Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert A. Heinlein

“Oh. I didn’t know, Father.”

“Didn’t Jeri tell you? You must have noticed the switch; it’s the big red one, under my right hand.”

“Uh, I’ve never been in the Control Room, Father.”

“Eh? I must correct that; it might belong to you someday. Remind me . . . right after we go irrational.”

“I will, Father.” Thorby was pleased at the prospect of entering the mysterious shrine — he was sure that half of his relatives had never visited it — but he was surprised at the comment. Could a former fraki be eligible for command? It was legal for an adopted son to succeed to the worry seat; sometimes captains had no sons of their own. But an ex-fraki?

Captain Krausa was saying, “I haven’t given you the attention I should, Son . . . not the care I should give Baslim’s son. But it’s a big family and my time is so taken up. Are they treating you all right?”

“Why, sure, Father!”

“Mmm . . . glad to hear it. It’s — well, you weren’t born among the People, you know.”

“I know. But everybody has treated me fine.”

“Good. I’ve had good reports about you. You seem to learn fast, for a — you learn fast.”

Thorby sourly finished the phrase in his mind. The Captain went on, “Have you been in the Power Room?”

“No, sir. Just the practice room once.”

“Now is a good time, while we’re grounded. It’s safer and the prayers and cleansing aren’t so lengthy.” Krausa paused. “No, well wait until your status is clear — the Chief is hinting that you are material for his department. He has some silly idea that you will never have children anyway and he might regard a visit as an opportunity to snag you. Engineers!”

Thorby understood this speech, even the last word. Engineers were regarded as slightly balmy; it was commonly believed that radiations from the artificial star that gave Sisu her life ionized their brain tissues. True or not, engineers could get away with outrageous breeches of etiquette — “not guilty by reason of insanity” was an unspoken defense for them once they had been repeatedly exposed to the hazards of their trade. The Chief Engineer even talked back to Grandmother.

But junior engineers were not allowed to stand power room watches until they no longer expected to have children; they took care of auxiliary machinery and stood training watches in a dummy power room. The People were cautious about harmful mutations, because they were more exposed to radiation hazards than were planet dwellers. One never saw overt mutation among them; what happened to babies distorted at birth was a mystery so taboo that Thorby was not even aware of it; he simply knew that power watchstanders were old men.

Nor was he interested in progeny; he simply saw in the Captain’s remarks a hint that the Chief Engineer considered that Thorby could reach the exalted status of power watchstander quickly. The idea dazzled him. The men who wrestled with the mad gods of nuclear physics held status just below astrogators . . . and, in their own opinion, higher. Their opinion was closer to fact than was the official one; even a deputy captain who attempted to pull rank on a man standing power room watches was likely to wind up counting stores while the engineer rested in sick bay, then went back to doing as he pleased. Was it possible that an ex-fraki could aspire to such heights? Perhaps someday be Chief Engineer and sass the Chief Officer with impunity? “Father,” Thorby said eagerly, “the Chief Engineer thinks I can learn power room rituals?”

“Wasn’t that what I said?”

“Yes, sir. Uh . . . I wonder why he thought so?”

“Are you dense? Or unusually modest? Any man who can handle firecontrol mathematics can learn nuclear engineering. But he can learn astrogation, too, which is just as important.”

Engineers never handled cargo; the only work they did in port was to load tritium and deuterium, or other tasks strictly theirs. They did no housekeeping. They . . . “Father? I think I might like to be an engineer.”

“So? Well, now that you’ve thought so, forget it.”

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