“Oh shut your face, Doc. Next time, you can philosophize on your own four paws.”
* * *
A few minutes later, looking out from their redoubt, Chip stared across a bitter, barren, torn, and conquered land. Miles to the north he could see the smoke trails dark against Harmony And Reason’s clear sky.
Har-de-har-har. That would be the front. They were trapped far, far behind enemy lines, sandwiched between the rising red Magh’ adobe walls of the enemy tunnels. In excrement deep and dire.
He shrugged and turned away. So what else was new?
Chapter 4: A maiden in peril.
Her bed was arrayed with soft toys . . .
Virginia was the daughter of Shareholders. At the age of nineteen, even in wartime, she should have been out on the town. The social life of Shareholder children was enviable. Instead, she lay on her bed, between Mister Ted and Mrs. Wobbly, and read.
She wasn’t ugly. That was just what she believed. Indeed, if she, like her Shareholder-daughter contemporaries, had employed a beautician’s services she could have been almost beautiful. Not in the pinup style, admittedly, with her lean figure and elfin face. But, still . . .
Nor would Virginia have objected to being almost beautiful. Not in the least. Her indifference to her own appearance was simply that of a brain-damaged girl who had never really thought about it. True, the alien Korozhet had repaired the damage a year earlier—or, at least, compensated for it—but Virginia’s self-awareness still lagged far behind her new reality. It was starting to catch up, however. She found herself staring at herself in the mirror lately, wondering . . .
Her hair, for instance, was still braided in the same way that she had had it done when she was seven. Before the accident. For eleven years she’d insisted on keeping it that way. Nobody realized that now she might be prepared to change. So, every morning, the maids braided it.
Her clothes, too, still reflected the choices of her childhood. Her mother had no interest, and the secluded life they’d had “our poor Virginia” live meant that there were no friends to ape either. Nor was there much hope of finding any. Virginia’s parents had long since adopted the habit of keeping their daughter sequestered at home. There were appearances to maintain, after all. No proper Shareholder—and her father was preeminent in that number—wanted to be exposed to ridicule. It was embarrassing enough to have a brain-damaged child, without having the creature’s slurring words, fits and tantrums exposed to public scrutiny. A seven-year-old mind trapped in the body of teenager was not acceptable in polite society. Not in the least. So, for years before the Korozhet soft-cyber implant had liberated her, Virginia’s only friends had been Mister Ted, and Mrs. Wobbly, and all the other soft and fuzzy residents of her soft and fuzzy bed. But, for all their sweet charm and kindly disposition, they were not much help when it came to giving advice to a nineteen-year-old girl beginning to wonder about her place in the world.
So she still didn’t have any friends. Well, except for her darling “Professor” and Fluff, the galago. Fluff had been a cuddly pet before he was soft-cyber uplifted.
Her parents regarded her new improved self with vast relief. At least she was no longer throwing her fits and tantrums. Now and then, they even permitted her to join them at the dinner table in their mansion. Lately, as they’d become more confident that she would not publicly shame them, they’d even taken her to dinner in town. Her mother had ordered her Vat dressmaker to make suitable garments for that. Her mother’s maid came to make her up and dress her hair for these occasions. The only thing Virginia disliked more than these rare outings was her mother’s maid.
But, even so, a low public profile was still essential. What would people say about the Shaws having their daughter implanted with an alien-built nervous system enhancement device? The kind normally used on animals? Even Vats would whisper! (Not that the Shaws paid any attention to what the lower orders might say.)
Virginia didn’t care. Much. After all, she had books. And so many! She had a whole childhood’s reading to catch up on, in addition to all the adult books. There were real antique paper ones like the volume in her hand, or book-screen ones where she could blow the print up and didn’t even have to use her thick glasses.