But as Deputy Chief Officer she could be as cold as a tax collector.
Not that her status was easier; she would not be Chief Officer until the old woman had the grace to die. In the meantime she was hand and voice and body servant for her mother-in-law. Theoretically senior officers were elective; practically it was a one-party system with a single slate. Krausa was captain because his father had been; his wife was deputy chief officer because she was his wife, and she would someday become chief officer — and boss him and his ship as his mother did — for the same reason. Meanwhile his wife’s high rank carried with it the worst job in the ship, with no respite, for senior officers served for life . . . unless impeached, convicted, and expelled — onto a planet for unsatisfactory performance, into the chilly thinness of space for breaking the ancient and pig-headed laws of Sisu.
But such an event was as scarce as a double eclipse; Thorby’s mother’s hope lay in heart failure, stroke, or other hazard of old age.
Thorby as adopted youngest son of Captain Krausa, senior male of the Krausa sept, titular head of Sisu clan (the Captain’s mother being the real head), was senior to three-fourths of his new relatives in clan status (he had not yet acquired ship’s rank). But seniority did not make life easier. With rank goeth privileges — so it ever shall be. But also with it go responsibility and obligation, always more onerous than privileges are pleasant.
It was easier to learn to be a beggar.
He was swept up in his new problems and did not see Doctor Margaret Mader for days. He was hurrying down the trunk corridor of fourth deck — he was always hurrying now — when he ran into her.
He stopped. “Hello, Margaret.”
“Hello, Trader. I thought for a moment that you were no longer speaking to fraki.”
“Aw, Margaret!”
She smiled. “I was joking. Congratulations, Thorby. I’m happy for you — it’s the best solution under the circumstances.”
“Thanks. I guess so.”
She shifted to System English and said with motherly concern, “You seem doubtful, Thorby. Aren’t things going well?”
“Oh, things are all right” He suddenly blurted the truth. “Margaret, I’m never going to understand these people!”
She said gently, “I’ve felt the same way at the beginning of every field study and this one has been the most puzzling. What is bothering you?”
“Uh . . . I don’t know. I never know. Well, take Fritz — he’s my elder brother. He’s helped me a lot — then I miss something that he expects me to understand and he blasts my ears off. Once he hit me. I hit back and I thought he was going to explode.”
“Peck rights,” said Margaret.
“What?”
“Never mind. It isn’t scientifically parallel; humans aren’t chickens. What happened?”
“Well, just as quickly he went absolutely cold, told me he would forget it, wipe it out, because of my ignorance.”
“Noblesse oblige.”
“Huh?”
“Sorry. My mind is a junk yard. And did he?”
“Completely. He was sweet as sugar. I don’t know why he got sore . . . and I don’t know why he quit being sore when I hit him.” He spread his hands. “It’s not natural.”
“No, it isn’t. But few things are. Mmm . . . Thorby, I might be able to help. It’s possible that I know how Fritz works better than he knows. Because I’m not one of the ‘People.'”
“I don’t understand.”
“I do, I think. It’s my job to. Fritz was born into the People; most of what he knows — and he is a very sophisticated young man — is subconscious. He can’t explain it because he doesn’t know he knows it; he simply functions. But what I have learned these past two years I have learned consciously. Perhaps I can advise you when you are shy about asking one of them. You can speak freely with me; I have no status.”
“Gee, Margaret, would you?”
“Whenever you have time. I haven’t forgotten that you promised to discuss Jubbul with me, either. But don’t let me hold you; you seemed in a hurry.”