Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert A. Heinlein

Mother’s visitors quizzed him about Pop. He tried to be polite but it annoyed him that everyone knew more about Pop than he did — except the things that were important.

But it did seem that duty could be shared. Thorby realized that he was junior son, but Fritz was unmarried, too. He suggested that if Fritz were to volunteer, the favor could be returned later.

Fritz gave a raucous laugh. “What can you offer that can repay me for dirtside time at Gathering?”

“Well . . .”

“Precisely. Seriously, old knucklehead, Mother wouldn’t listen, even if I were insane enough to offer. She says you, she means you.” Fritz yawned. “Man, am I dead! Little red-head off the Saint Louis wanted to dance all night. Get out and let me sleep before the banquet.”

“Can you spare a dress jacket?”

“Do your own laundry. And cut the noise.”

But on this morning one month after grounding Thorby was hitting dirt with Father, with no chance that Mother would change their minds; she was out of the ship. It was the Day of Remembrance. Services did not start until noon but Mother left early for something to do with the election tomorrow.

Thorby’s mind was filled with other matters. The services would end with a memorial to Pop. Father had told him that he would coach him in what to do, but it worried him, and his nerves were not soothed by the fact that Spirit of Sisu would be staged that evening.

His nerves over the play had increased when he discovered that Fritz had a copy and was studying it. Fritz had said gruffly, “Sure, I’m learning your part! Father thought it would be a good idea in case you fainted or broke your leg. I’m not trying to steal your glory; it’s intended to let you relax — if you can relax with thousands staring while you smooch Loeen.”

“Well, could you?”

Fritz looked thoughtful. “I could try. Loeen looks cuddly. Maybe I should break your leg myself.”

“Bare hands?”

“Don’t tempt me. Thorby, this is just precaution, like having two trackers. But nothing less than a broken leg can excuse you from strutting your stuff.”

Thorby and his Father left Sisu two hours before the services. Captain Krausa said, “We might as well enjoy ourselves. Remembrance is a happy occasion if you think of it the right way — but those seats are hard and it’s going to be a long day.”

“Uh, Father . . . just what is it I’ll have to do when it comes time for Pop — for Baslim?”

Nothing much. You sit up front during the sermon and give responses in the Prayer for the Dead. You know how, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll write it out for you. As for the rest . . . well, you’ll see me do the same for my Mother — your Grandmother. You watch and when it comes your turn, you do the same.”

“All right, Father.”

“Now let’s relax.”

To Thorby’s surprise Captain Krausa took a slideway outside the Gathering, then whistled down a ground car. It seemed faster than those Thorby had seen on Jubbul and almost as frantic as the Losians. They reached the rail station with nothing more than an exchange of compliments between their driver and another, but the ride was so exciting that Thorby saw little of the City of Artemis.

He was again surprised when Father bought tickets. “Where are we going?”

“A ride in the country.” The Captain glanced at his watch. “Plenty of time.”

The monorail gave a fine sensation of speed. “How fast are we going. Father?”

“Two hundred kilometers an hour, at a guess.” Krausa had to raise his voice.

“It seems faster.”

“Fast enough to break your neck. That’s as fast as a speed can be.”

They rode for half an hour. The countryside was torn up by steel mills and factories for the great yards, but it was new and different; Thorby stared and decided that the Sargon’s reserve was a puny enterprise compared with this. The station where they got off lay outside a long, high wall; Thorby could see space ships beyond it. “Where are we?”

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