Citizen of the Galaxy

  Marriage was the last thing on Thorby's mind; he was blazingly anxious to hear more about what Pop had done that had made him incredibly one of the People. But he recognized the warning with which an elder closed a taboo subject.

  "Why, no, Father."

  "Your Grandmother thinks that you have begun to notice girls seriously."

  "Well, sir, Grandmother is never wrong . . . but I hadn't been aware of it."

  "A man isn't complete without a wife. But I don't think you're old enough. Laugh with all the girls and cry with none—and remember our customs." Krausa was thinking that he was bound by Baslim's injunction to seek aid of the Hegemony in finding where the lad had come from. It would be awkward if Thorby married before the opportunity arose. Yet the boy had grown taller in the months he had been in Sisu. Adding to Krausa's fret was an uneasy feeling that his half-conceived notion of finding (or faking) an ancestry for Thorby conflicted with his unbreakable obligations to Baslim.

  Then he had a cheerful idea. "Tell you what, Son! It's possible that the girl for you isn't aboard. After all, there are only a few in port side purdah—and picking a wife is a serious matter. She can gain you status or ruin you. So why not take it easy? At the Great Gathering you will meet hundreds of eligible girls. If you find one you like and who likes you, I'll discuss it with your Grandmother and if she approves, we'll dicker for her exchange. We won't be stingy either. How does that sound?"

  It put the problem comfortably in the distance. "It sounds fine, Father!"

  "I have said enough." Krausa thought happily that he would check the files while Thorby was meeting those "hundreds of girls"—and he need not review his obligation to Baslim until he had done so. The lad might be a born member of the People—in fact his obvious merits made fraki ancestry almost unthinkable. If so, Baslim's wishes would be carried out in the spirit more than if followed to the letter. In the meantime—forget it!

  They completed the mile to the edge of the Losian community. Thorby stared at sleek Losian ships and thought uneasily that he had tried to burn one of those pretty things out of space. Then he reminded himself that Father had said it was not a firecontrolman's business to worry about what target was handed him.

  When they got into city traffic he had no time to worry. Losians do not use passenger cars, nor do they favor anything as stately as a sedan chair. On foot, they scurry twice as fast as a man can run; in a hurry, they put on a vehicle which makes one think of jet propulsion. Four and sometimes six limbs are encased in sleeves which end in something like skates. A framework fits the body and carries a bulge for the power plant (what sort Thorby could not imagine). Encased in this mechanical clown suit, each becomes a guided missile, accelerating with careless abandon, showering sparks, filling the air with earsplitting noises, cornering in defiance of friction, inertia, and gravity, cutting in and out, never braking until the last minute.

  Pedestrians and powered speed maniacs mix democratically, with no perceptible rules. There seems to be no age limit for driver's licenses and the smallest Losians are simply more reckless editions of their elders.

  Thorby wondered if he would ever get out into space alive.

  A Losian would come zipping toward Thorby on the wrong side of the street (there was no right side), squeal to a stop almost on Thorby's toes, zig aside while snatching breath off his face and heart out of his mouth—and never touch him. Thorby would jump. After a dozen escapes he tried to pattern himself after his foster father. Captain Krausa ploughed stolidly ahead, apparently sure that the wild drivers would treat him as a stationary object. Thorby found it hard to live by that faith, but it seemed to work.

  Thorby could not make out how the city was organized. Powered traffic and pedestrians poured through any opening and the convention of private land and public street did not seem to hold. At first they proceeded along an area which Thorby classified as a plaza, then they went up a ramp, through a building which had no clear limits—no vertical walls, no defined roof—out again and down, through an arch which skirted a hole. Thorby was lost.

  Once he thought they must be going through a private home—they pushed through what must have been a dinner party. But the guests merely pulled in their feet.

  Krausa stopped. "We're almost there. Son, we're visiting the fraki who bought our load. This meeting heals the trouble between us caused by buying and selling. He has offended me by offering payment; now we have to become friends again."

  "We don't get paid?"

  "What would your Grandmother say? We've already been paid—but now I'll give it to him free and he'll give me the thorium just because he likes my pretty blue eyes. Their customs don't allow anything as crass as selling."

  "They don't trade with each other?"

  "Of course they do. But the theory is that one fraki gives another anything he needs. It's sheer accident that the other happens to have money that he is anxious to press on the other as a gift—and that the two gifts balance. They are shrewd merchants, Son; we never pick up an extra credit here."

  "Then why this nonsense?"

  "Son, if you worry about why fraki do what they do, you'll drive yourself crazy. When you're on their planet, do it their way . . . it's good business. Now listen. We'll have a meal of friendship . . . only they can't, or they'll lose face. So there will be a screen between us. You have to be present, because the Losian's son will be there—only it's a daughter. And the fraki I'm going to see is the mother, not the father. Their males live in purdah . . . I think. But notice that when I speak through the interpreter, I'll use masculine gender."

  "Why?"

  "Because they know enough about our customs to know that masculine gender means the head of the house. It's logical if you look at it correctly."

  Thorby wondered. Who was head of the Family? Father? Or Grandmother? Of course, when the Chief Officer issued an order, she signed it "By Order of the Captain," but that was just because . . . no. Well, anyhow—

  Thorby suddenly suspected that the customs of the Family might be illogical in spots. But the Captain was speaking. "We don't actually eat with them; that's another fiction. You'll be served a green, slimy liquid. Just raise it to your lips; it would burn out your gullet. Otherwise—" Captain Krausa paused while a Losian scorcher avoided the end of his nose. "Otherwise listen so that you will know how to behave next time. Oh yes!—after I ask how old my host's son is, you'll be asked how old you are. You answer 'forty.' "

  "Why?"

  "Because that is a respectable age, in their years, for a son who is assisting his father."

  They arrived and seemed still to be in public. But they squatted down opposite two Losians while a third crouched nearby. The screen between them was the size of a kerchief; Thorby could see over it. Thorby tried to look, listen, and learn, but the traffic never let up. It shot around and cut between them, with happy, shrill racket.

  Their host started by accusing Captain Krausa of having lured him into a misdeed. The interpreter was almost impossible to understand, but he showed surprising command of scurrilous Interlingua. Thorby could not believe his ears and expected that Father would either walk out, or start trouble.

  But Captain Krausa listened quietly, then answered with real poetry—he accused the Losian of every crime from barratry to mopery and dopery in the spaceways.

  This put the meeting on a friendly footing. The Losian made them a present of the thorium he had already paid, then offered to throw in his sons and everything he possessed.

  Captain Krausa accepted and gave away Sisu, with all contents.

  Both parties generously gave back the gifts. They ended at status quo, each to retain as a symbol of friendship what each now had: the Losian many hundredweight of verga leaf, the Trader slugs of thorium. Both agreed that the gifts were worthless but valuable for reasons of sentiment. In a burst of emotion the Losian gave away his son and Krausa made him (her) a present of Thorby. Inquiries followed and it was discovered that each was too young to leave the nest.

/>   They got out of this dilemma by having the sons exchange names and Thorby found himself owner of a name he did not want and could not pronounce. Then they "ate."

  The horrid green stuff was not only not fit to drink, but when Thorby inhaled, he burned his nostrils and choked. The Captain gave him a reproving glance.

  After that they left. No good-bys, they just walked off. Captain Krausa said meditatively while proceeding like a sleepwalker through the riot of traffic, "Nice people, for fraki. Never any sharp dealing and absolutely honest. I often wonder what one of them would do if I took him up on one of those offers. Pay up, probably."

  "Not really!"

  "Don't be sure. I might hand you in on that half-grown Losian." Thorby shut up.

  Business concluded, Captain Krausa helped Thorby shop and sight-see, which relieved Thorby, because he did not know what to buy, nor even how to get home. His foster father took him to a shop where Interlingua was understood. Losians manufacture all sorts of things of extreme complexity, none of which Thorby recognized. On Krausa's advice Thorby selected a small polished cube which, when shaken, showed endless Losian scenes in its depths. Thorby offered the shopkeeper his tokens; the Losian selected one and gave him change from a necklace of money. Then he made Thorby a present of shop and contents.

  Thorby, speaking through Krausa, regretted that he had nothing to offer save his own services the rest of his life. They backed out of the predicament with courteous insults.

  Thorby felt relieved when they reached the spaceport and he saw the homely, familiar lines of old Sisu.

  When Thorby reached his bunkie, Jeri was there, feet up and hands back of his head. He looked up and did not smile.

  "Hi, Jeri!"

  "Hello, Thorby."

  "Hit dirt?"

  "No."

  "I did. Look what I bought!" Thorby showed him the magic cube. "You shake it and every picture is different."

  Jeri looked at one picture and handed it back. "Very nice."

  "Jeri, what are you glum about? Something you ate?"

  "No."

  "Spill it."

  Jeri dropped his feet to the deck, looked at Thorby. "I'm back in the computer room."

  "Huh?"

  "Oh, I don't lose status. It's just while I train somebody else."

  Thorby felt a cold wind. "You mean I've been busted?"

  "No."

  "Then what do you mean?"

  "Mata has been swapped."

  CHAPTER 11

  Mata swapped? Gone forever? Little Mattie with the grave eyes and merry giggle? Thorby felt a burst of sorrow and realized to his surprise that it mattered.

  "I don't believe it!"

  "Don't be a fool."

  "When? Where has she gone? Why didn't you tell me?"

  "To El Nido, obviously; it's the only ship of the People in port. About an hour ago. I didn't tell you because I had no idea it was coming . . . until I was summoned to Grandmother's cabin to say good-by." Jeri frowned. "It had to come someday . . . but I thought Grandmother would let her stay as long as she kept her skill as a tracker."

  "Then why, Jeri? Why?"

  Jeri stood up, said woodenly, "Foster Ortho-Uncle, I have said enough."

  Thorby pushed him back into his chair. "You can't get away with that, Jeri. I'm your 'uncle' only because they said I was. But I'm still the ex-fraki you taught to use a tracker and we both know it. Now talk man to man. Spill it!"

  "You won't like it."

  "I don't like it now! Mattie gone . . . Look, Jeri, there is nobody here but us. Whatever it is, tell me. I promise you, on Sisu's steel, that I won't make an uncle-and-nephew matter of it. Whatever you say, the Family will never know."

  "Grandmother might be listening."

  "If she is, I've ordered you to talk and it's my responsibility. But she won't be; it's time for her nap. So talk."

  "Okay." Jeri looked at him sourly. "You asked for it. You mean to say you haven't the dimmest idea why Grandmother hustled my Sis out of the ship?"

  "Huh? None . . . or I wouldn't ask."

  Jeri made an impatient noise. "Thorby, I knew you were thick-witted. I didn't know you were deaf, dumb, and blind."

  "Never mind the compliments! Tell me the score."

  "You're the reason Mata got swapped. You." Jeri looked at Thorby with disgust.

  "Me?"

  "Who else? Who pairs off at spat ball? Who sits together at story films? What new relative is always seen with a girl from his own moiety? I'll give you a hint—the name starts with 'T.' "

  Thorby turned white. "Jeri, I never had the slightest idea."

  "You're the only one in the ship who didn't." Jeri shrugged. "I'm not blaming you. It was her fault. She was chasing you, you stupid clown! What I can't figure out is why you didn't know. I tried to give you hints."

  Thorby was as innocent of such things as a bird is of ballistics. "I don't believe it."

  "It doesn't matter whether you do or don't . . . everybody else saw it. But you both could have gotten away with it, as long as you kept it open and harmless —and I was watching too closely for anything else—if Sis hadn't lost her head."

  "Huh? How?"

  "Sis did something that made Grandmother willing to part with a crack firecontrolman. She went to Grandmother and asked to be adopted across moiety line. In her simple, addle-pated way she figured that since you were adopted in the first place, it didn't really matter that she was your niece—just shift things around and she could marry you." Jeri grunted. "If you had been adopted on the other side, she could have wangled it. But she must have been clean off her head to think that Grandmother—Grandmother!—would agree to anything so scandalous."

  "But . . . well, I'm not actually any relation to her. Not that I had any idea of marrying her."

  "Oh, beat it! You make me tired."

  Thorby moped around, unwilling to go back and face Jeri. He felt lost and alone and confused; the Family seemed as strange, their ways as difficult to understand, as the Losians.

  He missed Mata. He had never missed her before. She had been something pleasant but routine—like three meals a day and the other comforts he had learned to expect in Sisu. Now he missed her.

  Well, if that was what she wanted, why hadn't they let her? Not that he had thought about it . . . but as long as you had to get married some day, Mata would be as tolerable as any. He liked her.

  Finally he remembered that there was one person with whom he could talk. He took his troubles to Doctor Mader.

  He scratched at her door, received a hurried, "Come in!" He found her down on her knees, surrounded by possessions. She had a smudge on her nose and her neat hair was mussed. "Oh. Thorby. I'm glad you showed up. They told me you were dirtside and I was afraid I would miss you."

  She spoke System English; he answered in it. "You wanted to see me?"

  "To say good-by. I'm going home."

  "Oh." Thorby felt again the sick twinge he had felt when Jeri had told about Mata. Suddenly he was wrenched with sorrow that Pop was gone. He pulled himself together and said, "I'm sorry. I'll miss you."

  "I'll miss you, Thorby. You're the only one in this big ship that I felt at home with . . . which is odd, as your background and mine are about as far apart as possible. I'll miss our talks."

  "So will I," Thorby agreed miserably. "When are you leaving?"

  "El Nido jumps tomorrow. But I should transfer tonight; I don't dare miss jump, or I might not get home for years."

  "El Nido is going to your planet?" A fantastic scheme began to shape in his mind.

  "Oh, no! She's going to Thaf Beta VI. But a Hegemonic mail ship calls there and I can get home. It is too wonderful a chance to miss." The scheme died in Thorby's brain; it was preposterous, anyhow—he might be willing to chance a strange planet, but Mata was no fraki.

  Doctor Mader went on, "The Chief Officer arranged it." She smiled wryly. "She's glad to get rid of me. I hadn't had any hope that she could put it over, in view of the difficulty in get
ting me aboard Sisu; I think your grandmother must have some bargaining point that she did not mention. In any case I'm to go . . . with the understanding that I remain in strict purdah. I shan't mind; I'll use the time on my data."

  Mention of purdah reminded Thorby that Margaret would see Mata. He started with stumbling embarrassment to explain what he had come to talk about. Doctor Mader listened gravely, her fingers busy with packing. "I know, Thorby. I probably heard the sad details sooner than you did."

  "Margaret, did you ever hear of anything so silly?"

  She hesitated. "Many things . . . much sillier."

  "But there wasn't anything to it! And if that was what Mata wanted, why didn't Grandmother let her . . . instead of shipping her out among strangers. I . . . well, I wouldn't have minded. After I got used to it."

  The fraki woman smiled. "That's the oddest gallant speech I ever heard, Thorby."

  Thorby said, "Could you get a message to her for me?"

  "Thorby, if you want to send her your undying love or something, then don't. Your Grandmother did the best thing for her great granddaughter, did it quickly with kindness and wisdom. Did it in Mata's interests against the immediate interests of Sisu, since Mata was a valuable fighting man. But your Grandmother measured up to the high standards expected of a Chief Officer; she considered the long-range interests of everyone and found them weightier than the loss of one firecontrolman. I admire her at last—between ourselves, I've always detested the old girl." She smiled suddenly. "And fifty years from now Mata will make the same sort of wise decisions; the sept of Sisu is sound."

  "I'll be flogged if I understand it!"

  "Because you are almost as much fraki as I am . . . and haven't had my training. Thorby, most things are right or wrong only in their backgrounds; few things are good or evil in themselves. But things that are right or wrong according to their culture, really are so. This exogamy rule the People live by, you probably think it's just a way to outsmart mutations—in fact that's the way it is taught in the ship's school."

  "Of course. That's why I can't see—"