Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert A. Heinlein

Thorby went quietly. Pressure on a wrist joint combined with pressure on a nerve between the bones of the palm carries its own rough logic. Several decks up he was shoved through an open door. “Chief Officer, here’s the fraki.”

“Thank you, Third Deck Master. You may go.”

Thorby understood only the word “fraki.” He picked himself up and found himself in a room many times as large as his own. The most prominent thing in it was an imposing bed, but the small figure in the bed dominated the room. Only after he had looked at her did he notice that Captain Krausa stood silent on one side of the bed and that a woman perhaps the Captain’s age stood on the other.

The woman in bed was shrunken with age but radiated authority. She was richly dressed — the scarf over her thin hair represented more money than Thorby had ever seen at one time — but Thorby noticed only her fierce, sunken eyes. She looked at him. “So! Oldest Son, I have much trouble believing it.” She spoke in Suomic.

“My Mother, the message could not have been faked.”

She sniffed.

Captain Krausa went on with humble stubbornness, “Hear the message yourself. My Mother.” He turned to Thorby and said in Interlingua, “Repeat the message from your father.”

Obediently, not understanding but enormously relieved to be in the presence of Pop’s friend, Thorby repeated the message by rote. The old woman heard him through, then turned to Captain Krausa. “What is this? He speaks our language! A fraki!”

“No, My Mother, he understands not a word. That is Baslim’s voice.”

She looked back at Thorby, spilled a stream of Suomic on him. He looked questioningly at Captain Krausa. She said, “Have him repeat it again.”

The Captain gave the order; Thorby, confused but willing, did so. She lay silent after he had concluded while the other waited. Her face screwed up in anger and exasperation. At last she rasped, “Debts must be paid!”

“That was my thought, My Mother.”

“But why should the draft be drawn on us?” she answered angrily.

The Captain said nothing. She went on more quietly, “The message is authentic. I thought surely it must be faked. Had I known what you intended I would have forbidden it. But, Oldest Son, stupid as you are, you were right. And debts must be paid.” Her son continued to say nothing; she added angrily, “Well? Speak up! What coin do you propose to tender?”

“I have been thinking. My Mother,” Krausa said slowly. “Baslim demands that we care for the boy only a limited time . . . until we can turn him over to a Hegemonic military vessel. How long will that be? A year, two years. But even that presents problems. However, we have a precedent — the fraki female. The Family has accepted her — oh, a little grumbling, but they are used to her now, even amused by her. If My Mother intervened for this lad in the same way –”

“Nonsense!”

“But, My Mother, we are obligated. Debts must –”

“Silence!”

Krausa shut up.

She went on quietly, “Did you not listen to the wording of the burden Baslim placed on you? ‘ — succor and admonish him as if you were I.’ What was Baslim to this fraki?”

“Why, he speaks of him as his adopted son. I thought –”

“You didn’t think. If you take Baslim’s place, what does that make you? Is there more than one way to read the words?”

Krausa looked troubled. The ancient went on, “Sisu pays debts in full. No half-measures, no short weights — in full. The fraki must be adopted . . . by you.”

Krausa’s face was suddenly blank. The other woman, who had been moving around quietly with make-work, dropped a tray.

The Captain said, “But, My Mother, what will the Family –”

“I am the Family!” She turned suddenly to the other woman. “Oldest Son’s Wife, have all my senior daughters attend me.”

“Yes, Husband’s Mother.” She curtsied and left.

The Chief Officer looked grimly at the overhead, then almost smiled. “This is not all bad, Oldest Son. What will happen at the next Gathering of the People?”

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