"William Tuning - Terro-Human - Fuzzy 04 - Fuzzy Bones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tuning William)

scattered around the living room-and confusion. Now it took up a half-dozen
big prefab huts and was straining at the seams of those.

The headquarters and barracks for the Zarathustran Native Protection Force was
across the creek. It was home base for the police force which protected the
Fuzzies and maintained surveillance of their territory against Terran
intrusion. That alone accounted for over two hundred men, if you counted the
Marines loaned to the ZNPF by Commodore Napier.

Besides that cluster of buildings there was the bungalow where Gerd and Ruth
van Riebeek lived and the big laboratory and infirmary where they conducted
studies of Fuzzy biology and psychology, a Reception Center, a Fuzzy School
for learning Lingua Terra, and other such structures as might be of use or
interest to a Fuzzy.

This conglomeration, the scientific corner of Holloway Station, was referred
to informally as Fuzzy Institute.
Add to all this the constant comings and goings by officials of the new
Colonial Government, people from the Company headquarters in Mallorysport,
Constabulary officers, the Adoptions Bureau that had been set up for Fuzzies
who wanted to live with human people and love them, and everyone else who had
business involving Fuzzies-to say nothing of a couple hundred curious and
playful Fuzzies- and Holloway Station was the kind of place that might need
traffic cops before long.

Major George Lunt was puzzled.

That's why he was in his office so early this particular morning. When George
Lunt was puzzled about something, he had to turn his detective's mind loose on
it one bite at a time, and he couldn't do that with a dozen people pestering
him about two dozen things at once.

He hoped he would have a handle on it by the time the day watch started coming
in to go on duty at 0800. After that mere would be the whole tedious business
of inspecting the watch in ranks and sitting in on the watch briefing; not
that he needed to-the watch commander was perfectly competent-but as
Commandant of me ZNPF he was sort of expected to do it on occasion. It was
good for morale.

George reached out with his left hand and blanked the shade on his window,
then pulled out a section of printout from the stack of survey logs in front
of him and bent down his head to study the rash of squiggly lines which the
computer had superimposed on the strip map of a section of northern Beta
Continent, the Fuzzy Reservation.

There it is, again, he thought . . . plain as can be.

He slewed the stacks of paper around and matched up the registry marks on two
parallel strips of geography. That's nuts, he said to himself. If all the
various kinds of titanium compounds on Zarathustra were put together in one