Thorby sighed. “I guess I have to, Father.”
“I think so, too. Now let’s hurry.”
The gate pass office could not be hurried, especially as Captain Krausa, although identifying himself and son by ship’s papers, declined to state his business with the commander of Guard Cruiser Hydra other than to say that it was “urgent and official.”
But eventually they were escorted by a smart, armed fraki to the cruiser’s hoist and turned over to another. They were handed along inside the ship and reached an office marked “Ship’s Secretary — Enter Without Knocking.” Thorby concluded that Sisu was smaller than he had thought and he had never seen so much polished metal in his life. He was rapidly regretting his decision.
The Ship’s Secretary was a polite, scrubbed young man with the lace orbits of a lieutenant. He was also very firm. “I’m sorry. Captain, but you will have to tell me your business . . . if you expect to see the Commanding Officer.”
Captain Krausa said nothing and sat tight.
The nice young man colored, drummed on his desk. He got up. “Excuse me a moment.”
He came back and said tonelessly, “The Commanding Officer can give you five minutes.” He led them into a larger office and left them. An older man was there, seated at a paper-heaped desk. He had his blouse off and showed no insignia of rank. He got up, put out his hand, and said, “Captain Krausa? Of Free Trader . . . Seezoo, is it? I’m Colonel Brisby, commanding.”
“Glad to be aboard, Skipper.”
“Glad to have you. How’s business?” He glanced at Thorby. “One of your officers?”
“Yes and no.”
“Eh?”
“Colonel? May I ask in what class you graduated?”
“What? Oh-Eight. Why do you ask?”
“I think you can answer that. This lad is Thorby Baslim, adopted son of Colonel Richard Baslim. The Colonel asked me to deliver him to you.”
Chapter 15
“What?”
“The name means something to you?”
“Of course it does.” He stared at Thorby. “There’s no resemblance.”
” ‘Adopted’ I said. The Colonel adopted him on Jubbal.”
Colonel Brisby closed the door. Then he said to Krausa, “Colonel Baslim is dead. Or ‘missing and presumed dead,’ these past two years.”
“I know. The boy has been with me. I can report some details of the Colonel’s death, if they are not known.”
“You were one of his couriers?”
“Yes.”
“You can prove it?”
“X three oh seven nine code FT.”
“That can be checked. Well assume it is for the moment. By what means do you identify . . . Thorby Baslim?” Thorby did not follow the conversation. There was a buzzing in his ears, as if the tracker was being fed too much power, and the room was swelling and then growing smaller. He did figure out that this officer knew Pop, which was good . . . but what was this about Pop being a colonel? Pop was Baslim the Cripple, licensed mendicant under the mercy of . . . under the mercy . . .
Colonel Brisby told him sharply to sit down, which he was glad to do. Then the Colonel speeded up the air blower. He turned to Captain Krausa. “All right. I’m sold. I don’t know what regulation I’m authorized to do it under . . . we are required to give assistance to ‘X’ Corps people, but this is not quite that But I can’t let Colonel Baslim down.”
” ‘Distressed citizen,’ ” suggested Krausa.
“Eh? I don’t see how that can be stretched to fit a person on a planet under the Hegemony, who is obviously not distressed — other than a little white around the gills, I mean. But I’ll do it.”
“Thank you, Skipper.” Krausa glanced at his watch. “May I go? In fact I must.”
“Just a second. You’re simply leaving him with me?”
“I’m afraid that’s the way it must be.”
Brisby shrugged. “As you say. But stay for lunch. I want to find out more about Colonel Baslim.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. You can reach me at the Gathering, if you need to.”
“I will. Well, coffee at least.” The ship commander reached for a button.