But Hazel used lip glue. If she ever assumed I was in conspiracy she never showed it.
Child’s history explained her, far as background can explain steely character. Transported with parents as a baby much as Wyoh had been, she had lost father through accident while he was convict labor, which her mother blamed on indifference of Authority to safety of penal colonists. Her mother lasted till Hazel was five; what she died from Hazel did not know; she was then living in creche where we found her. Nor did she know why parents had been shipped–possibly for subversion if they were both under sentence as Hazel thought. As may be, her mother left her a fierce hatred of Authority and Warden.
Family that ran Cradle Roll let her stay; Hazel was pinning diapers and washing dishes as soon as she could reach. She had taught herself to read, and could print letters but could not write. Her knowledge of math was only that ability to count money that children soak up through their skins.
Was fuss over her leaving creche; owner and husbands claimed Hazel owed several years’ service. Hazel solved it by walking out, leaving her clothes and fewer belongings behind. Mum was angry enough to want family to start trouble which could wind up in “brawling” she despised. But I told her privately that, as her cell leader, I did nor want our family in public eye–and hauled out cash and told her Party would pay for clothes for Hazel. Mum refused money, called off a family meeting, took Hazel into town and was extravagant–for Mum–in re-outfitting her.
So we adopted Hazel. I understand that these days adopting a child involves red tape; in those days it was as simple as adopting a kitten.
Was more fuss when Mum started to place Hazel in school, which fitted neither what Sidris had in mind nor what Hazel had been led to expect as a Party member and comrade. Again I butted in and Mum gave in part way. Hazel was placed in a tutoring school close to Sidris’ shop–that is, near easement lock thirteen; beauty parlor was by it (Sidris had good business because close enough that our water was piped in, and used without limit as return line took it back for salvage). Hazel studied mornings and helped in afternoons, pinning on gowns, handing out towels, giving rinses, learning trade–and whatever else Sidris wanted.
“Whatever else” was captain of Baker Street Irregulars.
Hazel had handled younger kids all her short life. They liked her; she could wheedle them into anything; she understood what they said when an adult would find it gibberish. She was a perfect bridge between Party and most junior auxiliary. She could make a game of chores we assigned and persuade them to play by rules she gave them, and never let them know it was adult-serious—-but child-serious, which is another matter.
For example:
Let’s say a little one, too young to read, is caught with a stack of subversive literature–which happened more than once. Here’s how it would go, after Hazel indoctrinated a kid:
ADULT: “Baby, where did you get this?”
BAKER STREET IRREGULAR: “I’m not a baby, I’m a big boy!”
ADULT: “Okay, big boy, where did you get this?”
B.S.I.: “Jackie give it to me.”
ADULT: “Who is Jackie?”
B.S.I.: “Jackie.”
ADULT: “But what’s his last name?”
B.S.I.: “Who?”
ADULT: “Jackie.”
B.S.I.: (scornfully) “Jackie’s a girl!”
ADULT: “All right, where does she live?”
B.S.L: “Who?”
And so on around– To all questions key answer was of pattern: “Jackie give it to me.” Since Jackie didn’t exist, he (she) didn’t have a last name, a home address, nor fixed sex. Those children enjoyed making fools of adults, once they learned how easy it was.
At worst, literature was confiscated. Even a squad of Peace Dragoons thought twice before trying to “arrest” a small child. Yes, we were beginning to have squads of Dragoons inside Luna city, but never less than a squad–some had gone in singly and not come back.
When Mike started writing poetry I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He wanted to publish it! Shows how thoroughly humanity had corrupted this innocent machine that he should wish to see his name in print.