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

prim white blouse and no jewelry. The view of background behind her was official and equally unsoftened by anything even remotely unofficial.
    I'll bet she starches her bras, Simeon thought. He remembered Patsy Sue using that expression: entirely appropriate right now.
    Ms. Dorgan nodded to Channa, then fastened her cold little eyes on Joat. "Hello, dear," she said in syrupy tones. "I'm Ms. Dorgan, your case-worker."
    Joat's face had hardened to wariness, her whole body going rigid. Simeon wondered how his nutrient fluid had suddenly gone so cold, but he didn't dare divert an erg of his attention away from these proceedings. He didn't even dare reassure Joat. She mumbled a barely audible "hello" in response.
    "Well, dear, you made some very impressive scores on the tests. Did you know that?"
    A nearly inaudible "no" answered her.
    Ms. Dorgan glanced down at something below the screen's range, and then her right hand became visible, probably pressing the button to scroll her file forward.
    "You are, however, considerably behind your age group in a good many subjects, with the exception of mathematics and mechanicals, where you positively excel." That much was said with some genuine enthusiasm. "You've no idea the excitement you've generated in some quarters. I think you may now anticipate a much brighter future than your past may have led you to expect, dear."
    Simeon spoke for the first time, keeping his promise to his protégé. "Joat wants to study engineering.
    You obviously concur that she has a unique talent in that field."
    Ms. Dorgan's studied smile wavered and the tendons on her neck stood out with the strain of not obviously peering around the room. "You are the . . . shellperson?" She seemed to hold her thin lips away from the word as though it might soil them. Her eyes roved between Channa and Joat as though hoping one of them might be ventriloquising the male voice.
    "Yes. I am Simeon, the SSS-900-C. I'm applying to adopt Joat as a full daughter and full relation."
    Ms. Dorgan's hand delicately brushed a strand of hair back into place.
    "Yes, well, as to that," she raised her brows as though surprised that he had spoken at all, "you realize that other prospective parents have put in applications for children with Joat's potential. We usually give preference to couples." There was a faint emphasis on the final word. She fingered her collar nervously.
    "In Joan's case . . ."
    "Joat," said Joat, Simeon and Channa in unison.
    "Joat's case, I've shown her file to a quantum-lattice engineer, who is a professor of my acquaintance, and he immediately expressed an interest in her. He's extremely enthusiastic about tutoring someone of such promise. He's married, too, on a life-contract with a poet. Such a situation would have many advantages for the child."
    Simeon watched Joat's face go white. "As a station manager, I am intimately acquainted with a variety of sciences, including regular updates on state-of-the-art, so I am quite capable of tutoring her, on the practical level she prefers, in any specialty that interests her. Relax, Joat. Ms. Gorgon's merely mentioning options and possibilities."
    The case-worker loudly cleared her throat. "My name, Station Manager Simeon, is Dorgan, with a D.
    Which reminds me, Joat, somewhere on the application, ah, here it is, it says that your name is an acronym for 'jack-of-all-trades.' Where 'Jack' was a gender-inappropriate first name, 'Jill' was substituted. How would you feel about being called Jill?"
    "About the same as I'd feel about being called shit," Joat replied, every inch the belligerent corridor-kid now, scornful and angry; no trace of her earlier diffidence remaining. "And I wouldn't answer to it 'cause it's not my name."
    "Joat!" Channa gasped.
    "Don't you see it, Simeon, Channa?" Joat said, her blue eyes sparkling with contempt. "This is all a joke!
    This ol' Ms. Organ . . ."
    "Dorgan, if you please."
    " . . . bitch has made up her mind. What are we wasting our time and