Holloway picked up his infopanel again and backed up the video feed once more to watch Pinto and Grandpa. If the E & Es would argue against the Negad, they would have a field day with the fuzzys. No cities, literacy, or agriculture here, either, as well as no language, no tools, no clothing, and apparently no social structure beyond the family unit—or something close enough to it given their weird unisexual biology that it was a distinction without difference.
It would be better for them not to be sentient, Holloway thought. Just because they were sentient wouldn’t be a guarantee they’d be recognized as such. Not when so many people had such a vested interest in them not being so. Better to be a monkey and not be able to understand what’s been taken from you, than to be a man and be able to understand all too well—and be helpless to stop it.
Carl scrambled up from the floor and headed to the cabin door, tail wagging. He poked his snout at the dog door, swinging it out slightly. It was caught by something, which held it open, and Carl backed away.
A second later the Fuzzy Family made its way through, back from whatever small, furry adventure they had been having with their day. Each of them greeted Carl with a pat or a rub, with the exception of Baby, who wrapped itself around Carl’s neck for a hug. Carl tolerated this well, and gave Baby a lick when it disentangled itself from him.
Papa Fuzzy walked over to Holloway and stared up at him in that way Holloway knew was the fuzzy telling him it required his assistance. Holloway, thus reminded of his role as fuzzy butler, grinned and followed the creature into the kitchen area, where Papa stopped at the cooler. Holloway, who knew the fuzzy was capable of opening the cooler if it chose, appreciated that it was asking permission. He opened the cooler.
“Well, go on,” Holloway said, motioning. The fuzzy dived in and a few seconds later hauled out the very last of the smoked turkey.
“I don’t think you want that,” Holloway said. “It’s on the verge of going bad.” He took the turkey from the fuzzy, fished out the last two remaining turkey pieces, and held them up for Carl, who was passionately interested. “Sit,” he said to Carl, who sat with an altogether enthusiastic thump. Holloway tossed the turkey to Carl, who snapped it out of the air and swallowed it in about a third of a second.
Papa watched this and then turned to Holloway and squeaked. Holloway assumed the squeak to mean I’m sorry, but I must kill you now.
Holloway held up his hand. “Wait,” he said, and went into the cooler, pulling out a second package. “My friend,” he said, holding out the package to the fuzzy, “I think it’s time to introduce you to a little something we humans call ‘bacon.’”
Papa looked at the package doubtfully.
“Trust me,” Holloway said. He closed the cooler and went looking for a frying pan.
Five minutes later, the smell of bacon had attracted all the Fuzzys and Carl, who stared up at the cabin’s tiny stove with rapt attention. At one point Pinto attempted to climb up to snatch some semi-cooked bacon out of the pan; it was pulled down by Mama and handed over to Grandpa, who smacked the younger fuzzy across the head. Head-smacking was apparently Grandpa’s major mode of communication with Pinto.
Soon enough, six strips of bacon were cooked and sufficiently cooled for consumption. Holloway handed each excited fuzzy a bacon strip and kept the last one for himself. Carl, sensing the abject injustice of a situation in which everyone had bacon but him, whined piteously.
“Next batch, buddy,” Holloway promised. He peeled off the next batch of strips and turned to place them into the pan. He turned around again to see how the Fuzzys were enjoying their cured, nitrated treat, and saw Papa Fuzzy holding out a piece of its bacon to a very attentive Carl. Papa squeaked. Carl sat. Holloway smiled at the fact that Papa Fuzzy was trying to copy what he’d done with the turkey.
Papa opened its mouth again. Carl instantly lay down. Papa opened its mouth a third time and Carl rolled onto his back, tongue lolling out. Papa tossed the bacon piece to Carl, who gobbled it up greedily. Then it continued to enjoy the rest of its treat.
A spatter of bacon grease on Holloway’s arm brought his attention back to the fact that he was still actually cooking food. He finished up the second round of bacon, distributing it equally among the Fuzzys and Carl, each of whom was delighted at the second serving; bacon had now clearly replaced smoked turkey as the king of all meats, at least for the Fuzzys. Holloway put the rest of the uncooked bacon into the cooler, cleaned and stowed the pan, and then walked back over to his desk and picked up his infopanel.
When Isabel departed, she had left Holloway a set of her videos and notes concerning the fuzzys, partly as a courtesy and partly for archival purposes. If anything happened to her set of data, his set would probably still be fine. Holloway accessed the data now, calling up video files in particular. He fiddled with them, changing some of the presentation parameters.
He did this for the next several hours.
Chapter Sixteen
“This is how the inquiry works,” Sullivan said to Holloway. The two of them were standing outside Aubreytown’s single, and cramped, courtroom. “The judge enters and makes a few prefatory statements. Then there’s a presentation of the materials. Isabel is handling that. It’s mostly pro forma because the judge already has all of Isabel’s records and recordings, but if she wants to ask Isabel questions about any of it, this is when she’ll do it. Then a representative from ZaraCorp will question the experts, which in this case are Isabel and you. The judge can also ask questions during this period. At the end of it, the judge will issue a ruling.” Holloway frowned. “So ZaraCorp gets to question me and Isabel. Who’s representing us?” “No one’s representing you. It’s an inquiry, not a trial,” Sullivan said.
“There’s an official legal ruling issued at the end of it,” Holloway said. “Sounds like a trial to me.” “But you’re not accused of a crime, Jack,” Sullivan said. “You and Isabel are like witnesses, not defendants.” “Right,” Holloway said. “It’s the fuzzys who are the defendants.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Sullivan said.
“So who’s representing them?” Holloway asked.
Sullivan sighed. “Just promise me you won’t antagonize the judge,” he said.
“I swear to you that I am not here to antagonize the judge,” Holloway said.
“Good,” Sullivan said.
“So what is your role in this inquiry?” Holloway asked.
“I have no role,” Sullivan said. “I recused myself because it involves Isabel, and my boss was fine with that. I told you she was hot for this inquiry. She thinks it’s her ticket off this rock. And look, here she comes now.” Sullivan nodded down the hallway of the Aubreytown administrative building, where Janice Meyer was striding toward the two of them and the courtroom. Behind her, a young assistant was carrying her case files.
“What’s she like?” Holloway asked.
“What do you mean?” Sullivan said.
“As a human being,” Holloway said.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Sullivan said, murmuring now that his boss had gotten close up.
She stopped in front of the two men. “Mark,” she said, by way of greeting, and then looked at Holloway. “And Mr. Holloway. Good to see you again.” She held out her hand; Holloway took it and shook.
“Interesting new species you’ve found,” Meyer said.