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And besides . . . The Gathering was coming. He felt a great itch to see it. And it wouldn't be right to walk out on the play. He was not consciously rationalizing; although stage-struck, he still thought that he did not want to play the hero in a melodrama -- whereas he could hardly wait.
So he avoided his dilemma by postponing it.
Captain Krausa touched his shoulder. "We're leaving."
"Oh. Sorry, Father. I was thinking."
"Keep it up, it's good exercise. Good-by, Director, and thanks. I look forward to seeing you next time we call."
"You won't find me, Captain. I'm going to line me out a station, as far as eye can reach. Land of me own. If you ever get tired of steel decks, there's room here for you. And your boy."
Captain Krausa's face did not show his revulsion. "Thanks. But we wouldn't know which end of a plow to grab. We're traders."
"Each cat his own rat."
When they were outside Thorby said, "What did he mean, Father? I've seen cats, but what is a rat?"
"A rat is a sorci, only thinner and meaner. He meant that each man has his proper place."
"Oh." They walked in silence. Thorby was wondering if he had as yet found his proper place.
Captain Krausa was wondering the same thing. There was a ship just beyond Sisu; its presence was a reproach. It was a mail courier, an official Hegemonic vessel, crewed by Guardsmen. Baslim's words rang accusingly in his mind: " -- when opportunity presents, I ask that you deliver him to the commander of any Hegemonic military vessel
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