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Updated: June 3, 2025
Ruth seemed to think so, too, and Mallin hastened to tell her that Borch was with Personnel, giving some kind of tests. That appeared to puzzle her even more. None of the three seemed happy about the presence of the constabulary troopers, either; they were all relieved when the cruise car lifted out. Kellogg became interested in the Fuzzies immediately, squatting to examine them.
Borch's astonishment may easily be imagined, and even I could not have believed myself capable of so much energy. Borch expected to find a child whom he could dazzle with a few promises; he thought he could easily bring me to a renunciation of my rights, and that I would readily consent to sign the instrument of my own shame and sorrow: he found me most determined.
He hadn't thought Brannhard and Holloway would try to fight a court order either. That was one of the consequences of being too long in a seemingly irresistible position; you didn't expect resistance. Kellogg hadn't expected Jack Holloway to order him off his land grant. Kurt Borch had thought all he needed to do with a gun was pull it and wave it around.
M. Borch, like a real diplomatist, tried to give his visit the appearance of a simple courtesy. Remembering the gracious reception offered him at Barbara's wedding, he came, he said, to offer his homage to her ladyship the Starostine Swidzinska, and renew his acquaintance with the starost.
Jimenez got into it to the extent of agreeing with everything Kellogg said, and differing politely with everything Mallin said that he thought Kellogg would differ with. Borch said nothing; he just stood and looked at the Fuzzies with ill-concealed hostility. Gerd and Ruth decided to help getting dinner. They ate outside on the picnic table, with the Fuzzies watching them interestedly.
"Here come the cops, now." However, it was Ben Rainsford's airjeep, with a zebralope carcass lashed along one side. It circled the Kellogg camp and then let down quickly; Rainsford jumped out as soon as it was grounded, his pistol drawn. "What happened, Jack?" he asked, then glanced around, from Goldilocks to Kellogg to Borch to the pistol beside Borch's body. "I get it.
She looked across at Coombes; if looks were bullets, he'd have been deader than Kurt Borch. "Why would they sacrifice four Fuzzies merely to support a story that was bound to come apart anyhow?" Brannhard asked. "That was no sacrifice. They had to get rid of those Fuzzies, and they were afraid to kill them themselves for fear they'd be charged with murder along with Leonard Kellogg.
Jack Holloway was on his feet, a Fuzzy cradled in the crook of his left arm, his white mustache bristling truculently. "I am not a dead man, your Honors, and I am on trial here. The reason I'm not dead is why I am on trial. My defense is that I shot Kurt Borch while he was aiding and abetting in the killing of a Fuzzy. I want it established in this court that it is murder to kill a Fuzzy."
"Jack, this isn't my idea," Lunt said. "I don't want to do it, but I have to. I wouldn't want to shoot you, either, but you make any resistance and I will. I'm no Kurt Borch; I know you, and I won't take any chances." "If you're going to serve that paper, serve it," the bigger of the two strangers said. "Don't stand yakking all night."
"Oh, we won't do anything to your Fuzzies," Mallin said. "You won't hurt any Fuzzies. Not more than once, anyhow." The next morning, during breakfast, Kellogg and Kurt Borch put in an appearance, Borch wearing old clothes and field boots and carrying his pistol on his belt. They had a list of things they thought they would need for their camp.
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