Roots
The man behind the desk smiled blandly.
"
I must admit that your personal achievements would qualify you for membership of the Guild," he stated, glancing quickly over the folder before him. "But you must understand that we cannot, we simply cannot, admit just anyone to our Fellowship. However great your own attainments, and I must admit they seem to be of some magnitude, you must be able to supply some background. Bloodlines are so important. If you only had an ancestor in the same line of business..." He spread his hands expressively. "But as it is, I am afraid I must reject your application."
Vila eyed him gloomily. He could steal most things, but ancestors seemed beyond the reach of even his extensive skills. However, he was desperate to get away from Scorpio and the rest of the crew. He had a presentiment that some dire event was about to happen, and he wanted to disassociate himself from them before it occurred. This had seemed to present an unparalleled opportunity. Perhaps if he kept talking, something might come up.
"Ancestors?" he queried.
The President of the Thieves' Guild on Libera nodded agreeably. "My own ancestor," he said with quiet pride, "was none other than the celebrated Simon Templar, even better known as The Saint. Our secretary," he continued after a moment to allow Vila to assimilate the grandeur of this, "is descended from the famous, or perhaps I should say infamous, Raffles."
Vila registered the requisite amount of awe, while frantically thinking back over his family tree.
"And your treasurer?" he questioned.
"A descendant of Bill Sykes, the well known burglar, who even had a novel written about him." He continued affably. "Of course, not all our number have ancestors quite as well known as these, although we do have a number whose forebears were members of the Mafia, and a descendant of Blackbeard the pirate. But they all do have someone among their forebears with a criminal record dating back to the twentieth century or earlier. And since you are unable to produce one..." he sighed regretfully.
Inspiration hit Vila suddenly as he remembered a session he had once spent with Orac researching old puns.
"But I do," he said exultantly. "My great, great, great grandfather on my mother's side was one of the most wanted men of the twentieth century. There were notices put up all over the world threatening him with prosecution."
"What was his name?" demanded the President, somewhat sceptically.
"Posters," returned Vila triumphantly. "Bill Posters!"