Книга только для ознакомления
.
" 'I am not your master!' "
Pop had been angry that once. It had scared Thorby; he hadn't understood.
Now, across long space and time, Thorby suddenly understood. Only one thing could make Pop angry: Pop had been explosively insulted at the assertion that Baslim the Cripple was master to a slave. Pop, who maintained that a wise man could not be insulted, since truth could not insult and untruth was not worthy of notice.
Yet Pop had been insulted by the truth, for certainly Pop had been his master; Pop had bought him off the block. No, that was nonsense! He hadn't been Pop's slave; he had been Pop's son . . . Pop was never his master, even the times he had given him a quick one across the behind for goofing. Pop . . . was just 'Pop.'
Thorby knew then that the one thing that Pop hated was slavery.
Thorby was not sure why he was sure, but he was. He could not recall that Pop had ever said a word about slavery, as such; all Thorby could remember Pop saying was that a man need never be other than free in his own mind.
"Hey!"
The Supercargo was looking at him. "Sir?"
"Are you moving that crate, or making a bed of it?"
Three local days later Thorby had finished showering, about to hit dirt with Fritz, when the deckmaster stuck his head in the washroom, spotted him, and said, "Captain's compliments and Clerk Thorby Baslim-Krausa will attend him
|
