My Special Agent’s I.D. could have had the Station Manager doing the registering for me, but even if Radman hadn’t taken it before kicking me off, I still couldn’t have used it. No matter how quiet they swear to keep these things word always gets out, and I preferred standing on line to giving Radman advance notice that I was coming.
My line moved slowly forward, and everyone waiting seemed as anxious as I was to get out of the bedlam of the docking area and into the relative peace and quiet of the Station proper. I had enough time to wonder how Val was doing, then wondered if he’d gotten over his indignation yet. I’d had occasion, just before we took the shuttle, to remind Val that I outranked him on that assignment, and most of the decisions made during it would not be made by the democratic process. I let him know that if I didn’t find him up in the air when I said jump, he’d have lots of time to investigate the various means Federation people use to fill free time. He didn’t like the idea, didn’t pretend that he did, but couldn’t keep pressing his arguments when the time to leave rolled around. Val, for some reason, was very used to running things, and clearly intended extending the practice into the Federation; in case he hadn’t already gotten the message, I had a surprise waiting for him.
In time all things pass, even the line you happen to be waiting on. When the man in front of me left the registration alcove I stepped inside, then went up to the computer outlet it held. Station computers run everything, regulate everything, and know about everything, a normally invisible dictatorship that’s about as complete as it’s possible to get. The outlet’s recess took my papers with a polite purr, acknowledging my request for a suite, but instead of a key showing up in the proper slot, the outlet blinked twice in an odd sort of way, and my papers were locked tight where I’d put them. In all my years of traveling nothing like that had ever happened to me, so I stood and blinked back at the outlet, wondering if it was malfunctioning, and then a man walked into the alcove. He was tall and well dressed in an expensive way, a sleek fifty with the polish of a professional maitre d’, and as soon as he opened his mouth, I found I wasn’t far wrong.
“I’m the Station’s hotel manager,” he informed me with a calming smoothness. “Can I be of some service to you, young lady?”
I hadn’t been called “young lady” in a lot of years, but I let the matter pass.
“The outlet seems to be malfunctioning,” I told him, gesturing toward the machine. “It won’t give me a suite, and it won’t release my papers. Do you think you can shut it off?”
“It can be shut off if necessary,” he answered, walking toward the rear of the machine. “Let me have a look first.”
He disappeared behind the large, bulky outlet, leaving me to wonder what was going on. I knew damned well that the papers the outlet held were no more than days old, but I would have taken long odds that whatever the problem was, it had nothing to do with the phoniness of my papers. I’d used department-issued identity papers many times over the years, and even when they’d been produced fast enough to get them to me yesterday I’d never had any trouble with them. The only way to establish their phoniness was to get in touch with the bureau of records of my supposed home planet, and computers weren’t programmed to do that. The problem had to lie elsewhere, but I was hanged if I knew where.
The Station’s hotel manager stayed behind the outlet longer than I expected him to, and when he finally came out he was looking thoughtful.
“Your papers show you have a traveling companion,” he mused, staring at me in a strange way. “Where is he now?”
“He’s seeing to the luggage,” I said, returning the stare. The question seemed totally off the point, but there was no harm in answering. “Why do you ask?”
“I ask because I’m afraid we can’t allow you to register,” he answered, shaking his head regretfully. “You are familiar with our policy on minors?”
“Of course I’m familiar with it,” I snapped, losing patience with the way he kept avoiding the main issue.
“What does your policy of minors have to do with not letting me register?”
He looked somewhat unsure over the tone I’d used, and put his hand on the bulky machine next to him as though to gather support from it.
“The outlet’s biological readout shows you to be two months and thirteen days short of seventeen standard years of age,” he recited, taking refuge in unshakable facts as his eyes moved quickly over the black jumpsuit I was wearing. “I must admit you do sound and look-ah-almost adult, but we tend to be very careful with this sort of thing. I assure you there’s been no mistake, .unless you’ve forgotten to submit your majority certification form? No? Then I think it best that we wait for your traveling companion. Maybe he’ll be able to register the two of you. ”
The man leaned back against the machine looking satisfied, but I was numb with shock. Me, a minor? I wanted to laugh myself silly over the idea, but the hotel manager wasn’t laughing and solitary amusement is too often pathetic. I thought about going to look for Val at customs, realized the computer would already have sent for him, then stood there simply waiting until he showed up, followed by a short, squat, luggage robot. The hotel manager brightened when he saw a real, live grown-up, something that sent an involuntary shudder through me.
“This is my uncle, Valdon Carter,” I jumped in before anyone else could say a word. “I’m sure he’s old enough to register us. Can I set it up for you, uncle Val?”
There was no way Val could have had the foggiest idea of what was going on, but he didn’t blink an eye.
“Sure, Jenny,” he drawled, smiling down at me fondly. “If you think you can do it right.”
His fatuous answer may have been just right for the situation as it stood, but he was lucky I didn’t kill him on the spot. I took his papers without a word and substituted them for mine, set the registration just as I had before, but this time let Val stand in front of the scanner. The idiot outlet hummed and chuckled to itself, and seven seconds later Val had his papers back and a key to a suite in his hand.
“Welcome to Xanadu Orbital Station,” the hotel manager beamed at Val. “If you’ll place the key in the lighted slot on the luggage robot, it will lead you to your accommodations. Have a pleasant stay.”
Val nodded in acknowledgment, thanked the manager for his help, then gave his key to the little robot.
The robot, now prepared to lead rather than follow, took off into the Station proper and toward the nearest elevator bank, carefully keeping to a pace that Val and I could match. We followed along after the thing, Val casually commenting on whatever took his eye, me not saying a word, and in just a few minutes we stood outside the door to our suite. The little robot used the key to open the door, then trundled on through the elaborate sitting room to each of the bedrooms in turn, leaving Val’s bags in the room to the left and mine in the room to the right. It chuckled its contentment over a job well done as it rolled out of the suite again, and I waited just long enough for the door to close before blowing up. I cursed as I’d seldom cursed before, getting more satisfaction over volume than inventiveness, and finally turned on a puzzled, frowning Val.
“How the hell could that be?” I demanded with a snarl. “Even if those idiots back at the outpost are responsible for this insanity in some way, how could I be seventeen? What the hell is going on?”
“Now I understand,” Val said with a came-the-dawn expression finally breaking through his confusion, at the same time nodding his head. “You didn’t know that you’d been matched to Bellna inside as well as out, but that’s the way it works. You couldn’t say you’d been matched to her if you didn’t have her age as well as her features.”
“But Bellna was fifteen!” I all but shrieked, raising hands toward him that wanted to become claws.
“How the hell does fifteen become two and a half months short of seventeen?”
“Bellna was fifteen Tildorian years,” he answered with such calm and reason that he came close to losing his life for it. “Absari standard doesn’t match Tildorian standard, and neither, obviously, does Federation standard. Fifteen on Tildor must translate to just short of seventeen here.”
Just that neat and simple. Your biological age has been changed, Diana. You’re now a minor, Diana.
Don’t worry about it, it isn’t anything important. I must have stood there staring at Val for a full minute, before turning away from him to walk to a chair and collapse down into it. Part of me wanted to rip, tear, rend and destroy, but the rest of me was too numb to go along.
“Diana, what’s wrong?” Val asked, staring at me where I sat slumped in the chair, his voice sounding worried. “Why do you suddenly look so strange?”
“You think I look strange?” I asked, still keeping my eyes away from him. “You should feel how I feel.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“I don’t understand the problem,” he protested, taking a chair across from mine. “Is it part of whatever went on at the registration desk?”
“It is all of what went on at the registration alcove,” I answered disgustedly, finally looking up at him. “I am now registered as a minor, and if I try arranging for a majority certificate, I’ll probably miss Radman altogether.”
I pulled a cigarette out of my jumpsuit and lit it, then leaned back, trying to rearrange my thinking.
“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Val broke into my distraction. What’s the difference how old you are?”
“There’s a big difference,” I said, finally noticing the more-than-comfortable furnishings of the suite’s sitting room. “If you want all the gory details, here they are. The Federation runs these Orbital Stations not only for the safety of the passengers; they also expect a return on their investment. When they first started taking guests they ran into a peculiar problem. They would register an obvious adult, and then find out that by the standards of his home world he was a minor and not required to pay. Then they would refuse to register someone who seemed to be a minor, and find out that the seeming minor was actually a well-to-do, responsible citizen. It almost drove them crazy, so they decided to make a stand.
They told their member worlds that eighteen was the legal age they had decided on. If a planet allowed its minors to travel about without restrictions, that world was responsible for paying the minor’s debts. If they refused, all liner service would be halted until they reconsidered. Conversely, if their citizens included people who were usually considered minors, these people would have to have certificates of majority issued to be produced on registration.”
I drew my legs up under me, and grimaced down at the nearly knee-deep carpeting.
“At any rate,” I continued, almost distractedly, “the member planets screamed but eventually agreed, and the biological detectors were brought in. Now, no minor may register without one of two things: a majority certificate guaranteeing full payment for all services rendered, or an adult guardian accompanying and directing them. If I had the certificate there’d be no problem-I would be registered as an adult. Since I’m registered as a minor, I’m only allowed to move about and do things with the express permission of my guardian, and the Station computer will keep a constant watch on me to make sure I don’t destroy the place. I can’t order meals on my own, use the facilities on my own, can’t even leave the Station on my own. I’m tied hand and foot with no immediate way out.”
“So that’s what that uncle Val’s business was about,” he said slowly, staring straight at me. “I’m your guardian..”.
“And I’ve got to figure out a way around it,” I. agreed, as I looked about at the white and gold walls and trimmings of the sitting room. “There’s got to be an out, something I’m just not seeing, something that won’t take the time getting a majority certificate would. Just give me a few minutes to think. ”
My mind had already moved into high gear, checking the file drawers of memory and rummaging through the stacks of unclassified-therefore-unifiled bits and pieces of trivia I tended to accumulate, looking for even one hint that might do me some good. Val said something that didn’t get through the whirling concentration, so when I pulled my mind back and looked questioningly at him, he said it again.
“Why bother?” was what he had asked, looking very comfortable in his chair. “No need to rack your brain to get around something that’s already taken care of: I’m your guardian.”
“And that’s your idea of a solution?” I asked with all the ridicule I was feeling. “Hasn’t it come through to you yet that that’s the problem, not the solution? I can’t walk around as a minor, legally required to ask permission for everything I do. It would be too ludicrous for words.”
“Why?” he asked again, and suddenly it came to me that he looked too comfortable. “It’s not as if I don’t know what we’re here for. If I have to be the one to get us where we’re going instead of you, what difference does it make?”
“It makes a lot of difference,” I answered in exasperation, wondering why he was looking at me in such a strange way. “You don’t know much beyond the generalities of this culture; what if you get put on a spot? And what do I do once we get down to Xanadu? Wait until we happen to trip over Radman, then take you aside to ask your permission to execute the death warrant? Sorry, Val, but I don’t operate like that. ”
“I know how you operate,” he murmured, the strange look growing even stranger. “You do everything your own way, and you go over anyone who doesn’t get out of the way in time. It may be an effective way of getting the job done, Diana, but one day you’ll run into someone you can’t go over, and then you’ll be the one who’s done. As I see it, you now have two choices: either forget about going after Radman until this age business is straightened out, or start practicing the way to ask nicely for things. As your guardian, I’ll expect to see a lot of improvement in your manners.”
“But I can’t forget about Radman!” I blurted, feeling almost as shocked as I had at the registration alcove. “You know I can’t just turn my back and walk away, hoping I’ll catch up to him some other time!