Citizen of the Galaxy (20 page)

She looked at him admiringly. “You must be awfully brainy, Thorby. 'Nobody ever saw a thought.' I like that.”

Thorby graciously accepted the praise.

When he went to his bunkie, he found Fritz reading in bed. Thorby was feeling the warm glow that comes from giving the word to an eager mind. “Hi, Fritz! Studying? Or wasting your youth?”

“Hi. Studying. Studying art.”

Thorby glanced over. “Don't let Grandmother catch you.

“Got to have something to trade those confounded slugs next time we touch Finster.” Woolamurra was “civilization'; the bachelors had replenished their art. “You look as if you had squeezed a bonus out of a Losian. What clicks?”

“Oh, just talking with Loeen. I was introducing her to n-space . . . and darn if she didn't catch on fast.”

Fritz looked judicial. “Yes, she's bright” He added, “When is Grandmother posting the banns?”

“What are you talking about!”

“No banns?”

“Don't be silly.”

“Mmm . . . you find her good company. Bright, too. Want to know how bright?”

“Well?”

“So bright that she taught in El Nido's school. Her specialty was math. Multi-dimensional geometry, in fact.”

“I don't believe it!”

“Happens I transcribed her record. But ask her.”

“I shall! Why isn't she teaching math here?”

“Ask Grandmother. Thorby, my skinny and retarded brother -- I think you were dropped on your head. But, sorry as you are, I love you for the fumbling grace with which you wipe drool off your chin. Want a hint from an older and wiser head?”

“Go ahead. You will anyhow.”

“Thanks. Loeen is a fine girl and it might be fun to solve equations with her for life. But I hate to see a man leap into a sale before he checks the market. If you just hold off through this next jump, you'll find that the People have several young girls. Several thousand.”

“I'm not looking for a wife!”

“Tut, tut! It's a man's duty. But wait for the Gathering, and we'll shop. Now shut up, I want to study art.”

“Who's talking?”

Thorby did not ask Loeen what she had done in El Nido, but it did open his eyes to the fact that he was playing the leading role in a courtship without having known it. It scared him. Doctor Mader's words haunted his sleep “ -- before Grandmother decides to marry you to someone . . . if you wait that long -- you're lost!”

Father and the Woolamurra official gossiped while Thorby fretted. Should he leave Sisu? If he wasn't willing to be a trader all his life he had to get out while still a bachelor. Of course, he could stall -- look at Fritz. Not that he had anything against Loeen, even if she had made a fool of him.

But if he was going to leave -- and he had doubts as to whether he could stand the custom-ridden “monotonous life forever -- then Woolamurra was the best chance he might have in years. No castes, no guilds, no poverty, no immigration laws -- why, they even accepted mutants! Thorby had seen hexadactyls, hirsutes, albinos, lupine ears, giants, and other changes. If a man could work, Woolamurra could use him.

What should he do? Say, “Excuse me, please,” leave the room -- then start running? Stay lost until Sisu jumped? He couldn't do that! Not to father, not to Sisu; he owed them too much.

What, then? Tell Grandmother he wanted off? If she let him off, it would probably be some chilly spot between stars! Grandmother would regard ingratitude to Sisu as the unforgivable sin.

And besides . . . The Gathering was coming. He felt a great itch to see it. And it wouldn't be right to walk out on the play. He was not consciously rationalizing; although stage-struck, he still thought that he did not want to play the hero in a melodrama -- whereas he could hardly wait.

So he avoided his dilemma by postponing it.

Captain Krausa touched his shoulder. “We're leaving.”

“Oh. Sorry, Father. I was thinking.”

“Keep it up, it's good exercise. Good-by, Director, and thanks. I look forward to seeing you next time we call.”

“You won't find me, Captain. I'm going to line me out a station, as far as eye can reach. Land of me own. If you ever get tired of steel decks, there's room here for you. And your boy.”

Captain Krausa's face did not show his revulsion. “Thanks. But we wouldn't know which end of a plow to grab. We're traders.”

“Each cat his own rat.”

When they were outside Thorby said, “What did he mean, Father? I've seen cats, but what is a rat?”

“A rat is a sorci, only thinner and meaner. He meant that each man has his proper place.”

“Oh.” They walked in silence. Thorby was wondering if he had as yet found his proper place.

Captain Krausa was wondering the same thing. There was a ship just beyond Sisu; its presence was a reproach. It was a mail courier, an official Hegemonic vessel, crewed by Guardsmen. Baslim's words rang accusingly in his mind: “ -- when opportunity presents, I ask that you deliver him to the commander of any Hegemonic military vessel.”

This was not a “military” vessel But that was a quibble; Baslim's intentions were plain and this ship would serve. Debts must be paid. Unfortunately Mother interpreted the words strictly. Oh, he knew why; she was determined to show off the boy at the Gathering. She intended to squeeze all possible status out of the fact that Sisu had paid the People's debt. Well, that was understandable.

But it wasn't fair to the boy!

Or was it? For his own reasons Krausa was anxious to take the lad to the Gathering. He was certain now that Thorby's ancestry must be of the People -- and in the Commodore's files he expected to prove it.

On the other hand -- He had agreed with Mother over Mata Kingsolver; a minx should not be allowed to back a taboo lad into a corner, better to ship her at once. But didn't Mother think he could see what she was up to now?

He wouldn't permit it! By Sisu, he wouldn't! The boy was too young and he would forbid it . . . at least until he proved that the boy was of the People, in which case the debt to Baslim was paid.

But that mail courier out there whispered that he was being as unwilling to acknowledge honest debt as he was accusing Mother of being.

But it was for the lad's own good!

What is justice?

Well, there was one fair way. Take the lad and have a showdown with Mother. Tell the lad all of Baslim's message. Tell him that he could take passage in the courier to the central worlds, tell him how to go about finding his family. But tell him, too, that he, the Krausa, believed that Thorby was of the People and that the possibility could and should be checked first. Yes, and tell him bluntly that Mother was trying to tie him down with a wife. Mother would scream and quote the Laws -- but this was not in the Chief Officer's jurisdiction; Baslim had laid the injunction on him. And besides, it was right; the boy himself should choose.

Spine stiffened but quaking. Captain Krausa strode back to face his Mother.

As the hoist delivered them up the Deck Master was waiting. “Chief Officer's respects and she wishes to see the Captain, sir.”

“That's a coincidence,” Krausa said grimly. “Come, Son. Well both see her.”

“Yes, Father.”

They went around the passageway, reached the Chief Officer's cabin. Krausa's wife was outside. “Hello, my dear. The Decker said that Mother had sent for me.”

“I sent for you.”

“He got the message garbled. Whatever it is, make it quick, please. I am anxious to see Mother anyhow.”

“He did not get it garbled; the Chief Officer did send for you.”

“Eh?”

“Captain, your Mother is dead.”

Krausa listened with blank face, then it sank in and he slapped the door aside, ran to his Mother's bed, threw himself down, clutched the tiny, wasted form laid out in state, and began to weep racking, terrible sounds, the grief of a man steeled against emotion, who cannot handle it when he breaks.

Thorby watched with awed distress, then went to his bunkie and thought. He tried to figure out why he felt so badly. He had not loved Grandmother -- he hadn't even liked her.

Then why did he feel so lost?

It was almost like when Pop died. He loved Pop -- but not her.

He found that he was not alone; the entire ship was in shock. There was not one who could remember, or imagine, Sisu without her. She was Sisu. Like the undying fire that moved the ship, Grandmother had been an unfailing force, dynamic, indispensable, basic. Now suddenly she was gone.

She had taken her nap as usual, grumbling because Woolamurra's day fitted their schedule so poorly -- typical fraki inefficiency. But she had gone to sleep with iron discipline that had adapted itself to a hundred time schedules.

When her daughter-in-law went to wake her, she could not be waked.

Her bedside scratch pad held many notes: Speak to Son about this. Tell Tora to do that. Jack up the C.E. about temperature control. Go over banquet menus with Athena. Rhoda Krausa tore out the page, put it away for reference, straightened her, then ordered the Deck Master to notify her husband.

The Captain was not at dinner. Grandmother's couch had been removed; the Chief Officer sat where it had been. In the Captain's absence the Chief Officer signaled the Chief Engineer; he offered the prayer for the dead, she gave the responses. Then they ate in silence. No funeral would be held until Gathering.

The Chief Officer stood up presently. “The Captain wishes to announce,” she said quietly, “that he thanks those who attempted to call on him. He will be available tomorrow.” She paused. “ 'The atoms come out of space and to space they return. The spirit of Sisu goes on.' “

Thorby suddenly no longer felt lost.

The great gathering was even more than Thorby had imagined. Mile after mile of ships, more than eight hundred bulky Free Traders arranged in concentric ranks around a circus four miles across . . . Sisu in the innermost circle -- which seemed to please Thorby's Mother -- then more ships than Thorby knew existed: Kraken, Deimos, James B. Quinn, Firefly, Bon Marche, Dom Pedro, Cee Squared, Omega, El Nido -- Thorby resolved to see how Mata was doing -- Saint Christopher, Vega, Vega Prime, Galactic Banker, Romany Lass . . . Thorby made note to get a berthing chart . . . Saturn, Chiang, Country Store, Joseph Smith, Aloha . . .

There were too many. If he visited ten ships a day, he might see most of them. But there was too much to do and see; Thorby gave up the notion.

Inside the circle was a great temporary stadium, larger than the New Amphitheater at Jubbulpore. Here elections would be held, funerals and weddings, athletic contests, entertainments, concerts -- Thorby recalled that Spirit of Sisu would be performed there and trembled with stage fright.

Between stadium and ships was a midway -- booths, rides, games, exhibits educational and entertaining, one-man pitches, dance halls that never closed, displays of engineering gadgets, fortunetellers, gambling for prizes and cash, open-air bars, soft drink counters offering anything from berry juices of the Pleiades worlds to a brown brew certified to be the ancient, authentic Terran Coca-Cola as licensed for bottling on Hekate.

When he saw this maelstrom Thorby felt that he had wandered into Joy Street -- bigger, brighter, and seven times busier than Joy Street with the fleet in. This was the fraki's chance to turn a fairly honest credit while making suckers of the shrewdest businessmen in the Galaxy; this was the day, with the lid off and the Trader without his guards up -- they'd sell you your own hat if you laid it on the counter.

Fritz took Thorby dirtside to keep him out of trouble, although Fritz's sophistication was hardly complete, since he had seen just one Great Gathering. The Chief Officer lectured the young people before granting hit-dirt, reminding them that Sisu had a reputation for proper behavior, and then issued each a hundred credits with a warning that it must last throughout the Gathering.

Fritz advised Thorby to cache most of it. “When we go broke, we can sweet-talk Father out of pocket money. But it's not smart to take it all.”

Thorby agreed. He was not surprised when he felt the touch of a pickpocket; he grabbed a wrist to find out what he had landed.

First he recovered his wallet. Then he looked at the thief. He was a dirty-faced young fraki who reminded Thorby poignantly of Ziggie, except that this kid had two hands. “Better luck next time,” he consoled him. “You don't have the touch yet.”

The kid seemed about to cry. Thorby started to turn him loose, then said, “Fritz, check your wallet.”

Fritz did so, it was gone. “Well, I'll be --”

“Hand it over, kid.”

“I didn't take it! You let me go!”

“Cough up . . . before I unscrew your skull.”

The kid surrendered Fritz's wallet; Thorby turned him loose. Fritz said, “Why did you do that? I was trying to spot a cop.”

“That's why.”

“Huh? Talk sense.”

“I tried to learn that profession once. It's not easy.”

“You? A poor joke, Thorby.”

“Remember me? The ex-fraki, the beggar's boy? That clumsy attempt to equalize the wealth made me homesick. Fritz, where I come from, a pickpocket has status. I was merely a beggar.”