"Names aren't important but identities are. Mine Isn't 'Smith,' but it will do. I suppose you have identification?"
Thorby produced his ID again. "You probably have my fingerprints."
"They'll be here in a moment Do you mind supplying them again?"
While Thorby had his prints taken, a print file card popped out onto the Marshal's desk. He put both sets into a comparator, seemed to pay no attention but until it flashed green he spoke only politenesses.
Then he said, "All right, Thorby Baslim... Rudbek. What can I do for you?"
"Maybe it's what I can do for you?"
"So?"
"I came here for two reasons," Thorby stated. "The first Is, I think I can add something to Colonel Baslim's final report. You know who I mean?"
"I knew him and admired him very much. Go on."
"The second is -- I'd like to go back into the Guard and go 'X' Corps." Thorby couldn't recall when he had decided this, but he had -- not just Pop's outfit, Pop's own corps. Pop's work.
"Smith" raised his brows. "So? Rudbek of Rudbek?"
"I'm getting that fixed." Thorby sketched rapidly how he must settle his parents' estate, arrange for handling of their affairs. "Then I'm free. I know it's presumptuous of an acting ordnanceman third class -- no, I was busted from that; I had a fight -- for a boot Guardsman to talk about 'X' Corps, but I think I've got things you could use. I know the People... the Free Traders, I mean. I speak several languages. I know how to behave in the Nine Worlds. I've been around a bit, not much and I'm no astrogator... but I've traveled a little. Besides that, I've seen how Pop -- Colonel Baslim -- worked. Maybe I could do some of it."
"You have to love this work to do it. Lots of times it's nasty... things a man wouldn't do, for his own self-respect, if he didn't think it was necessary."
"But I do! Uh, I was a slave. You knew that? Maybe it would help if a man knew how a slave feels."
"Perhaps. Though it might make you too emotional. Besides, slave traffic isn't all we are interested in. A man comes here, we don't promise him certain work. He does what he's told. We use him. We usually use him up. Our casualty rate is high."
"I'll do what I'm told. I just happen to be interested in the slave traffic. Why, most people here don't seem to know it exists."
"Most of what we deal in the public wouldn't believe. Can you expect the people you see around you to take seriously unbelievable stories about far-away places? You must remember that less than one percent of the race ever leaves its various planets of birth."
"Uh, I suppose so. Anyhow they don't believe it."
"That's not our worst handicap. The Terran Hegemony is no empire; it is simply leadership in a loose confederation of planets. The difference between what the Guard could do and what it is allowed to do is very frustrating. If you have come here thinking that you will see slavery abolished in your lifetime, disabuse your mind. Our most optimistic target date is two centuries away -- and by that time slavery will have broken out in planets not even discovered today. Not a problem to be solved once and for all. A continuing process."
"All I want to know is, can I help?"
"I don't know. Not because you describe yourself as a junior enlisted man... we're all pretty much the same rank in this place. The Exotic Corps is an idea, not an organization chart. I'm not worried about what Thorby Baslim can do; he can do something, even if it's only translating. But Rudbek of Rudbek... mmm, I wonder."
"But I told you I was getting rid of that!"
"Well -- let's wait until you have. By your own statement you are not presenting yourself for enrollment today. What about the other reason? Something to add to Colonel Baslim's report?"
Thorby hesitated. "Sir, Colonel Brisby, my C.O., told me that P -- Colonel Baslim had proved a connection between the slave trade and some big starshipbuilding outfit."
"He told you that?"
"Yes, sir. You could look it up in Colonel Baslim's report."
"I don't need to. Go on."
"Well... is it Rudbek he was talking about? Galactic Transport, that is?"
"Smith" considered it. "Why ask me if your company is mixed up in slave trade? You tell us."
Thorby frowned. "Is there a Galactovue around here?"
"Down the hall."
"May I use it?"
"Why not?" The Wing Marshal led him through a private corridor into a conference room dominated by a star-flecked stereo display. It was much the biggest Thorby had ever seen.
He had to ask questions; it had complicated controls. Then he got to work. His face puckering with strain, Thorby painted in colored lights amid fairy stars the solid picture he had built in the Galactovue in his office. He did not explain and the officer watched in silence. Thorby stepped back at last "That's all I know now."
"You missed a few." The Wing Marshal added some lights in yellow, some in red, then working slowly, added half a dozen missing ships. "But that's quite a feat to do from memory and a remarkable concatenation of ideas. I see you included yourself -- maybe it does help to have a personal interest." He stepped back. "Well, Baslim, you asked a question. Are you ready to answer it?"
"I think Galactic Transport is in it up to here! Not everybody, but enough key people. Supplying ships. And repairs and fuel. Financing, maybe."
"Mmm..."
"Is all this physically possible otherwise?"
"You know what they would say if you accused them of slave trading --"
"Not the trade itself. At least I don't think so."
"Connected with it. First they would say that they had never heard of any slave trade, or that it was just a wild rumor. Then they would say that, in any case, they just sell ships -- and is a hardware dealer who sells a knife responsible if a husband carves his wife?"
"The cases aren't parallel."
"They wouldn't concede that. They would say that they were not breaking any laws and even stipulating that there might be slavery somewhere, how can you expect people to get worked up over a possible evil light-years away? In which they are correct; you can't expect people to, because they won't. Then some smarmy well-dressed character will venture the opinion that slavery -- when it existed -- was not so bad, because a large part of the population is really happier if they don't have the responsibilities of a free man. Then he'll add that if they didn't sell ships, someone else would -- it's Just business."
Thorby thought of nameless little Thorbys out there in the dark, crying hopelessly with fear and loneliness and hurt, in the reeking holds of slavers -- ships that might be his. "One stroke of the lash would change his slimy mind!"
"Surely. But we've abolished the lash here. Sometimes I wonder if we should have." He looked at the display. "I'm going to record this; it has facets not yet considered together. Thanks for coming in. If you get more ideas, come in again."
Thorby realized that his notion of joining the corps had not been taken seriously. "Marshal Smith... there's one other thing I might do."
"What?"
"Before I join, if you let me... or maybe after; I don't know how you do such things... I could go out as Rudbek of Rudbek, in my own ship, and check those places -- the red ones, ours. Maybe the boss can dig out things that a secret agent would have trouble getting close to."
"Maybe. But you know that your father started to make an inspection trip once. He wasn't lucky in it." Smith scratched his chin. "We've never quite accounted for that one. Until you showed up alive, we assumed that it was natural disaster. A yacht with three passengers, a crew of eight and no cargo doesn't look like worthwhile pickings for bandits in business for profit -- and they generally know what they're doing."