n order for the surrender of the Fuzzies, and a search warrant, just to
be on the safe side. And, I think, an Orphans' Court form naming Mr.
Holloway as guardian of these putatively sapient beings. What are their
names? Oh, I have them here on this receipt." He smiled pleasantly. "See,
Mr. O'Brien, we're saving you a lot of trouble."

O'Brien had little enough wit to protest. "But these are the defendant and
his attorney in another murder case I'm prosecuting," he began.

Pendarvis stopped smiling. "Mr. O'Brien, I doubt if you'll be allowed to
prosecute anything or anybody around here any more, and I am specifically
relieving you of any connection with either the Kellogg or the Holloway
trial, and if I hear any argument out of you about it, I will issue a
bench warrant for your arrest on charges of malfeasance in office."

X

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