But mathematics Thorby saw no use in, other than the barbaric skill of counting money. But presently he learned that mathematics need not have use; it was a game, like chess but more fun.
The old man wondered sometimes what use it all was? That the boy was even brighter than he had thought, he now knew. But was it fair to the boy? Was he simply teaching him to be discontented with his lot? What chance on Jubbul had the slave of a beggar? Zero raised to the nth power remained zero.
“Thorby.”
“Yeah, Pop. Just a moment, I’m in the middle of a chapter.”
“Finish it later. I want to talk with you.”
“Yes, my lord. Yes, master. Right away, boss.”
“And keep a civil tongue in your head.”
“Sorry, Pop. What’s on your mind?”
“Son, what are you going to do when I’m dead?”
Thorby looked stricken. “Are you feeling bad, Pop?”
“No. So far as I know, I’ll last for years. On the other hand, I may not wake up tomorrow. At my age you never know. If I don’t, what are you going to do? Hold down my pitch in the Plaza?”
Thorby didn’t answer; Baslim went on, “You can’t and we both know it. You’re already so big that you can’t tell the tale convincingly. They don’t give the way they did when you were little.”
Thorby said slowly, “I haven’t meant to be a burden, Pop.”
“Have I complained?”
“No.” Thorby hesitated. “I’ve thought about it . . . some. Pop, you could hire me out to a labor company.”
The old man made an angry gesture. “That’s no answer! No, son. I’m going to send you away.”
“Pop! You promised you wouldn’t.”
“I promised nothing.”
“But I don’t want to be freed, Pop. If you free me — well, if you do, I won’t leave!”
“I didn’t exactly mean that.”
Thorby was silent for a long moment. “You’re going to sell me, Pop?”
“Not exactly. Well . . . yes and no.”
Thorby’s face held no expression. At last he said quietly, “It’s one or the other, so I know what you mean . . . and I guess I oughtn’t to kick. It’s your privilege and you’ve been the best . . . master . . . I ever had.”
“I’m not your master!”
“Paper says you are. Matches the number on my leg.”
“Don’t talk that way! Don’t ever talk that way.”
“A slave had better talk that way, or else keep his mouth shut.”
“Then, for Heaven’s sake, keep it shut! Listen, son, let me explain. There’s nothing here for you and we both know it. If I die without freeing you, you revert to the Sargon –”
“They’ll have to catch me!”
“They will. But manumission solves nothing. What guilds are open to freedmen? Begging, yes — but you’d have to poke out your eyes to do well at it, after you’re grown. Most freedmen work for their former masters, as you know, for the freeborn commoners leave mighty slim pickings. They resent an ex-slave; they won’t work with him.”
“Don’t worry, Pop. I’ll get by.”
“I do worry. Now you listen. I’m going to arrange to sell you to a man I know, who will ship you away from here. Not a slave ship, just a ship. But instead of shipping you where the bill of lading reads, you’ll –”
“No!”
“Hold your tongue. You’ll be dropped on a planet where slavery is against the law. I can’t tell you which one, because I am not sure of the ship’s schedule, nor even what ship; the details have to be worked out. But in any free society I have confidence you can get by.” Baslim stopped to mull a thought he had had many times. Should he send the kid to Baslim’s own native planet? No, not only would it be extremely difficult to arrange but it was not a place to send a green immigrant . . . get the lad to any frontier world, where a sharp brain and willingness to work were all a man needed; there were several within trading distance of the Nine Worlds. He wished tiredly that there were some way of knowing the boy’s own home world. Possibly he had relatives there, people who would help him. Confound it, there ought to be a galaxy-wide method of identification!