Citizen of the Galaxy

by Robert A. Heinlein

  "Uh, I'm sorry, Grandmother. Did you speak to me?"

  He caught his Mother's warning look but it was too late; Grandmother was off. "I was waiting for you to say something to me!"

  "Uh . . . it's a nice day."

  "I had not noticed that it was unusual. It rarely rains in space."

  "I mean it's a nice party. Yes, a real nice party. Thank you for giving it, Grandmother."

  "That's better. Young man, it is customary, when a gentleman dines with a lady, to offer her polite conversation. This may not be the custom among fraki, but it is invariable among People."

  "Yes, Grandmother. Thank you, Grandmother."

  "Let's start again. It's a nice party, yes. We try to make everyone feel equal, while recognizing the merits of each. It is gratifying to have a chance—at last—to join with our Family in noting a virtue in you . . . one commendable if not exceptional. Congratulations. Now it's your turn."

  Thorby slowly turned purple.

  She sniffed and said, "What are you doing to get ready for the Gathering?"

  "Uh, I don't know, Grandmother. You see, I don't sing, or play, or dance—and the only games I know are chess and spat ball and . . . well, I've never seen a Gathering. I don't know what they're like."

  "Hmmph! So you haven't."

  Thorby felt guilty. He said, "Grandmother . . . you must have been to lots of Gatherings. Would you tell me about them?"

  That did it. She relaxed and said in hushed voice, "They don't have the Gatherings nowadays that they had when I was a girl . . ." Thorby did not have to speak again, other than sounds of awed interest. Long after the rest were waiting for Grandmother's permission to rise, she was saying, ". . . and I had my choice of a hundred ships, let me tell you. I was a pert young thing, with a tiny foot and a saucy nose, and my Grandmother got offers for me throughout the People. But I knew Sisu was for me and I stood up to her. Oh, I was a lively one! Dance all night and as fresh for the games next day as a—"

  While it was not a merry occasion, it was not a failure.

  Since Thorby had no talent he became an actor.

  Aunt Athena Krausa-Fogarth, Chief of Commissary and superlative cook, had the literary disease in its acute form; she had written a play. It was the life of the first Captain Krausa, showing the sterling nobility of the Krausa line. The first Krausa had been a saint with heart of steel. Disgusted with the evil ways of fraki, he had built Sisu (single-handed), staffed it with his wife (named Fogarth in draft, changed to Grandmother's maiden name before the script got to her) and with their remarkable children. As the play ends they jump off into space, to spread culture and wealth through the Galaxy.

  Thorby played the first Krausa. He was dumbfounded, having tried out because he was told to. Aunt Athena seemed almost as surprised; there was a catch in her voice when she announced his name. But Grandmother seemed pleased. She showed up for rehearsals and made suggestions which were happily adopted.

  The star playing opposite Thorby was Loeen Garcia, late of El Nido. He had not become chummy with Mata's exchange; he had nothing against her but had not felt like it. But he found Loeen easy to know. She was a dark, soft beauty, with an intimate manner. When Thorby was required to ignore taboo and kiss her, in front of Grandmother and everybody, he blew his lines.

  But he tried. Grandmother snorted in disgust. "What are you trying to do! Bite her? And don't let go as if she were radioactive. She's your wife, stupid. You've just carried her into your ship. You're alone with her, you love her. Now do it . . . no, no, no! Athena!"

  Thorby looked wildly around. It did not help to catch sight of Fritz with eyes on the overhead, a beatific smile on his face.

  "Athena! Come here, Daughter, and show this damp young hulk how a woman should be kissed. Kiss him yourself and then have him try again. Places, everyone."

  Aunt Athena, twice Thorby's age, did not upset him so much. He complied clumsily with her instructions, then managed to kiss Loeen without falling over her feet.

  It must have been a good play; it satisfied Grandmother. She looked forward to seeing it at the Gathering.

  But she died on Woolamurra.

  CHAPTER 13

  Woolamurra is a lush pioneer planet barely inside the Terran Hegemony; it was Sisu's last stop before diving deeper for the Gathering. Rich in food and raw materials, the fraki were anxious to buy manufactured articles. Sisu sold out of Losian artifacts and disposed of many Finsteran jewels. But Woolamurra offered little which would bring a profit and money was tight in terms of power metal—Woolamurra had not prospected much and was anxious to keep what radioactives it had for its infant industry.

  So Sisu accepted a little uranium and a lot of choice meats and luxury foods. Sisu always picked up gourmet delicacies; this time she stocked tons more than the Family could consume, but valuable for swank at the Gathering.

  The balance was paid in tritium and deuterium. A hydrogen-isotopes plant is maintained there for Hegemonic ships but it will sell to others. Sisu had last been able to fuel at Jubbul—Losian ships use a different nuclear reaction.

  Thorby was taken dirtside by his Father several times in New Melbourne, the port. The local language is System English, which Krausa understood, but the fraki spoke it with clipped haste and an odd vowel shift; Captain Krausa found it baffling. It did not sound strange to Thorby; it was as if he'd heard it before. So Krausa took him to help out.

  This day they went out to complete the fuel transaction and sign a waiver required for private sales. The commercial tenders accepted by Sisu had to be certified by the central bank, then be taken to the fuel plant. After papers were stamped and fees paid, the Captain sat and chatted with the director. Krausa could be friendly with a fraki on terms of complete equality, never hinting at the enormous social difference between them.

  While they chatted, Thorby worried. The fraki was talking about Woolamurra. "Any cobber with strong arms and enough brain to hold his ears apart can go outback and make a fortune."

  "No doubt," agreed the Captain. "I've seen your beef animals. Magnificent."

  Thorby agreed. Woolamurra might be short on pavement, arts, and plumbing; the planet was bursting with opportunity. Besides that, it was a pleasant, decent world, comfortably loose. It matched Doctor Mader's recipe: "—wait until your ship calls at a planet that is democratic, free, and human . . . then run!"

  Life in Sisu had become more pleasant even though he was now conscious of the all-enveloping, personally-restricting quality of life with the Family. He was beginning to enjoy being an actor; it was fun to hold the stage. He had even learned to handle the clinch in a manner to win from Grandmother a smile; furthermore, even though it was play-acting, Loeen was a pleasant armful. She would kiss him and murmur: "My husband! My noble husband! We will roam the Galaxy together."

  It gave Thorby goose bumps. He decided that Loeen was a great actress.

  They became quite friendly. Loeen was curious about what a firecontrolman did, so, under the eye of Great Aunt Tora, Thorby showed her the computer room. She looked prettily confused. "Just what is n-space? Length, breadth, and thickness are all you see . . . how about these other dimensions?"

  "By logic. You see four dimensions . . . those three, and time. Oh, you can't see a year, but you can measure it."

  "Yes, but how can logic—"

  "Easy as can be. What is a point? A location in space. But suppose there isn't any space, not even the four ordinary dimensions. No space. Is a point conceivable?"

  "Well, I'm thinking about one."

  "Not without thinking about space. If you think about a point, you think about it somewhere. If you have a line, you can imagine a point somewhere on it. But a point is just a location and if there isn't anywhere for it to be located, it's nothing. Follow me?"

  Great Aunt Tora interrupted. "Could you children continue this in the lounge? My feet hurt."

  "Sorry, Great Aunt. Will you take my arm?"

  Back in the lounge Thorby said, "Did you soak up that abo
ut a point needing a line to hold it?"

  "Uh, I think so. Take away its location and it isn't there at all."

  "Think about a line. If it isn't in a surface, does it exist?"

  "Uh, that's harder."

  "If you get past that, you've got it. A line is an ordered sequence of points. But where does the order come from? From being in a surface. If a line isn't held by a surface, then it could collapse into itself. It hasn't any width. You wouldn't even know it had collapsed . . . nothing to compare it with. But every point would be just as close to every other point, no 'ordered sequence.' Chaos. Still with me?"

  "Maybe."

  "A point needs a line. A line needs a surface. A surface has to be part of solid space, or its structure vanishes. And a solid needs hyperspace to hold it . . . and so on up. Each dimension demands one higher, or geometry ceases to exist. The universe ceases to exist." He slapped the table. "But it's here, so we know that multi-space still functions . . . even though we can't see it, any more than we can see a passing second."

  "But where does it all stop?"

  "It can't. Endless dimensions."

  She shivered. "It scares me."

  "Don't worry. Even the Chief Engineer only has to fret about the first dozen dimensions. And—look, you know we turn inside out when the ship goes irrational. Can you feel it?"

  "No. And I'm not sure I believe it."

  "It doesn't matter, because we aren't equipped to feel it. It can happen while eating soup and you never spill a drop, even though the soup turns inside out, too. So far as we are concerned it's just a mathematical concept, like the square root of minus one—which we tangle with when we pass speed-of-light. It's that way with all multi-dimensionality. You don't have to feel it, see it, understand it; you just have to work logical symbols about it. But it's real, if 'real' means anything. Nobody has ever seen an electron. Nor a thought. You can't see a thought, you can't measure, weigh, nor taste it—but thoughts are the most real things in the Galaxy." Thorby was quoting Baslim.

  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 bans?"

  "What are you talking about!"

  "No bans?"

  "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 plough 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.

  B
ut 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. We'll 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.