The City Who Fought by Anne McCaffrey, S. M. Stirling Page B

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 reassurance. "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-pubescent . . . dressed or in disguise."
    " I can always tell," Joat said with some contempt for his ignorance.
    "You're a softshell."
    "You sure you're not a computer?"
    "Yes, I am —stop teasing!"
    Joat grinned unrepentantly. 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 reassure 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 wanned measurably towards Channa. I've got 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-Raphaelites, Alma-Tadema and Maxfield Parrish 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 clad 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