Robert Heinlein - Citizen of the Galaxy

Krausa waited while Thorby stood mute, trying to think. What had Pop expected of him? What had he told him to do? "Can I depend on you? You won't goof off and forget it?" Yes, but what, Pop? "Don't burn any offerings... just deliver a message, and then one thing more: do whatever this man suggests" Yes, Pop, but the man won't tell me!

Krausa said urgently, "We haven't much time. I have to get back. But, Son, whatever you decide, it's final. If you don't leave Sisu today, you won't get a second chance. I'm sure of that"

"It's the very last thing that I want from you, son... can I depend on you?" Pop said urgently, inside his head.

Thorby sighed. "I guess I have to, Father."

"I think so, too. Now let's hurry."

The gate pass office could not be hurried, especially as Captain Krausa, although identifying himself and son by ship's papers, declined to state his business with the commander of Guard Cruiser Hydra other than to say that it was "urgent and official."

But eventually they were escorted by a smart, armed fraki to the cruiser's hoist and turned over to another. They were handed along inside the ship and reached an office marked "Ship's Secretary -- Enter Without Knocking." Thorby concluded that Sisu was smaller than he had thought and he had never seen so much polished metal in his life. He was rapidly regretting his decision.

The Ship's Secretary was a polite, scrubbed young man with the lace orbits of a lieutenant. He was also very firm. "I'm sorry. Captain, but you will have to tell me your business... if you expect to see the Commanding Officer."

Captain Krausa said nothing and sat tight.

The nice young man colored, drummed on his desk. He got up. "Excuse me a moment."

He came back and said tonelessly, "The Commanding Officer can give you five minutes." He led them into a larger office and left them. An older man was there, seated at a paper-heaped desk. He had his blouse off and showed no insignia of rank. He got up, put out his hand, and said, "Captain Krausa? Of Free Trader... Seezoo, is it? I'm Colonel Brisby, commanding."

"Glad to be aboard, Skipper."

"Glad to have you. How's business?" He glanced at Thorby. "One of your officers?"

"Yes and no."

"Eh?"

"Colonel? May I ask in what class you graduated?"

"What? Oh-Eight. Why do you ask?"

"I think you can answer that. This lad is Thorby Baslim, adopted son of Colonel Richard Baslim. The Colonel asked me to deliver him to you."

"What?"

"The name means something to you?"

"Of course it does." He stared at Thorby. "There's no resemblance."

" 'Adopted' I said. The Colonel adopted him on Jubbal."

Colonel Brisby closed the door. Then he said to Krausa, "Colonel Baslim is dead. Or 'missing and presumed dead,' these past two years."

"I know. The boy has been with me. I can report some details of the Colonel's death, if they are not known."

"You were one of his couriers?"

"Yes."

"You can prove it?"

"X three oh seven nine code FT."

"That can be checked. Well assume it is for the moment. By what means do you identify... Thorby Baslim?" Thorby did not follow the conversation. There was a buzzing in his ears, as if the tracker was being fed too much power, and the room was swelling and then growing smaller. He did figure out that this officer knew Pop, which was good... but what was this about Pop being a colonel? Pop was Baslim the Cripple, licensed mendicant under the mercy of... under the mercy...

Colonel Brisby told him sharply to sit down, which he was glad to do. Then the Colonel speeded up the air blower. He turned to Captain Krausa. "All right. I'm sold. I don't know what regulation I'm authorized to do it under... we are required to give assistance to 'X' Corps people, but this is not quite that But I can't let Colonel Baslim down."

" 'Distressed citizen,' " suggested Krausa.

"Eh? I don't see how that can be stretched to fit a person on a planet under the Hegemony, who is obviously not distressed -- other than a little white around the gills, I mean. But I'll do it."

"Thank you, Skipper." Krausa glanced at his watch. "May I go? In fact I must."

"Just a second. You're simply leaving him with me?"

"I'm afraid that's the way it must be."

Brisby shrugged. "As you say. But stay for lunch. I want to find out more about Colonel Baslim."

"I'm sorry, I can't. You can reach me at the Gathering, if you need to."

"I will. Well, coffee at least." The ship commander reached for a button.

"Skipper," Krausa said with distress, looking again at his watch, "I must leave now. Today is our Remembrance... and my Mother's funeral is in fifty minutes."

"What? Why didn't you say so? Goodness, man! You'll never make it"

"I'm very much afraid so... but I had to do this."

"We'll fix that." The Colonel snatched open the door. "Eddie! An air car for Captain Krausa. Speed run. Take him off the top and put him down where he says. Crash!"

"Aye aye, Skipper!"

Brisby turned back, raised his eyebrows, then stepped into the outer office. Krausa was facing Thorby, his mouth working painfully. "Come here. Son."

"Yes, Father."

"I have to go now. Maybe you can manage to be at a Gathering... some day."

"Ill try, Father!"

"If not... well, the blood stays in the steel, the steel stays in the blood. You're still Sisu"

" 'The steel stays in the blood.' "

"Good business, Son. Be a good boy."

"Good... business! Oh, Father!"

"Stop it! You'll have me doing it. Listen, I'll take your responses this afternoon. You must not show up."

"Yes, sir."

"Your Mother loves you... and so do I."

Brisby tapped on the open door. "Your car is waiting, Captain."

"Coming, Skipper." Krausa kissed Thorby on both cheeks and turned suddenly away, so that all Thorby saw was his broad back.

Colonel Brisby returned presently, sat down, looked at Thorby and said, "I don't know quite what to do with you. But we'll manage." He touched a switch. "Have someone dig up the berthing master-at-arms, Eddie." He turned to Thorby. "We'll make out, if you're not too fussy. You traders live pretty luxuriously, I understand."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Baslim was a colonel? Of your service?"

"Well... yes."

Thorby had now had a few minutes to think -- and old memories had been stirred mightily. He said hesitantly, "I have a message for you -- I think."

"From Colonel Baslim?"

"Yes, sir. I'm supposed to be in a light trance. But I think I can start it." Carefully, Thorby recited a few code groups. "Is this for you?"

Colonel Brisby again hastily closed the door. Then he said earnestly, "Don't ever use that code unless you are certain everyone in earshot is cleared for it and the room has been debugged."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"No harm done. But anything in that code is hot I just hope that it hasn't cooled off in two years." He touched the talker switch again. "Eddie, cancel the master-at-arms. Get me the psych officer. If he's out of the ship, have him chased down." He looked at Thorby. "I still don't know what to do with you. I ought to lock you in the safe."

The long message was squeezed out of Thorby in the presence only of Colonel Brisby, his Executive Officer Vice Colonel "Stinky" Stancke, and the ship's psychologist Medical-Captain Isadore Krishnamurti. The session went slowly; Dr. Kris did not often use hypnotherapy. Thorby was so tense that he resisted, and the Exec had a blasphemous time with recording equipment. But at last the psychologist straightened up and wiped his face. "That's all, I think," he said wearily. "But what is it?"

"Forget you heard it. Doc," advised Brisby. "Better yet, cut your throat."

"Gee, thanks. Boss."

Stancke said, "Pappy, let's run him through again. I've got this mad scientist's dream working better. His accent may have garbled it."