The remarks about being 'unplanned' or an 'accident' stopped, at least in her presence, but people still seemed concerned that she was 'too precocious', and that she had no one of her own age to socialize with.
But the fact was that Tia simply didn't care that she had no other children to play with. She had the best lessons in the known universe, via the database; she had the AI to talk to. She had plenty of things to play with and lots of freedom to do what she wanted, once lessons were done. And most of all, she had Mum and Dad, who spent hours more with her than most people spent with their children. She knew that, because both the statistics in the books she had read on childcare and the Socrates, the AI that traveled with them everywhere, told her so. They were never boring, and they always talked to her as if she was grown up. If she didn't understand something, all she had to do was tell them and they would backtrack and explain until she did. When they weren't doing something that meant they needed all their concentration, they encouraged her to come out to the digs with them when her lessons were over. She hadn't ever heard of too many children who got to be with their parents at work.
If anything, sometimes Mum and Dad explained a little too much. She distinctly remembered the time that she started asking 'Why?' to everything. Socrates told her that 'Why?' was a stage all children went through, mostly to get attention. But Pota and Braddon had taken her literally...
The AI told her not long ago that her 'Why?' period might have been the shortest on record, because Mum and Dad answered every 'Why?' in detail. And made sure she understood, so that she wouldn't ask that particular 'Why?' again.
After a month, 'Why?' wasn't fun anymore, and she went on to other things.
She really didn't miss other children at all. Most of the time when she'd encountered them, it had been with the wary feeling of an anthropologist approaching a new and potentially dangerous species. The feeling seemed to be mutual. And so for, other children had proven to be rather boring creatures. Their interests and their worlds were very narrow, their vocabulary a fraction of Tia's. Most of them hadn't the faintest idea of how to play chess, for instance.
Mum had a story she told at parties about how Tia, at the age of two, had stunned an overly effusive professorial spouse into absolute silence. There had been a chess set, a lovely antique, up on one of the tables just out of Tia's reach. She had stared longingly at it for nearly half an hour before the lady noticed what she was looking at.
Tia remembered that incident quite well, too. The lady had picked up an intricately carved knight and waggled it at her. 'See the horsie?' she had gushed. 'Isn't it a pretty horsie?'
Tia's sense of fitness had been outraged, and that wasn't all. Her intelligence had been insulted, and she was very well aware of it. She had stood up, very straight, and looked the lady right in the eye. 'Is not a horsie,' she had announced, coldly and clearly. 'Is a knight. It moves like the letter L. And Mum says it is piece most often sacri- sacer- sacra-'
Mum had come up by then, as she grew red-faced, trying to remember how to say the word she wanted. 'Sacrificed?' Mum had asked, helpfully. 'It means 'given up'.'
Beaming with gratitude, Tia had nodded. 'Most often given up after the pawn.' Then she glared at the lady. 'Which is not a little man!'
The lady had retired to a corner and did not emerge while Tia and her parents were there, although her Mum's superior had then taken down the set and challenged Tia to a game. He had won, of course, but she had at least shown she really knew how to play. He had been impressed and intrigued, and had taken her out on the porch to point out various species of birds at the feeders there.
She couldn't help but think that she affected grownups in only two ways. They were either delighted by her, or scandalized by her. Moira was among the 'delighted' sort, though most of her brawns hadn't been. Charlie had, though, which was why she had thought that he just might be the one to stay with the brainship. He actually seemed to enjoy the fact that she could beat him at chess. She sighed. Probably this new brawn would be of the other sort.
Not that it really mattered how she affected adults. She didn't see that many of them, and then it was never for very long. Though it was important to impress Mum's and Dad's superiors in a positive sense. She at least knew that much now.
'Your visitor is at the airlock,' said the AI, breaking in on her thoughts. 'His name is Tomas. While he is cycling, Moira would like you to have me turn on the ground-based radio link so that she can join the conversation.'
'Go ahead, Socrates,' she told the AI. That was the problem with AIs; if they didn't already have instructions, you had to tell them to do something before they would, where a shell-person would just do it if it made sense. 'Tomas has your birthday present,' Moira said, a moment later. 'I hope you like it.'
'You mean, you hope I like him,' she replied shrewdly. 'You hope I don't scare him.'
'Let's say I use you as a kind of litmus test, all right?' Moira admitted. 'And, darling, Charlie really did fall in love with a ground-pounder. Even I could see he wanted to be with her more than he wanted space.' She sighed. 'It was really awfully romantic; you don't see old-style love at first sight anymore. Michiko is such a charming little thing. I really can't blame him. And it's partly your fault, dear. He was so taken with you that all he could talk about was how he wanted children just like you. Well, anyway, she persuaded Admin to find him a ground job, and they traded me Tomas for him, with no fine, because it wasn't my fault this time.'
