Citizen of the Galaxy (33 page)

“You have to love this work to do it. Lots of times it's nasty . . . things a man wouldn't do, for his own self-respect, if he didn't think it was necessary.”

“But I do! Uh, I was a slave. You knew that? Maybe it would help if a man knew how a slave feels.”

“Perhaps. Though it might make you too emotional. Besides, slave traffic isn't all we are interested in. A man comes here, we don't promise him certain work. He does what he's told. We use him. We usually use him up. Our casualty rate is high.”

“I'll do what I'm told. I just happen to be interested in the slave traffic. Why, most people here don't seem to know it exists.”

“Most of what we deal in the public wouldn't believe. Can you expect the people you see around you to take seriously unbelievable stories about far-away places? You must remember that less than one percent of the race ever leaves its various planets of birth.”

“Uh, I suppose so. Anyhow they don't believe it.”

“That's not our worst handicap. The Terran Hegemony is no empire; it is simply leadership in a loose confederation of planets. The difference between what the Guard could do and what it is allowed to do is very frustrating. If you have come here thinking that you will see slavery abolished in your lifetime, disabuse your mind. Our most optimistic target date is two centuries away -- and by that time slavery will have broken out in planets not even discovered today. Not a problem to be solved once and for all. A continuing process.”

“All I want to know is, can I help?”

“I don't know. Not because you describe yourself as a junior enlisted man . . . we're all pretty much the same rank in this place. The Exotic Corps is an idea, not an organization chart. I'm not worried about what Thorby Baslim can do; he can do something, even if it's only translating. But Rudbek of Rudbek . . . mmm, I wonder.”

“But I told you I was getting rid of that!”

“Well -- let's wait until you have. By your own statement you are not presenting yourself for enrollment today. What about the other reason? Something to add to Colonel Baslim's report?”

Thorby hesitated. “Sir, Colonel Brisby, my C.O., told me that P -- Colonel Baslim had proved a connection between the slave trade and some big starshipbuilding outfit.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes, sir. You could look it up in Colonel Baslim's report.”

“I don't need to. Go on.”

“Well . . . is it Rudbek he was talking about? Galactic Transport, that is?”

“Smith” considered it. “Why ask me if your company is mixed up in slave trade? You tell us.”

Thorby frowned. “Is there a Galactovue around here?”

“Down the hall.”

“May I use it?”

“Why not?” The Wing Marshal led him through a private corridor into a conference room dominated by a star-flecked stereo display. It was much the biggest Thorby had ever seen.

He had to ask questions; it had complicated controls. Then he got to work. His face puckering with strain, Thorby painted in colored lights amid fairy stars the solid picture he had built in the Galactovue in his office. He did not explain and the officer watched in silence. Thorby stepped back at last “That's all I know now.”

“You missed a few.” The Wing Marshal added some lights in yellow, some in red, then working slowly, added half a dozen missing ships. “But that's quite a feat to do from memory and a remarkable concatenation of ideas. I see you included yourself -- maybe it does help to have a personal interest.” He stepped back. “Well, Baslim, you asked a question. Are you ready to answer it?”

“I think Galactic Transport is in it up to here! Not everybody, but enough key people. Supplying ships. And repairs and fuel. Financing, maybe.”

“Mmm . . .”

“Is all this physically possible otherwise?”

“You know what they would say if you accused them of slave trading --”

“Not the trade itself. At least I don't think so.”

“Connected with it. First they would say that they had never heard of any slave trade, or that it was just a wild rumor. Then they would say that, in any case, they just sell ships -- and is a hardware dealer who sells a knife responsible if a husband carves his wife?”

“The cases aren't parallel.”

“They wouldn't concede that. They would say that they were not breaking any laws and even stipulating that there might be slavery somewhere, how can you expect people to get worked up over a possible evil light-years away? In which they are correct; you can't expect people to, because they won't. Then some smarmy well-dressed character will venture the opinion that slavery -- when it existed -- was not so bad, because a large part of the population is really happier if they don't have the responsibilities of a free man. Then he'll add that if they didn't sell ships, someone else would -- it's Just business.”

Thorby thought of nameless little Thorbys out there in the dark, crying hopelessly with fear and loneliness and hurt, in the reeking holds of slavers -- ships that might be his. “One stroke of the lash would change his slimy mind!”

“Surely. But we've abolished the lash here. Sometimes I wonder if we should have.” He looked at the display. “I'm going to record this; it has facets not yet considered together. Thanks for coming in. If you get more ideas, come in again.”

Thorby realized that his notion of joining the corps had not been taken seriously. “Marshal Smith . . . there's one other thing I might do.”

“What?”

“Before I join, if you let me . . . or maybe after; I don't know how you do such things . . . I could go out as Rudbek of Rudbek, in my own ship, and check those places -- the red ones, ours. Maybe the boss can dig out things that a secret agent would have trouble getting close to.”

“Maybe. But you know that your father started to make an inspection trip once. He wasn't lucky in it.” Smith scratched his chin. “We've never quite accounted for that one. Until you showed up alive, we assumed that it was natural disaster. A yacht with three passengers, a crew of eight and no cargo doesn't look like worthwhile pickings for bandits in business for profit -- and they generally know what they're doing.”

Thorby was shocked. “Are you suggesting that --”

“I'm not suggesting anything. But bosses prying into employees' sidelines have, in other times and places, burned their fingers. And your father was certainly checking.”

“About the slave trade?”

“I couldn't guess. Inspecting. In that area. I've got to excuse myself. But do come see me again . . . or phone and someone will come to you.”

“Marshal Smith . . . what parts of this, if any, can be talked over with other people?”

“Eh? Any of it. As long as you don't attribute it to this corps, or to the Guard. But facts as you know them --” He shrugged, “-- who will believe you? Although if you talk to your business associates about your suspicions, you may arouse strong feelings against you personally . . . some of those feelings sincere and honest The others? I wish I knew.”

Thorby was so late that Leda was both vexed and bursting with curiosity. But she had to contain it not only because of possible monitoring but because of an elderly aunt who had called to pay her respects to Rudbek of Rudbek, and was staying the night. It was not until next day, while examining Aztec relics in the Fifth of May Museum, that they were able to talk.

Thorby recounted what Garsch had said, then decided to tell more. “I looked into rejoining the Guard yesterday.”

“Thor!”

“Oh, I'm not walking out. But I have a reason. The Guard is the only organization trying to put a stop to slave traffic. But that is all the more reason why I can't enlist now.” He outlined his suspicions about Rudbek and the traffic.

Her face grew pale. “Thor, that's the most horrible idea I ever heard. I can't believe it.”

“I'd like to prove it isn't true. But somebody builds their ships, somebody maintains them. Slavers are not engineers; they're parasites.”

“I still have trouble believing that there is such a thing as slavery.”

He shrugged. “Ten lashes will convince anybody.”

“Thor! You don't mean they whipped you?”

“I don't remember clearly. But the scars are on my back.”

She was very quiet on the way home.

Thorby saw Garsch once more, then they headed for the Yukon, in company with the elderly aunt, who had somehow attached herself. Garsch had papers for Thorby to sign and two pieces of information. “The first action has to be at Rudbek, because that was the legal residence of your parents. The other thing is, I did some digging in newspaper files.”

“Yes?”

“Your grandfather did give you a healthy block of stock. It was in stories about the whoop-te-do when you were born. The Bourse Journal listed the shares by serial numbers. So we'll hit 'em with that, too -- on the same day. Don't want one to tip off the other.”

“You're the doctor.”

“But I don't want you in Rudbek until the clerk shouts 'Oyez!' Here's a mail drop you can use to reach me . . . even phone through, if you have to. And right smartly you set up a way for me to reach you.”

Thorby puzzled over that requirement, being hemmed in as he was by bodyguards. “Why don't you, or somebody -- a young man, maybe -- phone my cousin with a code message? People are always phoning her and most of them are young men. She'll tell me and I'll find a place to phone back.”

“Good idea. He'll ask if she knows how many shopping days left till Christmas. All right -- see you in court.” Garsch grinned. “This is going to be fun. And very, very expensive for you. G'bye.”

“Have a nice vacation?” Uncle Jack smiled at him. “You've led us quite a chase. You shouldn't do that, boy.”

Thorby wanted to hit him but, although the guards let go his arms when they shoved him into the room, his wrists were tied.
    
Uncle Jack stopped smiling and glanced at Judge Bruder. “Thor, you've never appreciated that Judge Bruder and I worked for your father, and for your grandfather. Naturally we know what's best. But you've given us trouble and now we'll show you how we handle little boys who don't appreciate decent treatment. We teach them. Ready, Judge?”

Judge Bruder smiled savagely and took the whip from behind him. “Bend him over the desk!”

Thorby woke up gasping. Whew, a bad one! He looked around the small hotel room he was in and tried to remember where he was. For days he had moved daily, sometimes half around the planet. He had become sophisticated in the folkways of this planet, enough not to attract attention, and even had a new ID card, quite as good as a real one. It had not been difficult, once he realized that underworlds were much the same everywhere.

He remembered now -- this was America de Sud.

The bed alarm sounded -- just midnight, time to leave. He dressed and glanced at his baggage, decided to abandon it He walked down the backstairs, out the back way.

Aunt Lizzie had not liked the Yukon cold but she put up with it. Eventually someone called and reminded Leda that there were few shopping days to Christmas, so they left. At Uranium City Thorby managed to return the call Garsch grinned. “I'll see you in the district court in-and-for the county of Rudbek, division four, at nine-fifty-nine the morning of January fourth. Now get lost completely.”

So at San Francisco Thorby and Leda had a tiff in the presence of Aunt Lizzie; Leda wanted to go to Nice, Thorby insisted on Australia. Thorby said angrily, “Keep the car! I'll go by myself.” He flounced out and bought a ticket for Great Sydney.

He pulled a rather old washroom trick, tubed under the Bay, and, convinced that his bodyguard had been evaded, counted the cash Leda had slipped him as privately as they had quarreled publicly. It came to a little under two hundred thousand credits. There was a note saying that she was sorry it wasn't more but she had not anticipated needing money.

While waiting at the South American field Thorby counted what was left of Leda's money and reflected that he had cut it fine, both time and money. Where did it all go?

Photographers and reporters gave him a bad time at Rudbek City; the place swarmed with them. But he pushed through and met Garsch inside the bar at nine-fifty-eight. The old man nodded. “Siddown. Hizzoner will be out soon.”

The judge came out and a clerk intoned the ancient promise of justice: “-- draw nigh and ye shall be heard!” Garsch remarked, “Bruder has this judge on a leash.”

“Huh? Then why are we here?”

“You're paying me to worry. Any judge is a good judge when he knows he's being watched. Look behind you.”

Thorby did so. The place was so loaded with press that a common citizen stood no chance. “I did a good job, if I do say so.” Garsch hooked a thumb at the front row. “The galoot with the big nose is the ambassador from Proxima. The old thief next to him is chairman of the judiciary committee. And --” He broke off.

Thorby could not spot Uncle Jack but Bruder presided over the other table -- he did not look at Thorby. Nor could Thorby find Leda. It made him feel very much alone. But Garsch finished opening formalities, sat down and whispered. “Message for you. Young lady says to say 'Good luck.' “