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Little Fuzzy

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Colonial Marshal Max Fane was as heavy as Gus Brannhard and considerably shorter.
Wedged between them on the back seat of the marshal’s car, Jack Holloway
contemplated the backs of the two uniformed deputies on the front seat and felt a happy
smile spread through him. Going to get his Fuzzies back. Little Fuzzy, and Ko-Ko, and
Mike, and Mamma Fuzzy, and Mitzi, and Cinderella; he named them over and imagined
them crowding around him, happy to be back with Pappy Jack.
The car settled onto the top landing stage of the Company’s Science Center, and
immediately a Company cop came running up. Gus opened the door, and Jack climbed
out after him.
“Hey, you can’t land here!” the cop was shouting. “This is for Company executives
only!”
Max Fane emerged behind them and stepped forward; the two deputies piled out from in
front.
“The hell you say, now,” Fane said. “A court order lands anywhere. Bring him along,
boys; we wouldn’t want him to go and bump himself on a communication screen
anywhere.”
The Company cop started to protest, then subsided and fell in between the deputies.
Maybe it was beginning to dawn on him that the Federation courts were bigger than the
chartered Zarathustra Company after all. Or maybe he just thought there’d been a
revolution.
Leonard Kellogg’s—temporarily Ernst Mallin’s—office was on the first floor of the
penthouse, counting down from the top landing stage. When they stepped from the
escalator, the hall was crowded with office people, gabbling excitedly in groups; they all
stopped talking as soon as they saw what was coming. In the division chief’s outer office
three or four girls jumped to their feet; one of them jumped into the bulk of Marshal
Fane, which had interposed itself between her and the communication screen. They were
all shooed out into the hall, and one of the deputies was dropped there with the prisoner.
The middle office was empty. Fane took his badgeholder in his left hand as he pushed
through the door to the inner office.
Kellogg’s—temporarily Mallin’s—secretary seemed to have preceded them by a few
seconds; she was standing in front of the desk sputtering incoherently. Mallin, starting to
rise from his chair, froze, hunched forward over the desk. Juan Jimenez, standing in the
middle of the room, seemed to have seen them first; he was looking about wildly as
though for some way of escape.
 
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