The City Who Fought Part 4

"I thought brains only ran s.h.i.+ps," Joat said after a long pause.

"Oh, some do, of course," Simeon said, slightly patronizing, "but I was specially chosen and trained for this demanding sort of work." He ignored the delicate snort from Channa that somehow reminded him he'd started out his management career in a less prestigious a.s.signment. "Do you understand now that I am human?"

"I guess so," was Joat's unenthusiastic reply. "You've been in that sh.e.l.l since you were a ftofcy?"

"Wouldn't be anywhere else," Simeon said proudly, letting his voice ring with a sincerity no sh.e.l.lperson ever had to counterfeit.

There was a slightly longer pause. "Then it's not true, what I heard?" Joat began tentatively.

"Depends on what you heard," Channa said, having learned in academy the long list of atrocities supposedly enacted.

"That they put orphaned kids in boxes?"

"Absolutely not!" Channa and Simeon chorused in loud unison.

"That's totally inaccurate," Channa said firmly. "It's the sort of mean thing people say to scare kids, though. The program won't accept perfectly healthy bodies. To begin with, the medical costs and education are incredibly expensive. So is the maintenance for sh.e.l.lpersons. But it's better than depriving a sound mind of life because the body won't function normally. Don't you think so?"

Silence greeted that query.

"And if you've also heard the one about taking the brains from the homeless or displaced - no, that is definitely not permitted, either."

"You're sure?"

"Sure!" Simeon and Channa replied firmly.

"And we should know," Channa went on. "I had to spend four years in academy to learn how to deal with sh.e.l.lpeople, of all types."

Which, Simeon knew, was another backhanded slam at him. Did she never let up? One thing was sure, Joat's misinformation made him more determined than ever to adopt the boy and give him such security that that sort of macabre stuff would be forgotten.

"And, no matter what sort of s.p.a.ceflot you've been told, Central Worlds doesn't make slaves of people," Channa was saying at her most emphatic. "The very idea sends chills up my spine."

"Not even criminals?"

"Especially not criminals," Channa said with a little laugh. "With all the power available to a sh.e.l.lperson, you may be very sure Central Worlds makes certain that they are psychologically conditioned to a high ethical and moral standard."

"What's this e'tical?" Joat asked.

"Code of conduct," Simeon said, "probity, honesty, dedication to duty,personal integrity of the highest standard."

"And you own this station?" Joat asked, his voice tinged with awe.

Channa laughed in surprise at that a.s.sumption. "I wish," Simeon said fervently.

"Remember my mentioning that creating and training a sh.e.l.lperson is expensive? I wasn't kidding. By the time Simeon graduated from training, he had an enormous debt to pay off to Central Worlds."

"Hunh. Thought you said they weren't slaves,"

"They're not Every sh.e.l.lperson has the right to pay off their debt and become a free agent A good many s.h.i.+ppersons do and then they own themselves. A management sh.e.l.lperson, like Simeon, will often get their debt picked up by a corporation, and when they've worked off the debt, they work under contract"

"Are you paid off, Simeon?"

"No, though my contract fee is generous enough. But, as I mentioned, I have hobbies.. .** "Like what?" Joat asked.

"I've got a great sword and dagger collection which includes a genuine Civil War flag, a regimental eagle."

"Hey, way cool! Got any guns?"

What is it with some males ? Channa thought.

"Yeah," Simeon said eagerly. "I've got a real Brown Bess flintlock, and an M22. And one of the first backpack lasers ever issued!"

"No s.h.i.+t!" Joat said, seeming to forget Channa's presence for a moment His voice sounded louder, as if he was drifting back from whatever refuge he had bolted towards. "All sorts of old weapons, eh?" "You name it A Roman gladius, even." "A what?"

"Good question," Channa said. "Shortsword. Over three thousand years old," Simeon broke in. A pause. "Of course, it could be a reproduction. If so, it'sstill in awfully good shape for an artifact of that age. I can trace it back at least five hundred years* provenance. The records say it was first owned by the legendary collector Pawgitti, then dug up out of the ruins of his villa."

My throat is getting hoa.r.s.e, Channa realized an hour later. Amazing what he knows. Joat had probably neatly escaped formal education, but had acquired a jackdaw's treasure chest of information about his keener interests. Anger awoke in her. It was criminal that a mind like Joat's had been ignored, like a weed in a corner lot. Or the barbaric way in which pre-sh.e.l.l handicapped were ignored as nonproductive persons. Joat wasn't just interested in showing that he knew things that she didn't, either. There was a naked hunger to learn in his voice. Closer and closer... She could see a little huddled shadow and an occasional glint of his eyes as he turned his head.

"And weapons are merely a pan of what I've been collecting over the years," Simeon was saying. "I've got great strategy games - whole boards..."

Channa was shocked. Simeon would adopt the kid as a games partner? Then she realized he was only sweetening the pot "I don't know of a sh.e.l.lperson who has adopted, but I think it would be to your advantage, Joat. Certainly it would mean security and a place to call your own instead of ducking from one hidey-hole to the next when inspection teams go through. You'd have regular meals, and you could go to engineering school"

Channa heard a soft "yeah" from out of the cold darkness.

"Think it over tonight, why don't you?" Simeon said "Tomorrow you can come up and scan the room I can a.s.sign you. Maybe have dinner with Channa and talk about it some more."

"Yeah," came more dearly from out of the darkness.

"Okay," Simeon's voice was pleased. "If you have any questions tonight, just speak 'em out, and 111 answer."

It's an honor to win the trust of a child, Simeon thought, especially one who's been through what this kid has. I don't think Fve ever been quite this happy. He intuited that the feeling approximated what the word "tickled" meant, and he also thought that this was what it felt like to smile. Since Joat had moved in, he'd been trying to empathize more with the softperson worldview.

Of course, there have been some surprises....

Seen for the first time by the full light of day-cycle floros, Joat was not prepossessing. Short for his age, scrawny to the point of emaciation, with huge blue eyes in a face that might have been any color short of black under the gray, ground-in coating of grime and machine oil. The mouse-brown hair had been hacked off and was standing up in tufts. The clothing was an adult-sized coverall with the arms and legs cut off to fit An air of sullen suspicion accompanied a pungent odor.

"I've never run across the name, Joat' before," Channa began casually. "It doesn't give a clue about where you're from the way that some names do. I use 'Hap' as a surname because I was born on Hawking Alpha Proxima Station, for example."

'Joat'smy name." Joat answered, sticking his chin out aggressively. "I gave it to myself. It means 'jack of all trades,' 'cause that's what I do, some of everything."

"So it's a nickname," Channa said. "Shall we put you down on the form as Jack, then?"

Joat looked at her with cool contempt "Why? That's "You're a ... girl?" Simeon asked, bringing the "g" sound up from the depths of his diaphragm and managing to split the word in several astonished syllables.

"What's wrong with that? She's a girl!" Joat declared defensively, pointing at Channa, as though ducking responsibility.

Channa burbled with heavily suppressed laughter before she managed some rea.s.surance. "Hey, it's all right that you're a girl. It's just that... All that dirt..." Channa couldn't risk continuing in that vein and switched abruptly "... is an effective disguise."

"Good disguise," Joat said proudly. "Bad idea to let people know when you're a girl. Can cause you trouble. But, since you say I gotta go to a medic," she paused to look questioningly at Channa who nodded, "best you don't look surprised then." She grinned slyly and then looked over at Simeon's column. "You really didn't know?"

"Not a clue," he said wonderingly, and Joat giggled with pleasure. "Hmm. According to the biological studies I had, it's not easy to tell with the pre-p.u.b.escent ... dressed or in disguise."

*7 can always tell," Joat said with some contempt for his ignorance.

"You're a softsh.e.l.l."

"You sure you're not a computer?"

"Yes, lam - stop teasing!"

Joat grinned unrepentently. Simeon felt an unfamiliar sensation and tried to identify it. A flutter in the ribcage? he thought wonderingly.

"Why haven't they answered the tight-beam?" Simeon asked nervously a week later. "I sent everything. The forms were all correct"

"It's a bureaucracy," Channa said soothingly.

"Oh? That's supposed to rea.s.sure me?" Simeon said. A moment later: "Why is Joat's room always a mess?

I send in the servos twice a day and it's still in a maximum-entropy state."

"It's called 'adolescence,' Simeon," Channa said. "At least she seems to be settling in at school"

Simeon's image winced. Joat had unexpectedly cleaned up as pretty, though she had wrinkled her nose when he'd mentioned that. She seemed to trust him - Channa as well - to a limited extent Any further social interfacing was... lacking.

"She gets in too many fights," he said. She also fought very, very dirty. He winced again when he thought of the places some blows, kicks and punches had landed.

"She's not used to interacting except as a potential victim," Channa replied. "I don't think she's ever been with anyone in her own age group. She certainly doesn't know the local rituals. She's an outsider - practically a feral child. We're lucky she can respond to other human beings at all."

An awkward silence fell for a moment Unspoken: and she didn 't think you were human when she met you.

"She's learned about daily showers," Simeon pointed out helpfully.

"Oh, there's good stuff in Joat," and Channa grimaced. "Even if her brand of ethics is unusual, at least she's consistent in applying it. All she needs is some security and a chance."

"Isn't that all anybody needs?"

Several hours later, Simeon still glowed with satisfaction in their accomplishments with Joat. This, being a father thing, is great, he thought, and warmed measurably towards Channa. Tvegot to thank her.

For the first time since she had arrived, Simeon looked into her quarters and was surprised at how, in that short time - under two weeks, although it seemed like more - it had changed from the Spartan chamber Tell Radon had occupied. She had tinted the walls a soft, off-pink and had put "paint-chips" into the permanently installed frame-projectors. The jewel-bright colors and romantic images of the pre-RaphaeEtes, Alma-Tadema and Maxfield Parish glowed from the walls, along with some modern Mintoro reproductions. The bedspread was an icy gray satin on which were scattered embroidered pillows of peach and gray and blue.

"Say, Channa," he said in tones of pleased approval, "I like what you've done with the room."

Channa emerged from the bathroom dad in a blue silk robe trimmed with lace, a brush in her hand and swept out of her quarters into the main lounge without saying a word. She stopped in front of Simeon's column and crossed her arms, her eyes blazing. All Simeon's warm feelings fell into cold ash as he looked out at her. Maybe if he didn't say anything, she'd go away and not say whatever it was that was burning inside her eyes. Nah, when have 1 euer been that lucky ivhere she's concerned* Her body was rigid, though her shoulders twitched and her ftps opened several time. He'd better say something to stem the acid eruption.

Using as casual and complimentary tone as he could manage, he said, "You have very romantic tastes, Channa," which seemed to reduce her blazing eyes a degree or two. He'd never know why he continued: perhaps sheer mischief to get a little of his own back. "Though your bed looks amazingly like an ice cube."

She blinked in astonishment and he thought, A hit! A very palpable hU! But then she took a deep breath.

"I did not think," she said, every word precise and polished, "that it would be necessary to actually say this, but since I must, I shall. Because we got off on the wrong foot and I did not trust you, I swept my quarters for active scanners.'1 She crossed her arms. "You will please," she went on with careful emphasis, "not ever enter my quarters without knocking and requesting admittance, and waiting for my express permission to enter. Is that clear, Simeon?"

"I apologize, Channa. Of course you're right. I got careless, all those years with Tell."

"As to the quality of my taste ..." she said in a voice even more brittle than before.

Ohplease, hethought/orone^just once, skutupandlet.i.tgo. "... it's none of your business." She glared at him. "Given your own preference for interior decoration," she said indicating his sword and dagger collection, "I'd say you have t.i.tanium gall to make snarky remarks about mine."

"But I like it. I said I liked it!"

"And what," she continued unheeding, "would someone with such a morbid fascination with humanity's lapses into ritualized slaughter know about romance anyway?"

Simeon was dumbstruck. "I've never... thought of my interest in military history as a 'morbid fascination.' I am genuinely fascinated by strategy and military tactics. But to call it morbid, well, romance and morbidity have a long and interesting relations.h.i.+p."

She sighed with exasperation. "Let's just say that while both can be morbid, romance and militarism make uncomfortable..." and she winced "... bedfellows."

"Channa, some of the most romantic people in history have been military personnel. Doesn't the very word 'warrior' conjure up romantic images?"

She shook her head discouragingly. "Not to me!"

"Not even 'knights in s.h.i.+ning armor'?"

She groaned. "Look, Simeon, it's late and I'm tired. Let's just say that I don't like my privacy invaded at any time, by anyone." Her lips curled in a slight rueful grin. "But I think I overreacted a tad. Especially when you made fun of my decor."

"Well, you might wait till you're actually being made fun of before you start clawing pieces out of people."

"Sorry."

"Romance has its place," he murmured.

She smiled sardonically and raised one eyebrow. "With all due respect, Simeon, I doubt that romance has crossed your mind. Real, genuine romance, with its aspects of tenderness and sentiment are, if you'll excuse me, beyond your ken."

TTiere was more challenge than honest regret in her voice, and he took offense. "Because I'm a sh.e.l.lperson?" he asked, fairly purring with suppressed anger.

Channa's jaw dropped. "N-no, of course not!" she said, stammering slightly. Then she caught herself and shook her hairbrush at him. "What a nasty, evil, slimy debater's trick! You know perfectly well that I never even thought of that! What I meant was that so far in our acquaintance, you have yet to demonstrate that you are sensitive, or idealistic or ... well, tender, ftission, now - I think you've very effectively conceptualized raw, basic, animal pa.s.sion. Which does not exist in the same universe as romance."

"Let me tell you something, Ms. Hap. I'm well aware that romance happens in the mind and the soul and the heart. I know that it isn't necessarily a physical thing. Remember Heloise and Abelard.. .* "Great warrior couple, were they?" she asked smiling.

He sighed to himself. What do they teach them in university these days? "Not they, milady. I see I must persuade you beyond any measure of doubt You've put me on my mettle." She c.o.c.ked her head at him. "I shall court you, belle dame sans merri, and win your heart."

She laughed aloud in astonishment. "You've got your work cut out for you. I may like the romantical- as decor - but I'm no dewy-eyed sentimentalist and not at all susceptible."

"Oh, so you're seduction-proof, are you?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer. Goodnight, Simeon."

"Goodnight, Channa," he said quietly as she left without another word.

Not susceptible, eh, Happy baby1? Well, get ready for it, sweetheart - you're in for the time of your life.1 You want romance? FU give you romance, little lady, in such subtle and clever portions, you won't realize that you're being wooed by a very personal phantom lover.

He settled down to consider his strategy. Softsh.e.l.ls could rely on physical attraction for starters; that was impossible for him, of course.