Farnham’s Freehold By Robert A. Heinlein

Mr. Farnham was on his knees, retrieving bits of it. His son looked down. “Don’t bother, Dad. Sweep it up and throw it away.”

“Some parts can be salvaged.”

“What do you know about radios?”

“Nothing,” his father admitted. “But I have books.”

“A book won’t fix that. You should have stocked a spare.”

“I have a spare.”

“Then for God’s sake get it! I want to know what’s happened.”

His father got up slowly and looked at Duke. “I would like to know, too. I can’t hear anything over this radio I’m wearing. Not surprising, it’s short range. But the spare is packed in foam and probably wasn’t hurt.”

“Then get it hooked up.”

“Later.”

“Later, hell. Where is it?”

Mr. Farnham breathed hard. “I’ve had all the yap I’m going to take.”

“Huh? Sorry. Just tell me where the spare is.”

“I shan’t. We might lose it, too. I’m going to wait until I’m sure the attack is over.”

His son shrugged. “Okay, if you want to be difficult. But all of us want to hear the news. It’s a shabby trick if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you. I told you I’ve had all the yap I’m going to take. If you’re itching to know what’s happening outside, you can leave. I’ll unbolt this door, crank back the armor door, and you can open the upper door yourself.”

“Eh? Don’t be silly.”

“But close it after you. I don’t want it open-both for blast and radioactivity.”

“That’s another thing. Don’t you have any way to measure radioactivity? We ought to take steps to…”

“SHUT UP!”

“What? Dad, don’t pull the heavy-handed father on me.”

“Duke, I ask you to keep quiet and listen. Will you?”

“Well . . . all right. But I don’t appreciate being bawled out in the presence of others.”

“Then keep your voice down.” They were in the first bay near the door. Mrs. Farnham was snoring by them; the others had retreated around the bend, unwilling to witness. “Are you ready to listen?”

“Very well, sir,” Duke said stiffly.

“Good. Son, I was not joking. Either leave . . . or do exactly as I tell you. That includes keeping your mouth shut when I tell you to. Which will it be? Absolute obedience, prompt and cheerful? Or will you leave?”

“Aren’t you being rather high-handed?”

“I intend to be. This shelter is a lifeboat and I am boat officer. For the safety of all I shall maintain discipline. Even if it means tossing somebody overboard.”

“That’s a farfetched simile. Dad, it’s a shame you were in the Navy. It gives you romantic ideas.”

“I think it’s a shame, Duke, that you never had service. You’re not realistic. Well, which is it? Will you take orders? Or leave?”

“You know I’m not going to leave. And you’re not serious in talking about it. It’s death out there.”

“Then you’ll take orders?”

“Uh, I’ll be cooperative. But this absolute dictatorship- Dad, tonight you made quite a point of the fact that you are a free man. Well, so am I. I’ll cooperate. But I won’t take unreasonable orders, and as for keeping my mouth shut, I’ll try to be diplomatic. But when I think it’s necessary, I’ll voice my opinion. Free speech. Fair enough?”

His father sighed. “Not nearly good enough, Duke. Stand aside, I want to unbolt the door.”

“Don’t push a joke too far, Dad.”

“I’m not joking. I’m putting you out.”

“Dad . . . I hate to say this . . . but I don’t think you are man enough. I’m bigger than you are and a lot younger.”

“I know. I’ve no intention of fighting you.”

“Then let’s drop this silly talk.”

“Duke, please! I built this shelter. Not two hours ago you were sneering at it, telling me that it was a ‘sick’ thing to do. Now you want to use it, since it turned out you were wrong. Can’t you admit that?”

“Oh, certainly. You’ve made your point.”

“Yet you are telling me how to run it. Telling me that I should have provided a spare radio. When you hadn’t provided anything. Can’t you be a man, give in, and do as I tell you? When your life depends on my hospitality?”