Free Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert A. Heinlein Page A

The lid above his face opened, and then slammed, making his ears ring; a man's voice called out, “Nothing in this room, Sarge!”
    “Well see.” Thorby recognized Poddy's voice. “You missed that scuttle up there. Fetch the ladder.”
    Mother Shaum's voice said, “Nothing up there but the breather space, Sergeant”
    “I said, 'We'd see.' “
    A few minutes later he added, “Hand me the torch. Hmm . . . you're right. Mother . . . but he has been here.”
    “Huh?”
    “Screen broken back at the end of the house and dust disturbed. I think he got in this way, came down through your bedroom, and out.”
    “Saints and devils! I could have been murdered in my bed! Do you call that police protection?”
    “You're not hurt. But you'd better have that screen fixed, or you'll have snakes and all their cousins living with you.” He paused. “It's my thought he tried to stay in the district, found it too hot, and went back to the ruins. If so, no doubt well gas him out before the day is over.”
    “Do you think I'm safe to go back to my bed?”
    “Why should he bother an old sack of suet like you?”
    “What a nasty thing to say! And just when I was about to offer you a drop to cut the dust.”
    “You were? Let's go down to your kitchen, then, and well discuss it I may have been wrong.” Thorby heard them leave, heard the ladder being removed. At last he dared breathe.
    Later she came back, grumbling, and opened the lid. “You can stretch your legs. But be ready to jump back in. Three pints of my best Policemen!”

Chapter 6
     
    The skipper of the Sisu showed up that evening. Captain Krausa was tall, fair, rugged and had the worry wrinkles and grim mouth of a man used to authority and responsibility. He was irked with himself and everyone for having allowed himself to be lured away from his routine by nonsense. His eye assayed Thorby unflatteringly. “Mother Shaum, is this the person who insisted that he had urgent business with me?”
    The captain spoke Nine Worlds trade lingo, a degenerate form of Sargonese, uninflected and with a rudimentary positional grammar. But Thorby understood it. He answered, “If you are Captain Fjalar Krausa, I have a message for you, noble sir.”
    “Don't call me 'noble sir'; I'm Captain Krausa, yes.”
    “Yes, nob - yes, Captain.”
    “If you have a message, give it to me.”
    “Yes, Captain.” Thorby started reciting the message he had memorized, using the Suomish version to Krausa. “ 'To Captain Fjalar Krausa, master of Starship Sisu from Baslim the Cripple: Greetings, old friend! Greetings to your family, clan, and sib, and my humblest respects to your revered mother. I am speaking to you through the mouth of my adopted son. He does not understand Suomic; I address you privately. When you receive this message, I am already dead --”
    Krausa had started to smile; now he let out an exclamation. Thorby stopped. Mother Shaum interrupted with, “What's he saying? What language is that?”
    Krausa brushed it aside. “It's my language. Is what he says true?”
    “Is what true? How would I know? I don't understand that yammer.”
    “Uh . . . sorry, sorry! He tells me that an old beggar who used to hang around the Plaza -- 'Baslim' he called himself -- is dead. Is this true?”
    “Eh? Of course it is. I could have told you, if I had known you were interested. Everybody knows it.”
    “Everybody but me, apparently. What happened to him?”
    “He was shortened.”
    “Shortened? Why?”
    She shrugged. “How would I know? The word is, he died or poisoned himself, or something, before they could question him -- so how would I know? I'm just a poor old woman, trying to make an honest living, with prices getting higher every day. The Sargon's police don't confide in me”
    “But if -- never mind. He managed to cheat them, did he? It sounds like him.” He turned to Thorby. “Go on. Finish your message.”
    Thorby, thrown off stride, had to go back to the beginning. Krausa