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Selecting a stout-handled basting spoon, he took it out into the garden and
dug a hole in a flower bed, sticking the spoon in the ground beside it. The
Fuzzy knew what the hole was for, and used it, and then filled it in and stuck
the spoon back where he found it. He made some ultrasonic remarks, audible as
yeeks, in gratification at finding that human-type people had civilized
notions about sanitation too.
Find him something better tomorrow, a miniature spade. And fix up a real
place for him to sleep, and put in a little fountain, and...
It suddenly occurred to him that he was assuming that the Fuzzy would want to
stay with him permanently, and also to wonder whether he wanted a Fuzzy living
with him. Of course he did. A Fuzzy was fun, and fun was something he ought to
have more of. And a Fuzzy would be a friend. A Fuzzy wouldn t care whether he
was manager-in-chief of the Charterless Zarathustra Company or not, and
friends like that were hard to come by, once you d gotten to the top.
Except for Leslie Coombes, he didn t have any friends like that.
Some time during the night, he was awakened by something soft and warm
squirming against his shoulder.
Hey; I thought I fixed you a bed of your own.
Yeek?
Oh, you want to bunk with Pappy Vic. All right.
They both went back to sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WAS FUN having company for breakfast, especially company small enough to
sit on the table. The Fuzzy tasted Grego s coffee; he didn t care for it. He
liked fruit juice and sipped some. Then he nibbled Extee-Three, and watched
quite calmly while Grego lit a cigarette, but manifested no desire to try one.
He d probably seen humans smoking, and may have picked up a lighted cigarette
and either burned himself or hadn t liked it.
Grego poured more coffee, and then put on the screen. The Fuzzy turned to
look at it. Screens were fun: interesting things happened in them. He was
fascinated by the kaleidoscopic jumble of color. Then it cleared, and Myra
Fallada appeared in it.
Good morning, Mr. Grego, she started. Then she choked. Her mouth stayed
open, and her eyes bulged as though she had just swallowed a glass of
hundred-and-fifty-proof rum thinking it iced tea. Her hand rose falteringly to
point.
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Mr. Grego! That... Is that a Fuzzy?
The Fuzzy was delighted; this was a lot more fun than the man in the blue
clothes, last night.
That s right. I found him making himself at home, here, last evening. He
wondered how many more times he d have to go over that. All I can get out of
him is yeeks. For all I know, he may be a big stockholder.
After consideration, Myra decided this was a joke. A sacrilegious joke; Mr.
Grego oughtn t to make jokes like that about the Company.
Well, what are you going to do with it?
Him? Why, if he wants to stay, fix up a place for him here.
But... But it s a Fuzzy!
The Company lost its charter because of Fuzzies. Fuzzies were the enemy, and
loyal Company people oughtn t to fraternize with them, least of all Mr. Grego.
Miss Fallada, the Fuzzies were on this planet for a hundred thousand years
before the Company was ever thought of. Pity he hadn t taken that attitude
from the start. This Fuzzy is a very nice little fellow, who wants to be
friends with me. If he wants to stay with me, I ll be very happy to have him.
He closed the subject by asking what had come in so far this morning.
Well, the girls have most of the morning reports from last night processed;
they ll be on your desk when you come down. And then...
And then, the usual budget of gripes and queries. He thought most of them had
been settled the day before.
All right; pile it up on me. Has Mr. Coombes called yet?
Yes. He was going to be busy all day. He would call again before noon, and
would be around at cocktail time. That was all right. Leslie knew what he had
to do and how to do it. When he got Myra off the screen, he called Chief
Steefer.
Harry Steefer didn t have to zip up his tunic or try to look wide awake; he
looked that way already. He was a retired Federation Army officer and had a
triple row of ribbon on his left breast to prove it.
Good morning, Mr. Grego. Then he smiled and nodded at the other person in
view in his screen. I see you still have the trespasser.
Guest, Chief. What s been learned about him?
Well, not too much, yet. I have what you gave Captain Lansky last night;
he s tabulated all the reports and complaints on this wave of ransackings and
petty thefts. A rather imposing list, by the way. Shall I give it to you in
full?
No; just summarize it.
Well, it started, apparently, with ransacking in a couple of offices and a
ladies lounge on the eighth level down. No valuables taken, but things tossed
around and left in disorder, and candy and other edibles taken. It s been
going on like that ever since, on progressively higher levels. There were
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reports that somebody was in a couple of cafeteria supply rooms, without
evidence of entrance.
Human entrance, that is.
Yes. Lansky had a couple of detectives look those places over last night; he
says that a Fuzzy could have squirmed into all of them. I had reports on all
of it as it happened. Incidentally, there was nothing reported for last night,
which confirms the supposition that your Fuzzy was responsible for all of it.
Regular little vest-pocket crime wave, aren t you. He pummeled the Fuzzy
gently. And there was nothing before the night of the sixteenth or below the
eighth level down?
That s right, Mr. Grego. I wanted to talk to you before I did anything, but
there may be a chance that either Dr. Mallin or Dr. Jimenez may know something
about it.
I ll talk to both of them, myself. Dr. Jimenez was over on Beta until a day
or so before the trial; after he d trapped the four Dr. Mallin was studying,
he stayed on to study the Fuzzies in habitat. He had a couple of men helping
him, paid hunters or rangers or something of the sort.
I ll find out who they were, Steefer said. And, of course, almost anybody
who works out of Company House on Beta Continent may have picked the Fuzzy up
and brought him back and let him get away. We ll do all we can to find out
about this, Mr. Grego.
He thanked Steefer and blanked the screen, and punched out the call
combination of Leslie Coombes s apartment. Coombes, in a dressing gown,
answered at once; he was in his library, with a coffee service and a stack of
papers in front of him. He smiled and greeted Grego; then his eyes shifted,
and the smile broadened.
Well! Touching scene; Victor Grego and his Fuzzy. If you can t lick them,
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