Ron Goulart - Shaggy Planet

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SHAGGY PLANET

Ron Goulart

CHAPTER 1

When they changed partners for the third time, he found he was

dancing with a robot. Peter Torres kept on snapping his fingers and

stomping his feet. The android, who resembled a plump blonde girl,

was wearing a white ball gown rich with fine lace.

"You work for the embassy?" Torres asked.

"Act natural," said the android. She tossed her long blonde hair,

clapped her hands above her head. "I do this pretty well considering

it's all programmed on punch tape."

Torres was a tall lean man in his early thirties. His face, which had

been out in too much bad weather on too many odd planets, had a

slightly knocked-about look. He grasped the robot around her lacy

waist and they went stomping and snapping through a portion of the

crowd at the embassy ball.

He asked, "Who sent you?"

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"You know," replied the blonde robot.

Stepping into an alcove, Torres asked, "You're with the Mirabilis

Agency?"

"Don't say the name out loud," cautioned the android. "But, yes. He

wants to talk to you right quick."

Torres exhaled, rubbed one knobby hand over his short-cropped

dark hair. He then reached out to toy with an icon on an alcove

shelf. "I came out to this planet of Murdstone for a vacation. I'm

here in Peluda Territory just relaxing. I'm having an affair with that

red-haired girl over there. I don't want a job."

"Dyed red," said the robot. "She is fetching, though. A little too

frail, but she has nice bones. Bones are the most difficult things to

simulate when you're building an android. Did you know that?"

"No. What sort of job is it?"

"He'll tell you. I was only to infiltrate this ball and get you."

"How much is the Mirabilis Agency offering?"

"Six thousand dollars."

Torres turned to watch the slim red-haired girl, who was dancing

now with one of the associate ambassadors from the planet Barnum.

"Have they raised the fee they pay free-lance agents?"

"We're offering an extra thousand because you may have to go into

the jungle."

"Which jungle?"

"Is there more than one? I don't know too much about Peluda

Territory. They didn't provide me much local input. I'm mostly

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stuffed with dance tapes."

Torres steepled his fingers under his prominent chin. "Six thousand,

huh?"

"And a wardrobe allowance," said the blonde robot, "in case you

have to buy sun hats and things for the jungle."

"Where is he?"

"Parked behind the embassy. Up just off the bridle path."

"Okay, I'll go talk to him."

The head of the Ruling Junta, old Janeiro Frambosa himself, came

up and asked the robot to dance. She accepted and they waltzed

away from Torres.

Peggy Freed, the red-haired girl, was waltzing, too, with another

associate ambassador. Torres made a back-soon motion at her and

she smiled as she dipped in his direction.

Moving across the short gray grass, Torres spotted three small

yellow ovals floating in the darkness of the Barnum Embassy

grounds. These grew to windows as he approached closer to the

parked landcar. Torres crunched across the synthetic cinders of the

wide riding path and tapped on the passenger door of the long, night-

black car. The door swung open and he hunched inside with, "Six

thousand you're offering?"

"I told her to offer that only if you were hard to persuade," said the

compact computer built into the back section of the big automatic

landcar. "Were you?"

"Yes." Torres dropped down into a nearleather seat opposite the

computer. "I'm on vacation. I'm involved with a girl."

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"I know. Peggy Freed. Age 23. Home planet Barnum," said the

computer. "Height five feet, seven inches, weight one hundred ten

pounds. That's sort of skinny, isn't it? Employed by the Barnum

News Synd as a reporter and documentary producer for the past

nineteen months. What's she doing on Murdstone, Peter?"

"She's about to start on some assignment or other. Until then she's

involved with me."

"Don't think we care about your private life," the computer assured

him. "The Mirabilis Agency feels that the unconventional nature of

your life is a plus factor."

"What's unconventional about sleeping with a girl? You people put

me dancing with robots."

The computer said from its crosshatch speaker grid, "You do like

machines, don't you? I know you've often implied you thought I was

a nice guy and a good sport."

"You're the perfect field boss," replied Torres. "What's the job

Mirabilis wants to hire me for?"

"I've been told I'm very personable," said the computer. "Well, let's

get on to this job we have for you. This is highly . . . Look, Peter,

you don't talk shop with Peggy? Tell her trade secrets, anecdotes

about your work with our private mercenary agent service?"

"Nope."

"Because this is something we wouldn't want the press media to get

wind of. They've already made a small frumus. You know how they

distort things."

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"What thing is it you don't want them to distort?"

A bank of tiny green bubble lights flared on across the computer's

surface. "About a month ago a Barnum official came out here to

Murdstone on a fact-finding mission. As you know, our home

planet of Barnum supervises, very quietly, the running of the

various governments on Murdstone.

There've been rumors about increased repressions and worsening

conditions throughout this territory."

"The Junta has started public executions," said Torres. "There's

famine in the outlands."

"Those are some of the rumors this official was to look into,"

replied the Mirabilis Agency computer. "The Barnum Embassy here

is not always the best source of information, so an independent

official was sent out to gather facts and file reports. He, however,

never got to file a single report."

"Why?"

"Look up at my left monitor screen."

A forty-one-year-old blonde woman, handsome and distraught,

appeared on the small playing-card-size screen. She was twisting a

plaid scarf into intricate knots, touching at her eyes with the knots,

"That's Mrs. Beatty Dunnlin, isn't it?" said Torres. "Socialite wife or

Beatty Dunnlin, the olive oil tycoon and political trouble shooter.

That's right, he disappeared just before I got out here. There was a

mention of his being still missing on the news the day after I

arrived."

"Distorted no doubt," said the computer. "Mrs. Dunnlin wants the

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truth and she's hired the Mirabilis Agency to find her husband.

Which is why I've come to you."

Torres glanced again at the monitor screen. It showed a very old

man handing out golden coins to ghetto urchins. "Who's that?"

"Dunnlin's grandfather, the original salad oil king. He liked to hand

out fifty-cent pieces to underprivileged children. I thought you

might like a little family background."

"That little Venusian kid just kicked him in the knee," said Torres.

"And there he goes whacking at him with his aluminum cane. Okay,

that's enough family background. You want me to locate Beatty

Dunnlin?"

"Exactly."

"Didn't the Barnum government send out their own agents to search

for him?"

"Yes, Peter, the Barnum government did look into his vanishing.

Then they quit."

"Maybe old Frambrosa and the Peluda Territory Junta put on the

pressure."

"We don't know," answered the computer. "We do know Barnum

dropped its search efforts very quickly. This perplexes Beatty

Dunnlin's wife."

"Some kind of cover-up? I heard there was a possibility he was

kidnapped out in the wilds someplace by the guerrilla army that's

building up in the outlands."

"From what we've been able to find out so far, Peter, that simply

isn't true. There is a large rebellion force roaming the forests and

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jungles of Peluda Territory led by a man known only as Tio Mazda.

We don't believe he and his minions are involved. There's been no

attempt to collect a ransom either."

"Beatty Dunnlin was out in the wilderness when he vanished, wasn't

he?"

"According to our sources, which include bribed Barnum

government people and Mrs. Dunnlin, he was at the edge of a vast

area known as the Municipal Jungles when last heard from."

Torres said, "Our planet supports the Junta here, but they wouldn't

let the Frambosa crowd get away with doing something to Beatty

Dunnlin, would they?"

"We assume not."

The second monitor screen from the left flashed on. Torres now saw

a block of rustic suburban cottages, rolling lawns and leafy trees.

"What's this?"

"Watch for a bit."

Frolicking among the shrubs and lawns were two dozen four-footed

shaggy animals, man sized and vaguely doglike. They were mostly

pale yellow and light orange in color. "This was taken out in the

suburbs," said Torres. "In the Las Cadenas section, wasn't it? I saw

some of this footage on the news last night."

A thin man in a lounging suit ran out of one of the cottages and

chased a group of the shaggy animals with a stun rod. Two more

men, in conservative jumpsuits, came into view and commenced

battering at the animals with their briefcases. The animals rolled and

tumbled and did not anger.

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"Those creatures are called hummels," explained the computer. "Up

until a couple of months ago the hummel was thought to be a

vanishing breed of herbivorous animal, limited to the remote

jungles and forests of Murdstone. Then dozens of the hairy things

came cascading out of the woods and into the suburbs. There's talk

of forming vigilante committees to round the hummels up."

"So?"

"There may be nothing to this, Peter," the field computer told him.

"Except Mirabilis got a piece of information suggesting there's

something odd about this sudden hummel migration. I'm showing

you this footage as more possible background material. While

you're hunting for Beatty Dunnlin, see if you unearth anything about

those shaggy animals. It may be there's some connection with our

problem."

"Who was your informant?"

"He's since disappeared, too."

"Any other leads? Anybody who knows anything about what Beatty

Dunnlin was up to?"

"Yes, we have a contact in the Barnum Embassy."

"Someone who's here at the ball tonight?"

"No, he's busy on some propaganda venture and couldn't spare the

time. His name is Booker McCrystal."

Torres nodded. "I know him."

"I'm printing up a précis of all the information the Mirabilis Agency

has," said the computer. "That's going on inside now, in case you

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hear that funny whirring noise. Study the précis, then destroy it. Go

talk to Booker McCrystal tomorrow." Three spools jumped in

unison below the vocal mechanism. "Mirabilis was quite happy

when we learned you'd picked Peluda Territory for a vacation.

Made it much easier to hire you."

"I came because of the beaches mostly," said Torres. "The tour

office didn't mention the troubles here." He leaned back, frowning.

"Okay, I'll find Dunnlin for you. Give me one thousand dollars in

cash now and put the rest in my bank account on Barnum. Do you

still have some deposit slips?"

"Oh, yes. We have a very thorough file pertaining to you, Peter. We

like you at Mirabilis, even though you are slightly quirky," said the

computer. "We even have some very cute baby pictures of you, one

where you're wearing little bunny slippers and trying to suck your

toe."

"That is thorough," said Torres. "Give me the money."

A little lid flapped open and new crisp Murdstone money fluttered

out into the knobby hand Torres extended. The computer said,

"You'll have to drop your friend Peggy while you work on this for

us, Peter. And please try not to talk to her about your assignment at

all."

Torres grinned and counted the money.

CHAPTER 2

The black man looked from one body to the other, shaking his head.

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"I'm having an awfully difficult time making up my mind," he said

to Torres. "I hope you'll excuse this creepy meeting place, Pete, but

I'm terribly rushed. Which one would you pick?"

"For what?" They were in a chill, domed, metal room, cupped in by

curving pale yellow walls.

"For the opera," replied Booker McCrystal. "I'm dreadfully afraid I

don't like either one of these fellows." He took one of the

plyosacked bodies by its broad shoulders and lifted it partially up

off the vinyl table it was lying on. "This one is the better of the two.

Can you imagine him with a beard, Pete?"

"I suppose if I had to," said Torres. "What opera?"

McCrystal let go of the body and tilted up the one next to it. "No, I

can't see him in a field of grain. I tell you, Pete, I'm horribly

overworked at the Barnum Embassy. Now the word comes through

I've got to go out as publicity man for their opera." He stepped back

from both wrapped bodies. "Neither of these will do. Where'd that

dreadful reanimation attendant go?"

Torres said, "I want to talk to you about Beatty Dunnlin."

"I haven't even explained the opera to you yet." McCrystal leaned

toward the bodies on the table. "The trouble is that horrible

reanimation man insists he's only got these two tenors in stock.

They're simply not right for the part, not as I conceive it. Though I

could be as terribly wrong about this as I am about most of what

Barnum is up to here on Murdstone."

"You've come to this frozen body center to find a cast for an

opera?"

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Ron Goulart - Shaggy Planet

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