There was a soft buzzing from the intercom. He ignored it. It insisted, and he broke from his reverie. “Yes?”
“The man Tsuroak is here again, sir.”
Deitrich frowned, trying to place the name in his memory. The secretary, interpreting the hesitation, said, “He is the father of that boy who shipped illegally to M33.”
“Oh, yes,” Deitrich said. “Send him in.” He quickly changed his tunic, and with an effort cleared his mind of his troubles. This man had troubles of his own.
Tsuroak shuffled in as hesitantly and apologetically as before. He stood embarrassed until Deitrich motioned him to a seat.
“Well,” Deitrich asked kindly, “what did you decide to do?”
The man cleared his throat. “Sir, I explained to my wife what you told me, and we—” He hesitated, his miserable eyes seeking the floor. “We decided to stay here,” Tsuroak blurted out unhappily.
“I understand,” Deitrich replied.
“We thought that our responsibilities to our other children were too—I mean, after all, we would have had to take them with us, of course, and that would be pretty hard on them.”
“They didn’t want lo go, did they?”