"Very human," Channa replied in a droll voice.
Simeon didn't quite like the implications, but at least she said the right things.
"And you run the city?"
"I do, having instantaneous access to every computerized aspect of such a large and multi-function space station as well as peripheral monitoring devices in a network to control traffic in and out."
"I thought brains only ran ships," 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 assignment. "Do you understand now that I am human?"
"I guess so," was Joat's unenthusiastic reply. "You've been in that shell since you were a baby?"
"Wouldn't be anywhere else," Simeon said proudly, letting his voice ring with a sincerity no shellperson 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 shellpersons. 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 shellpeople, 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 spaceflot 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 shellperson, 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 assumption.
"I wish," Simeon said fervently.
"Remember my mentioning that creating and training a shellperson 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 shellperson has the right to pay off their debt and become a free agent. A good many shippersons do and then they own themselves. A management shellperson, 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 shit!" 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's still 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 hoarse, 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-shell 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 part 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 shellperson 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 assign you. Maybe have dinner with Channa and talk about it some more."
"Yeah," came more clearly from out of the darkness.
"Okay," Simeon's voice was pleased. "If you have any questions tonight, just speak 'em out, and I'll answer."
Chapter Four
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 I've 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.