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

waited impatiently until he reached: “-- I am already dead. My son is the only thing of value of which I die possessed; I entrust him to your care. I ask that you succor and admonish him as if you were I. When opportunity presents, I ask that you deliver him to the commander of any vessel of the Hegemonic Guard, saying that he is a distressed citizen of the Hegemony and entitled as such to their help in locating his family. If they will bestir themselves, they can establish his identity and restore him to his people. All the rest I leave to your good judgment. I have enjoined him to obey you and I believe that he will; he is a good lad, within the limits of his age and experience, and I entrust him to you with a serene heart. Now I must depart. My life has been long and rich; I am content. Farewell”
    The Captain chewed his lip and his face worked in the fashion of a grown man who is busy not crying. Finally he said gruffly, “That's clear enough. Well, lad, are you ready?”
    “Sir?”
    “You're coming with me. Or didn't Baslim tell you?”
    “No, sir. But he told me to do whatever you told me to. I'm to come with you?”
    “Yes. How soon can you leave?”
    Thorby gulped. “Right now, sir.”
    “Then come on. I want to get back to my ship.” He looked Thorby up and down. “Mother Shaum, can we put some decent clothes on him? That outlandish rig won't do to come aboard in. Or never mind; there's a slop shop down the street; I'll pick him up a kit.”
    She had listened with growing amazement. Now she said, “You're taking him to your ship?”
    “Any objections?”
    “Huh? Not at all . . . if you don't care if they rack him apart.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Are you crazy? There are six snoopers between here and the spaceport gate . . . and each one anxious to pick up the reward.”
    “You mean he's wanted?”
    “Why do you think I've hidden him in my own bedroom? He's as hot as bubbling cheese.”
    “But why?”
    “Again, how would I know? He is.”
    “You don't really think that a lad like this would know enough about what old Baslim was doing to make it worth --”
    “Let's not speak of what Baslim was doing or did. I'm a loyal subject of the Sargon . . . with no wish to be shortened. You say you want to take the boy into your ship. I say, 'Fine!' I'll be happy to be quit of the worry. But how?”
    Krausa cracked his knuckles one by one. “I had thought,” he said slowly, “that it would be just a matter of walking him down to the gate and paying his emigration tax.”
    “It's not, so forget it. Is there any way to get him aboard without passing him through the gate?”
    Captain Krausa looked worried. “They're so strict about smuggling here that if they catch you, they confiscate the ship. You're asking me to risk my ship . . . and myself . . . and my whole crew.”
    “I'm not asking you to risk anything. I've got myself to worry about. I was just telling you the straight score. If you ask me, I'd say you were crazy to attempt it.”
    Thorby said, “Captain Krausa --”
    “Eh? What is it, lad?”
    “Pop told me to do as you said . . . but I'm sure he never meant you to risk your neck on my account” He swallowed. I'll be all right.”
    Krausa sawed the air impatiently. “No, no!” he said harshly. “Baslim wanted this done . . . and debts are paid. Debts are always paid!”
    “I don't understand.”
    “No need for you to. But Baslim wanted me to take you with me, so that's how it's got to be.” He turned to Mother Shaum. “The question is, how? Any ideas?”
    “Mmm . . . possibly. Let's go talk it over.” She turned. “Get back in your hide-away, Thorby, and be careful. I may have to go out for a while.”
     
    Shortly before curfew the next day a large sedan chair left Joy Street. A patrolman stopped it and Mother Shaum stuck her head out. He looked surprised. “Going out, Mother? Who'll take care of your customers?”
    “Mura has the keys,” she answered. “But keep an eye