Starman Jones by Robert A. Heinlein Read Free Book Online

have a sentimental fondness for having them in their possession. Give them to me, please.”
    Max still hesitated. “Come now,” the guildsman said reasonably. “It would not do for our professional secrets to be floating around loose, available to anyone. Even the hairdressers do not permit that. We have a high responsibility to the public. Only a member of this guild, trained, tested, sworn, and accepted, may lawfully be custodian of those manuals.”
    Max’s answer was barely audible. “I don’t see the harm. I’m not going to get to use them, it looks like.”
    “You don’t believe in anarchy, surely? Our whole society is founded on entrusting grave secrets only to those who are worthy. But don’t feel sad. Each brother, when he is issued his tools, deposits an earnest with the bursar. In my opinion, since you are the nearest relative of Brother Jones, we may properly repay the earnest to you for their return. Carl.”
    The young man appeared again. “The deposit monies, please.” Carl had the money with him—he seemed to earn his living by knowing what the High Secretary was about to want. Max found himself accepting an impressive sheaf of money, more than he had ever touched before, and the books were taken from him before he could think of another objection.
    It seemed time to leave, but he was motioned back to his chair. “Personally, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am merely the servant of my brothers; I have no choice. However…” The High Secretary fitted his fingertips together. “Our brotherhood takes care of its own. There are funds at my disposal for such cases. How would you like to go into training?”
    “For the Guild? ”
    “No, no! We don’t grant brotherhood as charity. But for some respectable trade, metalsmith, or chef, or tailor—what you wish. Any occupation not hereditary. The brotherhood will sponsor you, pay your ’prentice fee and, if you make good, lend you your contribution when you are sworn in.”
    Max knew he should accept gratefully. He was being offered an opportunity free that most of the swarming masses never got on any terms. But the cross-grained quirk in him that had caused him to spurn the stew that Sam had left behind made this generous offer stick in his craw. “Thanks just the same,” he answered in tones almost surly, “but I don’t rightly think I can take it.”
    The High Secretary looked bleak. “So? It’s your life.” He snapped his fingers, a page appeared, and Max was led quickly out of the Hall.
    He stood on the steps of the Guild Hall and wondered dejectedly what he should do next. Even the space ships on the field at the foot of the street did not attract; he could not have looked at one without feeling like crying. He looked to the east instead.
    A short distance away, a jaunty figure leaned against a trash receptacle. As Max’s eyes rested on the man he straightened up, flipped a cigarette to the pavement, and started toward him.
    Max looked at him again. “Sam!” It was undoubtedly the wayfarer who had robbed him—well-dressed, clean shaved—but Sam nonetheless. Max hurried toward him.
    “Howdy, Max,” Sam greeted him with an unembarrassed grin, “how did you make out?”
    “I ought to have you arrested!”
    “Now, now—keep your voice down. You’re making yourself conspicuous.”
    Max took a breath and lowered his voice. “You stole my books.”
    “ Your books? They weren’t yours—and I returned them to their owners. You want to arrest me for that?”
    “But you… Well, anyhow you…”
    A voice, civil, firm, and official, spoke at Max’s elbow. “Is this person annoying you, sir?” Max turned and found a policeman standing behind him. He started to speak, then bit off the words as he realized the question had been addressed to Sam.
    Sam took hold of Max’s upper arm in a gesture that was protective and paternal, but quite firm. “Not at all, officer, thank you.”
    “Are you sure? I received word that this