r
instance."

"They'll still insist that we define sapience."

The communication screen began buzzing. Baby Fuzzy looked up
disinterestedly, and then went back to trying to untie a figure-eight knot
he had tied. Jack shoved himself to his feet and put the screen on. It was
Max Fane, and for the first time that he could remember, the Colonial
Marshal was excited.

"Jack, have you had any news on the screen lately?"

"No. Something turn up?"

"God, yes! The cops are all over the city hunting the Fuzzies; they have
orders to shoot on sight. Nick Emmert was just on the air with a reward
offer--five hundred sols apiece, dead or alive."

It took a few seconds for that to register. Then he became frightened. Gus
and Gerd were both on their feet and crowding to the screen behind him.

"They have some bum from that squatters' camp over on the East Side who
claims the Fuzzies beat up his ten-year-old daughter," Fane was saying.
"They have both of them at police headquarters, and they've handed the
story out to Zarathustra News, and Planetwide Coverage. Of course, they're
Company-controlled; they're playing it for all it's worth."

"Have they been veridicated?" Brannhard demanded.

"No, and the city cops are keeping them under cover. The girl says she was
playing outdoors and these Fuzzies jumped her and began beating her with
sticks. Her injuries are listed as multiple bruises, fractured wrist and
general shock."

"I don't believe it! They wouldn't attack a child."

"I want to talk to that girl and her father," Brannhard was saying. "And
I'm going to demand that they make their statements under veridication.
This thing's a frameup, Max; I'd bet my ears on it. Timing's just right;
only a week till the trial."

Maybe the Fuzzies had wanted the child to play with them, and she'd gotten
frightened and hurt one of them. A ten-year-old human child would look
dangerously large to a Fuzzy, and if they thought they were menaced they
would fight back savagely.

They were still alive and in the city. That was one thing. But they were
in worse danger than they had ever been; that was another. Fane was asking
Brannhard how soon he could be dressed.

"Five minutes? Good, I'll be along to pick you up," he said. "Be seeing
you."

Jack hurried into the bedroom he and Brannhard shared; he kicked off his
moccasins and began pulling on his boots. Brannhard, pulling his trousers
up over his pajama pants, wanted to know where he tho