away with lying on it. Waller's making you the patsy for this and you know that too. Isn't it true now that to the best of your knowledge and belief those fuzzies never touched that girl and it wasn't till Waller talked to Lurkin and his daughter at headquarters that anybody even mentioned fuzzies. The screen darkened to midnight blue, then slowly enlightened. Yeah, that's true, Dumont admitted. He avoided their eyes and his voice was surly. I thought that was how it was and I asked Waller. He just laughed at me and told me to forget it. The screen seethed momentarily with anger. That son of a cougar thinks he's chief, not me. One word from me and he does just what he damn well pleases. Now you're being smart, Pete, Fane said. Let's start all over. A constabulary corporal was at the controls of the car Jack had rented from the hotel. Gert had taken his place in one of the two constabulary cars. The third car shuttled between them and all three talked back and forth by radio. Mr. Holloway, it was the trooper in the car Gert had been piloting. Your partner's down on the ground. He just called me with his portable. He's found a cracked prawn shell. Keep talking. Give me direction, the corporal at the controls said, lifting up. In a moment they sighted the other car hovering over a narrow ravine on the left bank of the stream. The third car was coming in from the north. Gert was still squatting on the ground when they let down beside him. He looked up as they jumped out. This is it, Jack, he said. Regular fuzzy job. So it was. Whatever they had used it hadn't been anything sharp. The head was smashed instead of being cleanly severed. The shell, however, had been broken from underneath in the standard manner and all four mandibles had been broken off for picks. They must have all eaten at the prawn share alike. It had been done quite recently. They sent the car up and while all three of them circled about, they went up the ravine on foot calling, little fuzzy, little fuzzy. They found a footprint and then another where seepage water had moistened the ground. Gert was talking excitedly into the portable radio he carried slung on his chest. One of you go ahead a quarter of a mile and then circle back. They're in here somewhere. I see them, I see them, a voice whooped out of the radio. They're going up the slope on your right among the rocks. Keep them in sight. Somebody come and pick us up and we'll get above them and head them off. The rental car dropped quickly, the corporal getting the door open. He didn't bother going off contra-gravity. As soon as they were in and had pulled the door shut behind them, he was lifting again. For a moment the hill swung idly as the car turned and then Jack saw them climbing the steep slope among the rocks. Only four of them and one was helping another. He wondered which ones they were, what had happened to the other two, and if the one that needed help had been badly hurt. The car landed on the top among the rocks, settling at an awkward angle. He, Gert and the pilot, piled out and started climbing and sliding down the declivity. Then he found himself within reach of a fuzzy and grabbed. Two more dashed past him up the steep hill. The one he snatched at had something in his hand and aimed a vicious blow at his face with it. He had barely time to block it with his forearm, then he was clutching the fuzzy and disarming him. The weapon was a quarter-pound ball-peen hammer. He put it in his hip pocket and then picked up the struggling fuzzy with both hands. You hit Pappy Jack, he said reproachfully. Don't you know Pappy Jack any more? Who's scared, little thing? The fuzzy in his arms yeaked angrily. Then he looked, and it was no fuzzy he had ever seen before. Not little fuzzy, nor funny pompous cocoa, nor mischievous Mike. It was a stranger fuzzy. Well, no wonder of course you don't know Pappy Jack. You ain't won a Pappy Jack's fuzzies at all. At the top the constabulary corporal was sitting on a rock clutching two fuzzies, one under each arm. They stopped struggling and yeaked piteously when they saw their companion also a captive. Your partner's down below chasing the other one, the corporal said. You'd better take these two. You know them, and I don't. Hang on to them. They don't owe me any better than they do you. With one hand he got a bit of XT3 out of his coat and offered it. The fuzzy gave a cry of surprised pleasure, snatched it, and gobbled it. He must have eaten it before. When he gave some to the corporal the other two, a male and a female, also seemed familiar with it. From below Gerd was calling. I got one. It's a girl fuzzy. I don't know if it's Mitzi or Cinderella. And my God, wait till you see what she was carrying. Gerd came into sight, the fourth fuzzy struggling under one arm, and a little kitten, black with a white face, peeping over the crook of his other elbow. He was too stunned with disappointment to look at it with more than vague curiosity. They aren't our fuzzies, Gerd. I never saw any of them before. Jack, are you sure? Of course I'm sure he was indignant. Don't you think I know my own fuzzies? Don't you think they'd know me? Let the pussy come from, the corporal wanted to know. God knows they must have picked it up somewhere. She was carrying it in her arms like a baby. There's somebody's fuzzies. They've been Fed-X-T3. We'll take them to the hotel. Whoever it is, I'll bet he misses them as much as I do mine. His own fuzzies, whom he would never see again. The full realisation didn't hit him until he and Gerd were in the car again. There had been no trace of his fuzzies from the time they had broken out of their cages at Science Centre. This quartet had appeared the night the city police had manufactured the story of the attack on the Lurkan girl, and from the moment they had been seen by the youth who couldn't bring himself to fire on them, they had left a trail that he had been able to pick up at once and follow. Why hadn't his own fuzzies attracted as much notice in the three weeks since they had vanished? Because his own fuzzies didn't exist any more. They had never gotten out of Science Centre alive. Somebody Max Fane hadn't been able to question under verification and murdered them. There was no use any more trying to convince himself differently. We'll stop at their camp and pick up the blanket and the cushions and the rest of the things. I'll send the people who lost them checks, he said. The fuzzies ought to have those things. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of Little Fuzzy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Little Fuzzy by H. Beam Piper, Chapter 13 The management of the Hotel Mallory appeared to have undergone a change of heart or of policy towards fuzzies. It might have been Gus Brunner's threats of action for racial discrimination and the possibility that the fuzzies might turn out to be a race instead of an animal species after all. The manager might have been shamed by the way the Lurkin story had crumbled into discredit and influenced by the revived public sympathy for the fuzzies. Or maybe he just decided that the chartered Zarathustra Company wasn't as omnipotent as he'd believed. At any rate a large room, usually used for banquets, was made available for the fuzzies George Lunt and Ben Rainsford were bringing in for the trial, and the four strangers and their black and white kitten were installed there. There were a lot of toys of different sorts, courtesy of the management, and a big view-screen. The four strange fuzzies dashed for this immediately and turned it on, yeaking in delight as they watched landing-craft coming down and lifting out of the municipal spaceport. They found it very interesting. It only bored the kitten. With some misgivings Jack brought Baby down and introduced him. They were delighted with Baby, and Baby thought the kitten was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen. When it was time to feed them, Jack had his own dinner brought in and ate with them. Gus and Gerd came down and joined him later. We got the lurken kid and her father, Gus said, and then false-settled. No, Pop, give me a beaten, and the cops told me to say it was the fuzzies. She say that. Under verification with the screen blue is a sapphire in front of half a dozen witnesses and with audio visuals on. Into worlds putting it on the air this evening. Her father admitted it too. Named Waller and the desk sergeant. We're still looking for them. Until we get them we aren't any closer to Emmett or Gregor. We did pick up the two car-cops but they don't know anything on anybody but Waller. That was good enough as far as it went, Bran had thought, but it didn't go far enough. There were those four strange fuzzies showing up out of nowhere right in the middle of Nick Emmett's drive-hunt. They'd been kept somewhere by somebody. That was how they'd learn to eat XT3 and find out about view screens. Their appearance was too well synchronised to be accidental. The whole thing smelled to him of a booby-trap. One good thing had happened. Judge Pendavis had decided that it would be next to impossible in view of the widespread public interest in the case and the influence of the Zara Thustra Company to get an impartial jury, and had proposed a judicial trial by a panel of three judges, himself one of them. Even Leslie Coombs had felt forced to agree to that. He told Jack about the decision. Jack listened with apparent attentiveness and then said, You know, Gus, I'll always be glad I let a little fuzzy smoke my pipe when he wanted to, that night, out at camp. The way he was feeling he wouldn't have cared less if the case was going to be tried by a panel of three Zara goats. Ben Rainsford, his two fuzzies, and George Lunt, Ahmad Kadra, and the other constabulary witnesses and their family, arrived shortly before noon on Saturday. The fuzzies were quartered in the stripped-out banquet room and quickly made friends with the four already there and with Baby. Each family bedded down apart, but they ate together and played with each other's toys and sat in a clump to watch the view-screen. At first the Fernie Creek family showed jealousy when too much attention was paid to their kitten until they decided that nobody was trying to steal it. It would have been a lot of fun, eleven fuzzies and a baby fuzzy in a black and white kitten, if Jack hadn't kept seeing his own family, six quiet little ghosts watching, but unable to join the frolicking. Max Fane brightened when he saw who was on his screen. Well, Colonel Ferguson, glad to see you. Marshall, Ferguson was smiling broadly. You'll be even gladder in a minute. A couple of my men from post-eight picked up Waller and that desk sergeant Fuentes. Ha! He started feeling warm inside, as though he had just downed a slug of balder honey-rum. How? Well, you know Nick Emmett has a hunting lodge down there. Post-eight keeps an eye on it for him. This afternoon one of Lieutenant Oberfemi's cars was passing over it, and they picked up some radiation and infrared on their detectors, as though the power was on inside. When they went down to investigate, they found Waller and Fuentes making themselves at home. They brought them in, and both of them admitted under veridication that Emmett had given them the keys, and sent them down there to hide out until after the trial. They denied that Emmett had originated the frame-up. That had been one of Waller's own flashes of genius, but Emmett knew what the score was and went right along with it. They're being brought up here the first thing to-morrow morning. Well, that swell, Colonel, has it gotten out to the news-services yet? No, we would like to have them both questioned here in Waller's port, and their confessions recorded before we let the story out, otherwise somebody might try to take steps to shut them up for good. That had been what he had been thinking of. He said so, and Ferguson nodded. Then he hesitated for a moment and said, Max, do you like the situation here in Waller's port? Be damned if I do. What do you mean? There are too many strangers in town, Ian Ferguson said. All the same kind of strangers, husky-looking young men, twenty to thirty, going around in pairs and small groups. I've been noticing it since day before last, and there seem to be more of them every time I look around. Well, Ian, it's a young man's planet and we can expect a big crowd in town for the trial. He didn't really believe that. He just wanted Ian Ferguson to put a name on it first. Ferguson shook his head. No, Max, this isn't a trial day crowd. We both know what they're like. Remember when they tried the Gorn brothers? No whooping it up in bars, no excitement, no big crap games. This crowd's just walking around, keeping quiet as though they expected a word from somebody. Infiltration. God damn it, he'd said it first himself after all. Victor Grego's worried about this. I know it, Max, and Victor Grego's like a velk-beast ball. Isn't dangerous until he's scared, and then watch out. And against the gang that's moving in here, the men you and I have together would last about as long as a pint of trade gin at a Sheetian funeral. You thinking of pushing the panic button? The constabulary command affraund. I don't want to. A dim view would be taken back on terror if I did it without needing to. Dimmerview would be taken of needing to without doing it, though. I'll make another check first. Gerd van Riebik sorted the papers on the desk into piles, lit a cigarette, and then started to mix himself a highball. Fuzzies are members of a sapient race, he declared. They reason logically, both deductively and inductively. They learn by experiment analysis and association. They formulate general principles and apply them to specific instances. They plan their activities in advance. They make designed artifacts and artifacts to make artifacts. They're able to symbolize and convey ideas in symbolic form and form symbols by abstracting from objects. They have aesthetic sense and creativity, he continued. They become bored in idleness, and they enjoy solving problems for the pleasure of solving them. They bury their dead ceremoniously and bury artifacts with them. He blew a smoke-ring and then tasted his drink. They do all these things, and they also do carpenter work, blow police whistles, make eating tools to eat land prawns with, and put molecule-model balls together. Obviously they're sapient beings. But don't please don't ask me to define sapients, because, God damn it, a Niflheim I still can't. I think you just did, Jack said. No, that won't do. I need a definition. Don't worry, Gert, Gus Brunner told him. Leslie Coombs will bring a nice shiny new definition into court. We'll just use that. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of Little Fuzzy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Little Fuzzy by H. Beam Piper, Chapter 14. They walked together, Frederick and Claudette Pendavas down through the roof garden toward the landing stage, and as she always did, Claudette stopped and cut a flower and fastened it in his lapel. Will the Fuzzies be in court? she asked. Oh, they'll have to be. I don't know about this morning. It'll be mostly formalities. He made a grimace that was half a frown and half a smile. I really don't know whether to consider them as witnesses or as exhibits, and I hope I'm not called on to rule on that, at least at the start. Either way, Coombs or Brunner would accuse me of showing prejudice. I want to see them. I've seen them on screen, but I want to see them for real. You haven't been in one of my courts for a long time, Claudette. If I find that they'll be brought in to-day, I'll call you. I'll even abuse my position to the extent of a ranging view to see them outside the courtroom. Would you like that? She'd love it. Claudette had a limitless capacity for delight in things like that. They kissed goodbye, and he went to where his driver was holding open the door of the air-car and got in. At a thousand feet he looked back. She was still standing at the edge of the roof-garden looking up. He'd have to find out whether it would be safe for her to come in. Max Fane was worried about the possibility of trouble, and so was Ian Ferguson, and neither was given to timorous imaginings. As the car began to descend toward the central courts-buildings, he saw that there were guards on the roof, and they weren't just carrying pistols. He caught the glint of rifle-barrels and the twinkle of steel helmets. Then, as he came in, he saw that their uniforms were a lighter shade of blue than the Constabulary War, ankle-boots and red-striped trousers, space-marines in dressed blues. So Ian Ferguson had pushed the button. It occurred to him that Claudette might be safer here than at home. A sergeant and a couple of men came up as he got out. The sergeant touched the beak of his helmet in the nearest thing to a salute a marine ever gave anybody in civilian clothes. Judge Pendavis, good morning, sir. Good morning, sergeant. Just why a Federation Marine's guarding the court-building? Standing by, sir. Orders of Commodore Napier. You'll find that Marshal Fane's people are in charge below decks, but Marine Captain Casagra and Navy Captain Greibenfeld are waiting to see you in your office. As he started toward the elevators, a big Zarathustra company car was coming in. The sergeant turned quickly, beckoned a couple of his men, and went towards it on the double. He wondered what Leslie Coombs would think about these marines. The two officers in his private chambers were both wearing side-arms, so also was Marshal Fane, who was with them. They all rose to greet him, sitting down when he was at his desk. He asked the same question he had of the sergeant above. Well, Constabulary Colonel Ferguson called Commodore Napier last evening and requested armed assistance, Your Honor. The officer in Space Navy Black said. He suspected, he said, that the city had been infiltrated. In that, Your Honor, he was perfectly correct. Beginning Wednesday afternoon, Marine Captain Casagra here, on Commodore Napier's orders, began landing a marine infiltration force, preparatory to taking over the Residency. That's been accomplished now. Commodore Napier is there, and both Resident General Emmett and Attorney General O'Brien are under arrest on a variety of malfeasance and corrupt practice charges. But that won't come into Your Honor's court. They'll be sent back to terror for trial. Then Commodore Napier is taken over the Civil Government. Well, say his assumed control of it, pending the outcome of this trial. We want to know whether the present administration's legal or not. Then you won't interfere with the trial itself? That depends, Your Honor. We're certainly going to participate. He looked at his watch. You won't convene court for another hour. Then perhaps I'll have time to explain. Max Fane met them at the courtroom door with a pleasant greeting. Then he saw baby Fuzzy on Jack's shoulder and looked dubious. I don't know about him, Jack. I don't think he'll be allowed in the courtroom. Nonsense, Gus Brannard told him. I admit he is both a minor child and an incompetent aborigine, but he's the only surviving member of the family of the dissident Jane Doe, alias Goldilocks, and as such has an indisputable right to be present. Well, just as long as you keep him from sitting on people's heads. Gus, you and Jack sit over there. Ben, you and Gerd find seats in the witness section. It would be half an hour until court would convene, but already the spectator's seats were full, and so was the balcony. The jury box on the left of the bench was occupied by a number of officers in navy black and marine blue. Since there would be no jury, they had apparently appropriated it for themselves. The press box was jammed and bristling with equipment. Baby was looking up, interestingly, at the big screen behind the judge's seats. While transmitting the court scene to the public, it also showed, like an on-reversing mirror, the same view to the spectator's. Baby wasn't long in identifying himself in it, and waved his arms excitedly. At that moment there was a bustle at the door by which they had entered, and Leslie Coombs came in, followed by Ernst Mullen and a couple of his assistants, Ruth Ortheris, Juan Jimenez, and Leonard Kellogg. The last time he had seen Kellogg had been at George Lunt's Complaint Court, his face bandaged and his feet in a pair of borrowed mccasins because his shoes, stained with the blood of Goldilocks, had been impounded as evidence. Coombs glanced toward the table where he and Brannard were sitting, caught sight of Baby waving to himself in the big screen, and turned to Fane with an indignant protest. Fane shook his head. Coombs protested again and drew another head-shake. Finally he shrugged and led Kellogg to the table reserved for them, where they sat down. Once Pendarvas and his two associates, a short, round-faced man on his right, a tall slender man with white hair and a black moustache on his left, was seated, the trial got under way briskly. The charges were red, and then Brannard, as the Kellogg prosecutor, addressed the court. Being known as Goldilocks, sapient member of a sapient race, willful and deliberate act of the said Leonard Kellogg, brutal and unprovoked murder, he backed away, sat at the table, and said, He backed away, sat at the edge of the table, and picked up Baby fussy, fondling him while Leslie Coombs accused Jack Holloway of brutally assaulting the said Leonard Kellogg, and ruthlessly shooting down Kurt Borsch. Well, gentlemen, I believe we can now begin hearing the witnesses, the Chief Justice said. Who will start prosecuting Coombs? Gus handed Baby to Jack, and went forward. Coombs stepped up beside him. Your Honor, this entire trial hinges upon the question of whether a member of the species Fuzzy Fuzzy Holloway's Arathustra is or is not a sapient being, Gus said. However, before any attempt is made to determine this question, we should first establish by testimony just what happened at Holloway's camp in Cold Creek Valley on the afternoon of June 19th, Atomic Era 654. And once this is established, we can then proceed to the question of whether or not the said Goldilocks was truly a sapient being. I agree, Coombs said equably. Most of these witnesses will have to be recalled to the stand later, but in general I think Mr. Brannard's suggestion will be economical of the court's time. Will Mr. Coombs agree to stipulate that any evidence tending to prove or disprove the sapience of Fuzzies in general be accepted as proving or disproving the sapience of the being referred to as Goldilocks? Coombs looked that over carefully, decided that it wasn't booby-trapped and agreed. A deputy marshal went over to the witness stand, made some adjustments and snapped on a switch at the back of the chair. Immediately the two-foot globe in a standard behind it lit a clear blue. George Lunt's name was called. The lieutenant took his seat and the bright helmet was let down over his head and the electrodes attached. The globe stayed a calm, untroubled blue while he stated his name and rank. Then he waited while Coombs and Brannard conferred. Finally Brannard took a silver half-soul piece from his pocket, shook it between cupped palms and slapped it onto his wrist. Coombs said, heads, and Brannard uncovered it, bowed slightly and stepped back. Now, lieutenant Lunt, Coombs began, when you arrived at the temporary camp across the run from Holloway's camp, what did you find there? Two dead people, Lunt said, a terren human who had been shot three times through the chest and a Fuzzy who had been kicked or trampled to death. Your honours, Coombs expostulated, I must ask that the witness be requested to rephrase his answer and that the answer he has just made be stricken from the record. The witness, under the circumstances, has no right to refer to the Fuzzies as people. Your honours, Brannard caught it up, Mr. Coombs' objection is no less prejudicial. He has no right under the circumstances to deny that the Fuzzies be referred to as people. This is tantamount to insisting that the witness speak of them as non-sapient animals. It went on like that for five minutes. Jack began doodling on a notepad. Baby picked up a pencil with both hands and began making doodles too. They looked rather like the knots he had been learning to tie. Finally the court intervened and told Lunt to tell, in his own words, why he went to Holloway's camp, what he found there, what he was told, and what he did. There was some argument between Coombs and Brannard at one point about the difference between Heasie and Ray's guest-eye. When he was through Coombs said, No questions. Lieutenant, you placed Leonard Kellogg under arrest on a complaint of homicide by Jack Holloway. I take it that you considered this complaint a valid one? Yes, sir. I believe that Leonard Kellogg had killed a sapient being. Only sapient beings bury their dead. Armoured Cardra testified. The two troopers who had come in the other car, and the men who had brought the investigative equipment and done the photographing at the scene testified. Brannard called Ruth or Therese to the stand, and after some futile objections by Coombs, she was allowed to tell her own story of the killing of Goldilocks, the beating of Kellogg, and the shooting of Borsch. When she had finished, the Chief Justice wrapped with his gavel. I believe that this testimony is sufficient to establish the fact that the being referred to as Jane Doe, alias Goldilocks, was in fact kicked and trampled to death by the defendant Leonard Kellogg, and that the Terran human known as Kurt Borsch was in fact shot to death by Jack Holloway. This being the case, we may now consider whether or not either or both of these killings constitute murder within the meaning of the law. It is now eleven forty, we will adjourn for lunch, and court will reconvene at fourteen hundred. There are a number of things, including some alterations to the courtroom which must be done before the afternoon session. Yes, Mr. Brannard? Your honours, there is only one member of the species Fuzzy Fuzzy Holloway Zarathustra at present in court, an immature and hence non-representative individual. He picked up, baby, and exhibited him. If we are to take up the question of the sapience of this species or race, would it not be well to send for the Fuzzies now staying at the Hotel Mullery and have them on hand? Well, Mr. Brannard, Pendarva said, we will certainly want Fuzzies in court, but let me suggest that we wait until after court reconvenes before sending for them. It may be that they will not be needed this afternoon. Anything else? He tapped with his gavel. Then court is adjourned until fourteen hundred. Some alterations in the courtroom had been a conservative way of putting it. Four rows of spectator seats had been abolished and the dividing rail moved back. The witness chair, originally at the side of the bench, had been moved at the dividing rail and now faced the bench, and a large number of tables had been brought in and ranged in an arc with the witness chair in the middle of it. Everybody at the tables could face the judges and also see everybody else by looking into the big screen. A witness on the chair could also see the veridicator in the same way. Gus Brannard looked around when he ended with Jack and Swore softly. No wonder they gave us two hours for lunch. I wonder what the idea is. Then he gave a short laugh. Look at Coombs, he doesn't like it a bit. A deputy with a seating diagram came up to them. Mr. Brannard, you and Mr. Holloway over here at this table, he pointed to one a little apart from the others, at the extreme right facing the bench. And Dr. Van Ribick and Dr. Rainsford over here, please. The court-criers' loud speaker overhead gave two sharp whistles and began, Now hear this, now hear this, court will convene in five minutes. Brannard's head jerked around instantly and Jack's eyes followed his. The court-crier was a space navy petty officer. What the devil is this, Brannard demanded, a navy court-martial? That's what I've been wondering, Mr. Brannard, the deputy said. They've taken over the whole planet, you know. Maybe we're in luck, Gus. I've always heard that if you're innocent you're better off before a court-martial, and if you're guilty you're better off in a civil court. He saw Leslie Coombs and Leonard Kellogg being seated at a similar table at the opposite side of the bench. Apparently Coombs had also heard that. The seating arrangements at the other table seemed a little odd, too. Gerd Van Ribick was next to Ruth Ortheris and Ernst Mallon was next to Ben Rainsford, with Juan Jiménez on his other side. Gus was looking up at the balcony. I'll bet every lawyer on the planet's taking this in, he said. Uh-oh. See the white-haired lady in the blue-dress, Jack. That's the Chief Justice's wife. This is the first time she's been in court for years. Year ye, year ye, year ye, rise for the Honourable Court. Somebody must have given the petty officer a quick briefing on courtroom phraseology. He stood up holding baby Fuzzy while the three judges filed in and took their seats. As soon as they sat down the Chief Justice wrapped briskly with his gavel. In order to forestall a spate of objections, I want to say that these present arrangements are temporary, and so will be the procedures which will be followed. We are not, at the moment, trying Jack Holloway or Leonard Kellogg. For the rest of this day, and I fear for a good many days to come, we will be concerned exclusively with determining the level of mentation of Fuzzy Fuzzy Holloway Zarathustra. For this purpose we are temporarily abandoning some of the traditional trial procedures. We will call witnesses. Statements of purported fact will be made under veridication as usual. We will also have a general discussion in which all of you at these tables will be free to participate. I and my associates will preside, as we can't have everybody shouting disputations at once. Anybody wishing to speak will have to be recognized. At least I hope we will be able to conduct the discussion in this manner. You will all have noticed the presence of a number of officers from Xerxes naval base, and I suppose you have all heard that Commodore Napier has assumed control of the civil government. Captain Greibenfeld, will you please rise and be seen? He is here participating as Amika's curiae, and I have given him the right to question witnesses and to delegate that right to any of his officers he may deem proper. Mr. Coombs and Mr. Brannard may also delegate that right as they see fit. Coombs was on his feet at once. Your honours, if we are now to discuss the sapiens' question, I would suggest that the first item in our order of business be the presentation of some acceptable definition of sapiens. I should for my part very much like to know what it is that the Kellogg prosecution and the Holloway defence mean when they use that term. That's it. They want us to define it. Gerd van Riebik was looking chagrined. Ernst Mullen was smoking. Gus Brannard, however, was pleased. Jack, they have an any more damned definition than we do, he whispered. Captain Greibenfeld, who had seated himself after rising at the request of the court, was on his feet again. Your honours, during the past month we at Xerxes' Naval Base have been working on exactly that problem. We have a very considerable interest in having the classification of this planet established, and we also feel that this may not be the last time a question of disputable sapiens may arise. I believe, your honours, that we have approached such a definition. However, before we begin discussing it, I would like the court's permission to present a demonstration which may be of help in understanding the problems involved. Captain Greibenfeld has already discussed this demonstration with me, and it has my approval. Will you please proceed, Captain?" the Chief Justice said. Greibenfeld nodded, and a deputy marshal opened the door on the right of the bench. Two spacemen came in carrying cartons. One went up to the bench, the other started around in front of the tables distributing small battery-powered hearing aids. Please put them in your ears and turn them on, he said. Thank you. Baby Fuzzy tried to get Jacks. He put the plug in his ear and switched on the power. Instantly he began hearing a number of small sounds he had never heard before, and Baby was saying to him, Yes, I hear him. What do you suppose? Ultrasonic. God, why didn't we think of that long ago? He snapped off the hearing aid. Baby Fuzzy was saying, When he turned it on again, Baby was saying, No, Baby, Pabby Jack doesn't understand. We'll have to be awfully patient and learn each other's language. Pabby Jack! Baby cried. Babby's a hinger. Pabby Jack's a zugga, a hisa. That yeaking is just the audible edge of their speech, bet we have a lot of trans-sonic tones in our voices, too. Well, he can hear what we say. He's picked up his name in yours. Mr. Brannard, Mr. Holloway, Judge Pendalvis was saying, May we please have your attention? Now, have you all your ear plugs in and turned on? Very well. Carry on, Captain. This time an end-sign went out and came back with a crowd of enlisted men who had six fuzzies with them. They set them down in the open space between the bench and the arc of tables and backed away. The fuzzies drew together into a clump and stared about them, and he stared, unbelievingly, at them. They couldn't be. They didn't exist any more. But they were. Little Fuzzy and Mama Fuzzy and Mike and Mitzy and Coco and Cinderella. Baby whooped something and leapt from the table, and Mama came stumbling to meet him, clasping him in her arms. Then they all saw him and began clamouring. Puppy Jack! Puppy Jack! He wasn't aware of rising and leaving the table. The next thing he realized, he was sitting on the floor, his family mobbing him and hugging him, gabbling with joy. Dimly he heard the gavel hammering and the voice of Chief Justice Pendalvis. Court is recessed for ten minutes. By that time Gus was with him, gathering the family up, they carried them over to their table. They stumbled and staggered when they moved and that frightened him for a moment. Then he realized that they weren't sick or drugged. They'd just been in logy for a while and hadn't become reaccustomed to normal weight. Now he knew why he hadn't been able to find any trace of them. He noticed that each of them was wearing a little shoulder bag, a marine-core first-aid pouch, slung from a webbing strap. Why the devil hadn't he thought of making them something like that? He touched one and commented, trying to pitch his voice as nearly like theirs as he could. They all babbled in reply and began opening the little bags and showing him what they had in them. Little knives and miniature tools and bits of bright or colored junk they'd picked up. Little Fuzzy produced a tiny pipe with a hardwood bowl and a little pouch of tobacco from which he filled it. Finally he got out a small lighter. Your honours, Gus shouted, I know Court is recessed, but please observe what Little Fuzzy is doing. While they watched, Little Fuzzy snapped the lighter and held the flame to the pipe-bowl, puffing. Across on the other side Leslie Coombs swallowed once or twice and closed his eyes. When Pendavas rubbed for attention and declared Court reconvened, he said, Ladies and gentlemen, you have all seen and heard this demonstration of Captain Greibenfeld's. You have heard these fuzzies uttering what certainly sounds like meaningful speech, and you have seen one of them light a pipe and smoke. Incidentally, while smoking in Court is discontentanced, we are going to make an exception during this trial in favour of fuzzies. Other people will please not feel themselves discriminated against. That brought Coombs to his feet with a rush. He started around the table, and then remembered that under the new rules he didn't have to. Your honours, I objected strongly to the use of that term by a witness this morning. I must object even more emphatically to its employment from the bench. I have indeed heard these fuzzies make sounds which might be mistaken for words, but I must deny that this is true speech. As to this trick of using a lighter, I will undertake in not more than thirty days to teach it to any Terran primate or Fray and Colf. Greibenfeld rose immediately. Your honours, in the past thirty days while these fuzzies were at Xerxes's naval base, we have compiled a vocabulary of a hundred odd fuzzy words for all of which definite meanings have been established, and a great many more for which we have not as yet learned the meanings. We even have the beginning of a fuzzy grammar. As for this so-called trick of using a lighter, little fuzzy we didn't know his name then and referred to him as M2, learned that for himself by observation. We didn't teach him to smoke a pipe, either. He knew that before we had anything to do with him. Jack rose while Greibenfeld was still speaking. As soon as the space navy captain had finished, he said, Captain Greibenfeld, I want to thank you and your people for taking care of the fuzzies, and I'm very glad you learned how to hear what they're saying, and a thank you for all the nice things you gave them. But why couldn't you have let me know they were safe? I haven't been very happy this last month, you know. I know that, Mr. Holloway, and if it's any comfort to you, we were all very sorry for you, but we could not take the risk of compromising our secret intelligent agent in the company's science centre, the one who smuggled the fuzzies out the morning after their escape. He looked quickly across in front of the bench to the table at the other end of the arc. Kellogg was sitting with his face in his hands oblivious to everything that was going on, but Leslie Coombe's well-disciplined face had broken briefly into a look of consternation. By the time you and Mr. Brannard and Marshal Fain arrived with an order of the court for the fuzzies' recovery, they had already been taken from science centre and were on a navy landing craft for Xerxes. We couldn't do anything without exposing our agent. That, I am glad to say, is no longer a consideration. Well, Captain Greibenfeld, the Chief Justice said, I assume you mean to introduce further testimony about the observations and studies made by your people on Xerxes. For the record, we'd like to have it established that they were actually taken there, and when, and how. Yes, Your Honor, if you will call the fourth name on the list I gave you and allow me to do the questioning, we can establish that." The Chief Justice picked up a paper. Lieutenant J. G. Ruth Ortheris T. F. N. Reserve, he called out. This time Jack Holloway looked up into the big screen in which he could see everybody. Gerd Van Rebic, who had been trying to ignore the existence of the woman beside him, had turned to stare at her in amazement. Coon's face was ghastly for an instant, then froze into corpse-like immobility. Ernst Mallon was dithering in incredulous anger. Beside him, Ben Rainsford was grinning in just as incredulous delight. As Ruth came around in front of the bench the fuzzies gave her innovation, they remembered and liked her. Gus Brannard was gripping his arm and saying, Oh, brother, this is it, Jack, it's all over but shooting the cripples. Lieutenant J. G. Ortheris, under a calmly blue globe, testified to coming to Zarathustra as a Federation naval reserve officer, recalled to duty with intelligence and taking a position with the company. As a regularly qualified doctor of psychology, I worked under Dr. Mallon in this scientific division, and also with the school department and the juvenile court. At the same time I was regularly transmitting reports to Commander Alborg, the Chief of Intelligence, on Xerxes. The object of this surveillance was to make sure that the Zarathustra company was not violating the provisions of their charter or Federation law. Until the middle of last month I had nothing to report beyond some rather irregular financial transactions involving Resident General Emmett. Then, on the evening of June 15—that was when Ben had transmitted the tape to Juan Jiménez, she described how it had come to her attention. As soon as possible I transmitted a copy of this tape to Commander Alborg. The next night I called Zarathustra from the screen in Dr. Van Riebig's boat and reported what I'd learned about the fuzzies. I was then informed that Leonard Kellogg had gotten hold of a copy of the Holloway-Rainsford tape and had alerted Victor Grego, that Kellogg and Ernst Mallon were being sent to beta-continent with instructions to prevent publication of any report claiming sapience for the fuzzies, and to fabricate evidence to support an accusation that Dr. Rainsford and Mr. Holloway were perpetrating a deliberate scientific hoax. Here I'll have to object to this, your honour," Coombs said, rising. This is nothing but hearsay. This is part of a Navy intelligence situation estimate given to Lieutenant Ortheris, based on reports we had received from other agents, Captain Gribenfeld said. She isn't the only one we have on Zarathustra, you know, Mr. Coombs. If I hear another word of objection to this officer's testimony from you, I'm going to ask Mr. Brunner to subpoena Victor Grego and question him under verification about it. Mr. Brunner will be more than happy to oblige, Commander," Gus said loudly and distinctly. Coombs sat down hastily. Well, Lieutenant Ortheris, this is most interesting, but at the moment what we're trying to establish is how these fuzzies got to Xerxes' naval base, the chubby Associate Justice Ruith put in. I'll try to get them there as quickly as possible, your honour," she said. On the night of Friday the twenty-second the fuzzies were taken from Mr. Holloway and brought into Mallory's port. They were turned over by Mohammed O'Brien to Juan Jiménez, who took them to Science Centre and put them in cages in a backroom of his office. They immediately escaped. I found them the next morning and was able to get them out of the building and to turn them over to Commander Alborg, who had come down from Xerxes to take personal charge of the fuzzy operation. I will not testify as to how I was able to do this. I am at present and was then an officer of the Terran Federation Armed Forces and courts have no power to compel a Federation officer to give testimony involving breach of military security. I was informed through my contact in Mallory's port from time to time of the progress of the work of measuring the fuzzy's mental level there. I was able to pass on suggestions occasionally. Anytime any of these suggestions was based on ideas originating with Dr. Mallon, I was careful to give him full credit. Mallon looked singularly unappreciative. Brannard got up. Before this witness is excused, I'd like to ask if she knows anything about four other fuzzies, the ones found by Jack Holloway up Fernie Creek on Friday. Why, yes, they're my fuzzies and I was worried about them. Their names are Complex, Syndrome, Eden, Super Ego. Your fuzzy's Lieutenant? Well, I took care of them and worked with them. Juan Jiménez and some company hunters caught them over on Beta Continent. They were kept at a farm centre about five hundred miles north of here, which had been vacated for the purpose. I spent all my time with them, and Dr. Mallon was with them most of the time. Then on Monday night Mr. Coombs came and got them. Mr. Coombs, did you say? Gus Brannard asked. Mr. Leslie Coombs, the company attorney, he said they were needed in Mallory's Port. It wasn't until the next day that I found out what they were needed for. They'd been turned loose in front of that fuzzy hunt in the hope that they would be killed. She looked across at Coombs. If looks were bullets, he'd have been deader than Kurt Borsch. Why would they sacrifice four fuzzies merely to support a story that was bound to come apart anyhow? Brannard asked. That was no sacrifice. They had to get rid of those fuzzies, and they were afraid to kill them themselves for fear they'd be charged with murder along with Leonard Kellogg. Everybody from Ernst Mallon down who had anything to do with them was convinced of their sapience. For one thing we'd been using those hearing aids ourselves, I suggested it after getting the idea from Xerxes. Ask Dr. Mallon about it under veridication. Ask him about the multi-ordinal polyencephalographic experiments, too. Well, we have the Holloway fuzzies placed on Xerxes, the Chief Justice said. We can hear the testimony of the people who worked with them there at any time. Now I want to hear from Dr. Ernst Mallon. Coombs was on his feet again. Your Honours, before any further testimony is heard, I would like to confer with my client privately. I fail to see any reason why we should interrupt proceedings for that purpose, Mr. Coombs. You can confer as much as you wish with your client after this session, and I can assure you that you will be called upon to do nothing on his behalf until then. He gave a light tap with his gavel and then said, Dr. Ernst Mallon will please take the stand. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of Little Fuzzy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, Little Fuzzy by H. Beam Piper, Chapter 15. Ernst Mallon shrank as though trying to pull himself into himself when he heard his name. He didn't want to testify. He'd been dreading this moment for days. Now he would have to sit in that chair, and they would ask him questions, and he couldn't answer them truthfully, and the globe over his head. When the Deputy Marshall touched his shoulder and spoke to him, he didn't think at first that his legs would support him. It seemed miles with all the staring faces on either side of him. Somehow he reached the chair and sat down, and they fitted the helmet over his head and attached the electrodes. They used to make a witness take some kind of an oath to tell the truth. They didn't any more. They didn't need to. As soon as the veredicator was on he looked up at the big screen behind the three judges. The globe above his head was a glaring red. There was a titter of laughter. Nobody in the courtroom knew better than he what was happening. He had screens in his laboratory that broke it all down into individual patterns, the steady pulsing waves from the cortex, the alpha and beta waves, beta-alif and beta-beth and beta-gymol and beta-dulleth, the thalamic waves. He thought of all of them and of the electromagnetic events which accompanied brain activity. As he did the red faded and the globe became blue. He was no longer suppressing statements and substituting out the statements he knew to be false, if he could keep it that way. But sooner or later he knew he wouldn't be able to. The globe stayed blue while he named himself and stated his professional background. There was a brief flicker of red while he was listing his publications, that paper entirely the work of one of his students which he had published under his own name. He'd forgotten about that, but his conscience hadn't. Dr. Mallon, the oldest of the three judges who sat in the middle began, what, in your professional opinion, is the difference between sapient and non- sapient mentation? The ability to think consciously, he stated, the globe stayed blue. Do you mean that non- sapient animals aren't conscious, or do you mean they don't think? Well, neither. Any life form with a central nervous system has some consciousness, awareness of existence and of its surroundings, and anything having a brain thinks to use the term at its loosest. What I meant was that only the sapient mind thinks and knows that it is thinking. He was perfectly safe so far. He talked about sensory stimuli and responses and about conditioned reflexes. He went back to the first century pre-atomic and Pavlov and Korzybsky and Freud, the globe never flickered. The non- sapient animal is conscious only of what is immediately present to the senses and responds automatically. It will perceive something and make a single statement about it. This is good to eat. This sensation is unpleasant. This is a sex gratification object. This is dangerous. The sapient mind, on the other hand, is conscious of thinking about these sense stimuli and makes descriptive statements about them and then makes statements about those statements in a connected chain. I have a structural differential at my seat if someone will bring it to me. Well, never mind now, Dr. Mullen. When you're off the stand and the discussion begins, you can show what you mean. We just want your opinion in general terms now. Well, the sapient mind can generalize. To the non- sapient animal every experience is either totally novel or identical with some remembered experience. A rabbit will flee from one dog because to the rabbit mind it is identical with another dog that has chased it. A bird will be attracted to an apple and each apple will be a unique red thing to peck at. The sapient being will say, these red objects are apples as a class they are edible and flavorsome. He sets up a class under the general label of apples. This in turn leads to the formation of abstract ideas, redness, flavor, etc., conceived of apart from any specific physical object and the ordering of abstractions, fruit is distinguished from apples, food is distinguished from fruit. The globe was still placidly blue, the three judges waited and he continued, having formed these abstract ideas it becomes necessary to symbolize them in order to deal with them apart from the actual object. The sapient being is a symbolizer and a symbol communicator. He is able to convey to other sapient beings his ideas in symbolic form. Like Puppy Jack, the judge on his right with the black moustache asked. The globe flashed red at once. Your honours, I cannot consider words picked up at random and learned by rote speech. The fuzzies have merely learned to associate that sound with a specific human and use it as a signal, not as a symbol. The globe was still red. The chief justice in the middle wrapped with his gavel. Dr. Mallon, of all the people on this planet, you at least should know the impossibility of lying under veridication. Other people just know it can't be done. You know why. Now I'm going to rephrase Judge Jennifer's question and I'll expect you to answer truthfully. If you don't, I'm going to hold you in contempt. When those fuzzies cried out, Puppy Jack, do you or do you not believe that they were using a verbal expression which stood in their minds for Mr. Holloway? He couldn't say it. This sapience was all a big fake. He had to believe that. The fuzzies were only little mindless animals. But he didn't believe it. He knew better. He gulped for a moment. Yes, Your Honour. The term Puppy Jack is in their minds a symbol standing for Mr. Jack Holloway. He looked at the globe. The red had turned a mauve. The mauve was becoming violet and then clear blue. He felt better than he had felt since the afternoon Leonard Kellogg had told him about the fuzzies. Then fuzzies do think consciously, Dr. Mullen. That was Pandavas. Oh, yes, the fact that they use verbal symbols indicates that, even without other evidence, and the instrumental evidence was most impressive. The mentation pictures we got by encephalography compare very favourably with those of any human child of ten or twelve years old, and so does their learning and puzzle-solving ability. On puzzles they always think the problem out first and then do the mechanical work with about the same mental effort, say, as a man washing his hands or tying his neckcloth. The globe was perfectly blue. Mullen had given up trying to lie. He was simply gushing out everything he thought. Leonard Kellogg slumped forward his head buried in his elbows on the table, and misery washed over him in tides. I am a murderer. I killed a person. Only a funny little person with fur, but she was a person, and I knew it when I killed her. I knew it when I saw that little grave out in the woods, and they'll put me in that chair and make me admit it to everybody, and then they'll take me out in the jail-yard, and somebody will shoot me through the head with a pistol, and—and all the poor little thing wanted was to show me her new jingle. Does anybody want to ask the witness any questions, the Chief Justice was asking? I don't, Captain Greibenfeld said. Do you, Lieutenant? No, I don't think so, left Lieutenant Wybara said. Dr. Mullen's given us a very lucid statement of his opinions. He had at that. After he'd decided he couldn't beat the ver-educator. Jack found himself sympathizing with Mullen. He disliked the man from the first, but he looked different now, sort of cleaned and washed out inside. Maybe everybody ought to be ver-educated now, and then to teach them that honesty begins with honesty to self. Mr. Coombs? Mr. Coombs looked as though he never wanted to ask another witness another question as long as he lived. Mr. Brannard? Gus got up holding a sapient member of a sapient race who was hanging onto his beard, and thanked Ernst Mullen fulsomely. In that case we'll adjourn until 0900 tomorrow. Mr. Coombs, I have here a check on the Chartered Zarathustra Company for twenty-five thousand souls. I am returning it to you, and I am cancelling Dr. Kellogg's bail. Judge Pendarvis said, as a couple of attendants began getting Mullen loose from the ver-educator. Are you also cancelling Jack Holloway's? No, and I would advise you not to make an issue of it, Mr. Coombs. The only reason I haven't dismissed the charge against Mr. Holloway is that I don't want to handicap you by cutting off your foothold in the prosecution. I do not consider Mr. Holloway a bail risk. I do so consider your client, Dr. Kellogg. Frankly, your honor, so do I, Coombs admitted. My protest was merely an example of what Dr. Mullen would call conditioned reflex. Then a crowd began pushing up around the table. Ben Rainsford, George Lunt and his troopers, Gerd and Ruth, shoving in among them their arms around each other. We'll be at the hotel after a while, Jack. Gerd was saying. Ruth and I are going out for a drink and something to eat. We'll be around later to pick up her fuzzies. Now his partner had his girl back, and his partner's girl had a fuzzy family of her own. This was going to be real fun. What were their names now? Syndrome, Complex, Eden, Super-Ego. I think some people named fuzzies. They stopped whispering at the door, turned right and ascended to the bench, bearing themselves like images in a procession. Ruth first, then himself, and then Geneva. They turned to the screen so that the public whom they served might see the faces of the judges, and then sat down. The court crier began his chant. They could almost feel the tension in the courtroom. Eve's Geneva whispered to them. They all know about it. As soon as the crier had stopped, Max Fein approached the bench, his face blankly expressionless. Your honors, I am ashamed to have to report that the defendant, Leonard Kellogg, cannot be produced in court. He is dead. He committed suicide in his cell last night, while in my custody, he added bitterly. The stir that went through the courtroom was not shocked surprise. It was a sigh of fulfilled expectation. They all knew about it. How did this happen, Marshall? he asked almost conversationally. The prisoner was put in a cell by himself. There was a pick-up eye, and one of my deputies was keeping him under observation by screen. Fein spoke in a toneless, almost robot-like voice. At twenty-two-thirty the prisoner went to bed, still wearing his shirt. He pulled the blankets up over his head. The deputy, observing him, thought nothing of that, many prisoners do that on account of the light. He tossed about for a while, and then appeared to fall asleep. When a guard went in to rouse him this morning, the cot, under the blanket, was found saturated with blood. Kellogg had cut his throat by sawing the zippertrack of his shirt back and forth until he severed his jugular vein. He was dead. Good heavens, Marshall! he was shocked. The way he'd heard it, Kellogg had hidden a penknife, and he was prepared to be severe with feign about it. But a thing like this. He found himself fingering the tooth-track of his own jacket-zipper. I don't believe you can be at all sentient for not anticipating a thing like that. It isn't a thing anybody would expect. Jennifer and Ruth spoke briefly in agreement. Marshall feigned, bowed slightly, and went off to one side. Leslie Coombs, who seemed to be making a very considerable effort to look grieved and shocked, rose. You're honest. I find myself here without a client, he said. In fact, I find myself here without any business at all. The case against Mr. Holloway is absolutely insupportable. He shot a man who was trying to kill him, and that's all there is to it. I therefore pray your honours to dismiss the case against him and discharge him from custody. Captain Greibenfeld bounded to his feet. Your honours, I fully realise that the defendant is now beyond the jurisdiction of this court, but let me point out that I and my associates are here participating in this case in the hope that the classification of this planet may be determined, and some adequate definition of sapience established. These are most serious questions, your honours. But your honours, Coombs protested, we can't go through the farce of trying a dead man. People of the colony of Baffomet versus Yamcha Singh deceased, charge of arson and sabotage AE604, the Honourable Gustavus Adolphus Brannet interrupted. Yes, you could find a president in colonial law for almost anything. Jack Holloway was on his feet a fuzzy cradle in the crook of his left arm, his white moustache bristling truculently. I am not a dead man, your honours, and I am on trial here. The reason I'm not dead is why I'm on trial. My defence is that I shot Kurt Borsch while he was aiding in a betting in the killing of a fuzzy. I want it established in this court that it is murdered to kill a fuzzy. The judge nodded slowly. I will not dismiss the charges against Mr. Holloway, he said. Mr. Holloway has been arraigned on a charge of murder. If he's not guilty, he's entitled to the vindication of an acquittal. I'm afraid, Mr. Coombs, that you will have to go on prosecuting him. Another brief stir like a breath of wind over a grainfield ran through the courtroom. The show was going on after all. All the fuzzies were in court this morning, Jack's six and the five from a constabulary post, and Ben's flora and fauna, and the four Ruth or Therris claimed. There was too much discussion going on for anybody to keep an eye on them. Finally, one of the constabulary fuzzies, either Dillinger or Dr. Crippen, and Ben Rainsford's flora and fauna, came sauntering out into the open space between the tables and the bench, dragging the hose of a vacuum duster. Armoured cadre ducked under a table and tried to get it away from them. This was wonderful! Screaming in delight, they all laid hold of the other end, and Mike and Mitzi and Superego and Complex ran to help them. The seven of them dragged cadre about ten feet before he gave up and let go. At the same time an incipient fight broke out on the other side of the arc of tables between the head of the language department at Mallory's Port Academy and a spinsterish amateur phoneticist. At this point Judge Penn Darvis, deciding that if you can't prevent it, relax and enjoy it, wrapped a few times with his gavel and announced that court was recessed. You all please remain here. This is not an adjournment, and if any of the various groups who seem to be discussing different aspects of the problem reach any conclusion they feel should be presented in evidence, will they please notify the bench so that court can be reconvened? In any case, we will reconvene at eleven thirty. Somebody wanted to know if smoking would be permitted during the recess. The Chief Justice said that it would be. He got out a cigar and lit it. Mama Fuzzy wanted a puff. She didn't like it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mike and Mitzi, Flora and Fauna scampering around and up the steps behind the bench. When he looked again they were all up on it, and Mitzi was showing the court what she had in her shoulder bag. He got up with Mama and Baby and crossed to where Leslie Coombs was sitting. By this time somebody was bringing in a coffee-earn from the cafeteria. Fuzzy's ought to have an offener in court. The gavel tapped slowly. Little Fuzzy scrambled up onto Jack Holloway's lap. After five days in court they had all learned that the gavel meant for Fuzzy's and other people to be quiet. It might be a good idea, Jack thought, to make a little gavel when they got home and keep it on the table in the living-room for when the family got too boisterous. Baby, who wasn't gavel-trained yet, started out onto the floor. Mama dashed after him and brought him back under the table. The place looked like a courtroom again. The tables were ranged in a neat row, facing the bench, and the witness-chair and the jury-box were back where they belonged. The ash-trace and the coffee-earn and the ice-tubs for beer and soft drinks had vanished. It looked like the party was over. He was almost regretful. It had been fun, especially for seventeen Fuzzy's and a Baby Fuzzy in a little black-and-white kitten. There was one unusual feature. There was now a fourth man on the bench in gold-braided navy-black, sitting a little apart from the judges, trying to look as though he weren't there at all—Space Commodore Alex Napier. Judge Pendavas laid down his gavel. Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready to present the opinions you have reached? He asked. Lieutenant Wybera, the navy psychologist, rose. There was a reading-screen in front of him. He snapped it on. Your honours, he began. There still exists considerable difference of opinion on matters of detail, but we are in agreement on all major points. This is quite a lengthy report, and it has already been incorporated into the permanent record. Have I the court's permission to summarise it?" The court told him he had. Wybera glanced down at the screen in front of him and continued. It is our opinion, he said, that sapience may be defined as differing from non- sapience in that it is characterised by conscious thought, by ability to think in logical sequence, and by ability to think in terms other than mere sense-data. We, meaning every member of every sapient race, think consciously, and we know what we are thinking. This is not to say that all our mental activity is conscious. The science of psychology is based to a large extent upon our realisation that only a small portion of our mental activity occurs above the level of consciousness, and for centuries we have been diagramming the mind as an iceberg, one-tenth exposed and nine-tenths submerged. The art of psychiatry consists largely in bringing into consciousness some of the content of this submerged nine-tenths, and as a practitioner I can testify to its difficulty and uncertainty. We are so habituated to conscious thought that when we reach some conclusion by any non-conscious process we speak of it as a hunch or an intuition and question its validity. We are so habituated to acting upon consciously formed decisions that we must laboriously acquire by systematic drill those automatic responses upon which we depend for survival in combat or other emergencies. And we are, by nature, so unaware of this vast submerged mental area that it was not until the first century pre-atomic that its existence was more than vaguely suspected and its nature is still the subject of acrimonious professional disputes. There had been a few of those off and on during the past four days, too. If we depict sapient mentation as an iceberg we might depict non- sapient mentation as the sunlight reflected from its surface. This is a considerably less exact analogy, while the non- sapient mind deals consciously with nothing but present sense data there is a considerable absorption and re-emission of subconscious memories. Also there are occasional flashes of what must be conscious mental activity in dealing with some novel situation. Dr. van Riebik, who is especially interested in the evolutionary aspect of the question, suggests that the introduction of novelty because of drastic environmental changes may have forced non- sapient beings into more or less sustained conscious thinking and so initiated mental habits which in time gave rise to true sapience. The sapient mind not only thinks consciously by habit but it thinks in connected sequence. It associates one thing with another. It reasons logically and forms conclusions and uses these conclusions as premises from which to arrive at further conclusions. It groups associations together and generalizes. Here we pass completely beyond any comparison with non- sapience. This is not merely more consciousness or more thinking, it is thinking of a radically different kind. The non- sapient mind deals exclusively with crude sensory material. The sapient mind translates sense impressions into ideas and then forms ideas of ideas in ascending orders of abstraction almost without limit. This finally brings us to one of the recognized overt manifestations of sapience. The sapient being is a symbol user. The non- sapient being cannot symbolize because the non- sapient mind is incapable of concepts beyond mere sense images. Why bear a drank some water and twisted the dial of his reading-screen with the other hand? The sapient being, he continued, can do one other thing. It is a combination of the three abilities already enumerated, but combining them creates something much greater than the mere sum of the parts. The sapient being can imagine. He can conceive of something which has no existence whatever in the sense available world of reality, and then he can work and plan toward making it a part of reality. He can not only imagine, but he can also create. He paused for a moment. This is our definition of sapience. When we encounter any being whose mentation includes these characteristics, we may know him for a sapient brother. It is the considered opinion of all of us that the beings called fuzzies are such beings. Jack hugged the small sapient one on his lap, and little fuzzy looked up and murmured, You're in, kid, he whispered. You just join the people. Why bear a was saying, they think consciously and continuously. We know that by instrumental analysis of their electroencephalographic patterns which compare closely to those of an intelligent human child of ten. They think in connected sequence. I invite consideration of all the different logical steps involved in the invention, designing and making of their prawn killing weapons, and in the development of tools with which to make them. We have abundant evidence of their ability to think beyond present sense-data, to associate, to generalize, to abstract, and to symbolize. And above all they can imagine, not only a new implement, but a new way of life. We see this in the first human contact with the race which, I submit, should be designated as fuzzy sapiens. Little fuzzy found a strange and wonderful place in the forest, a place unlike anything he had ever seen, in which lived a powerful being. He imagined himself living in this place, enjoying the friendship and protection of this mysterious being. So he slipped inside, made friends with Jack Holloway, and lived with him. And then he imagined his family sharing this precious comfort and companionship with him, and he went and found them and brought them back with him. Like so many other sapient beings, Little fuzzy had a beautiful dream. Like a fortunate few, he made it real. The Chief Justice allowed the applause to run on for a few minutes before using his gavel to silence it. There was a brief colloquy among the three judges, and then the Chief Justice rubbed again. Little fuzzy looked perplexed. Everybody had been quiet after he did it the first time, hadn't they? It is the unanimous decision of the court to accept the report already entered into the record, and just summarized by Lieutenant Y. Berra T. F. N., and to thank him and all who have been associated with him. It is now the ruling of this court that the species known as fuzzy-fuzzy Holloway Zarathustra is in fact a race of sapient beings entitled to the respect of all other sapient beings and to the full protection of the law of the Terran Federation. He wrapped again slowly, pounding the decision into the legal framework. Space Commodore Napier leaned over and whispered, all three of the judges nodded emphatically. The naval officer rose. Lieutenant Y. Berra, on behalf of the service and of the Federation, I thank you and those associated with you for a lucid and excellent report, the culmination of work which reflects credit upon all who participated in it. I also wish to state that a suggestion made to me by Lieutenant Y. Berra regarding possible instrumental detection of sapient mentation is being credited to him in my own report, with the recommendation that it be given important priority by the Bureau of Research and Development. Perhaps the next time we find people who speak beyond the range of human audition, who have fur and live in a mild climate, and who like their food raw, will know what they are from the beginning. Bet Y. Berra gets another stripe and a good job out of this, Jack hoped so. Then Pendavas was pounding again. I had almost forgotten, this is a criminal trial, he confessed. It is the verdict of this court that the defendant, Jack Holloway, is not guilty as he had charged. He is herewith discharged from custody. If he or his attorney will step up here, the bail-bond will be refunded. He puzzled Little Fuzzy by hammering again with his gavel to a Joan court. This time, instead of keeping quiet, everybody made all the noise they could, and Uncle Gus was holding him high over his head and shouting, The winner! by unanimous decision! End of CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII of Little Fuzzy, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain, Little Fuzzy by H. Beam Piper CHAPTER XVII Ruth or Therris sipped at the tart cold cocktail. It was good. Oh, it was good. All good. The music was soft, the lights were dim, the tables were far apart. Just she and Gerd, and nobody was paying any attention to them. And she was clear out of the business, too. An agent who testified in court always was expended in service, like a fired round. They'd want her back a year from now to testify when the Board of Inquiry came out from terror, but she wouldn't be Lieutenant J. G. or Therris then. She'd be Mrs. Gerd Van Rebic. She sat down the glass and rubbed the sunstone on her finger. It was a lovely sunstone, and it meant such a lovely thing. And we're getting married with a ready-made family, too, for Fuzzy's and a black-and-white kitten. You're sure you really want to go to Beta, Gerd asked. When Napier gets this new government organized, it'll be taking over Science Center. We could both get our old jobs back, maybe something better. You don't want to go back? He shook his head. Neither do I. I want to go to Beta and be a sunstone digger's wife. And a fuzzyologist. And a fuzzyologist. I couldn't drop that now. Gerd, we're only beginning with them. We know next to nothing about their psychology. He nodded seriously. You know, they may turn out to be even wiser than we are. She laughed. Oh, Gerd, let's not get too excited about them. Why, they're like little children. All they think about is having fun. That's right. I said they were wiser than we are. They stick to important things. He smoked silently for a moment. It's not just their psychology. We don't know anything much about their physiology or biology, either. He picked up his glass and drank. Here, we had eighteen of them in all, seventeen adults and one little one. Now, what kind of ratio is that? And the ones we saw in the woods ran about the same. In all, we cited about a hundred and fifty adults and only ten children. Maybe last year's crop have grown up, she began. You know any other sapient races with a one-year maturation period? He asked. I'll bet they take ten or fifteen years to mature. Jack's baby fuzzy hasn't gained a pound in the last month. And another puzzle. This craving for XT3. That's not a natural food, except for the serial bulk matter. It's purely synthetic. I was talking to Wybera. He was wondering if there might be something in it that caused an addiction. Maybe it's satisfied some kind of dietary deficiency. Well, we'll find out. He inverted the jug over his glass. Think we could stand another cocktail before dinner? Space Commodore Napier sat at the desk that had been neck emits and looked at the little man with the red whiskers and the rumpled suit, who was looking back at him in consternation. Good Lord Commodore, you can't be serious. But I am quite serious, Dr. Rainsford. Then your nuts, Rainsford, exploded. I'm no more qualified to be Governor General than I'd be to command Xerxes base. Why, I never held an administrative position in my life. That might be a recommendation. You're replacing a veteran administrator. And I have a job, the Institute of Xenosciences. I think they'll be glad to give you leave under the circumstances. Dr, you're the logical man for this job. You're an ecologist. You know how disastrous the effects of upsetting the balance of nature can be. The Zarathustra company took care of this planet when it was their property. But now, nine-tenths of it is public domain, and people will be coming in from all over the Federation scrambling to get rich overnight. You'll know how to control things. Yes, as Commissioner of Conservation or something I'm qualified for. As Governor General, your job will be to make policy. You can appoint the administrators. Well, who, for instance? Well, you're going to need an Attorney General right away. Who will you appoint for that position? Gus Brannard, Rainsford said instantly. Good. And who, this question is purely rhetorical, will you appoint as Commissioner of Native Affairs? Jack Holloway was going back to Beta Continent on the Constabulary Airboat. Official passenger, Mr. Commissioner Jack Holloway, and his staff, little Fuzzy, Mama Fuzzy, Baby Fuzzy, Mike, Mitzy, Coco and Cinderella. Bet they didn't know they had official positions. Somehow he wished he didn't have one himself. Want a good job, George? He asked Lunt. I have a good job. This will be a better one. Rank of Major, 18,000 a year. Come and down, Native Protection Force, and you won't lose seniority in the Constabulary. Colonel Ferguson will give you indefinite leave. Well, Cripes Jack, I'd like to, but I don't want to leave the kids, and I can't take them away from the rest of the gang. Bring the rest of the gang along. I'm authorized to borrow twenty men from the Constabulary as a training cadre, and you only have sixteen. Your sergeants will get commissions, and all your men will be sergeants. I'm going to have a force of a hundred and fifty for start. You must think the Fuzzies are going to need a lot of protection. They will. The whole country between the Cordilleras and the West Coast Range will be Fuzzy Reservation, and that'll have to be Policed. Then the Fuzzies outside that'll have to be protected. You know what's going to happen. Everybody wants Fuzzies. Why even Judge Brent Darvis approached me about getting a pair for his wife? There'll be gangs hunting them to sell, using stun-bombs and sleep gas and everything. I'm going to have to set up an adoption bureau. Ruth will be in charge of that, and that'll mean a lot of investigators. Oh, it was going to be one hell of a job. Fifty thousand a year would be chicken feed to what he'd lose by not working his diggings, but somebody would have to do it, and the Fuzzies were his responsibility. Hadn't he gone to law to prove their sapience? They were going home, home to the wonderful place. They had seen many wonderful places since the night they had been put in the bags, the place where everything had been light and they had been able to jump so high and land so gently, and the place where they had met all the others of their people and had so much fun. But now they were going back to the old wonderful place in the woods where it had all started. And they had met so many big ones, too. Some big ones were bad, but only a few. Most big ones were good. Even the one who had done the killing had felt sorry for what he'd done. They were all sure of that. And the other big ones had taken him away, and they had never seen him again. He had talked about that with the others, with Flora and Fauna and Dr. Crippen and Complex and Super Ego and Dillinger and Lizzie Borden. Now that they were all going to live with the big ones they would have to use those funny names. Someday they would find out what they meant and that would be fun, too. And they could. Now the big ones could put things in their ears and hear what they were saying, and Pappy Jack was learning some of their words and teaching them some of his. And soon all the people would find big ones to live with, who would take care of them and have fun with them and love them and give them the wonderful food. And with the big ones taking care of them, maybe more of their babies would live and not die so soon, and they would pay the big ones back. First they would give their love and make them happy. Later, when they learned how, they would give their help, too. End of Chapter 17. This is also the end of Little Fuzzy by H.Beam Piper.