Now, the little bas ў the kid may know something about accounting. But he's a
lazy thief, too. And I can prove it. If your company hassles me about this when
I come back through Santa Ynez, I'll sue you into oblivion."
There were a couple more verbal go-arounds, and then Sheriff Wentz rang off. He
turned in his chair. "You know, Mike, I think he's telling the truth. We don't
see it so much in the new generation, but children like your Sally and Arta-* "
Mike nodded glumly and hoped Sy wouldn't pursue it. His Sally and Arta, his
little sisters. Dead years ago. They had been twins, five years younger than he,
born when his parents had lived in Phoenix. They had made it to California with
him, but they had always been sick. They both died before they were twenty and
never looked to be older than ten. Mike knew who had caused that bit of hell. It
was something he never spoke of.
"The generation before that had it worse. But back then it was just another sort
of plague and people didn't notice especially." The diseases, the sterility, had
brought a kind of world never dreamed of by the bomb makers of the previous
century. "If this Wili is like your sisters, I'd estimate he's about fifteen. No
wonder he's brighter than he looks."
"It's more than that, Boss. The kid is really smart. You should have seen what
he did to Tellman's Celest."
Wentz shrugged. "Whatever. Now we've got to decide what to do with him. I wonder
whether Fred Bartlett would take him in." This was gentle racism; the Bartletts
were black.
"Boss, he'd eat 'em alive," Rosas patted his bandaged arm.
"Well, hell, you think of something better, Mike. We've got four thousand
customers. There must be someone who can help... A lost child with no one to
take care of him ў it's unheard of!"
Some child! But Mike couldn't forget Sally and Arta. "Yeah."
Through this conversation, Naismith had been silent, almost ignoring the two
peace officers. He seemed more interested in the view of Old 101 than what they
were talking about. Now he twisted in the wooden chair to face the sheriff and
his deputy. "I'll take the kid on, Sy."
Rosas and Wentz looked at him in stupefied silence. Paul Naismith was considered
old in a land where two thirds of the population was past fifty. Wentz licked
his lips, apparently unsure how to refuse him. "See here, Paul, you heard what
Mike said. The kid practically killed him this afternoon. I know how people
your, uh, age feel about children, but-"
The old man shook his head, caught Mike with a quick glance that was neither
abstracted nor feeble. "You know they've been after me to take on an apprentice
for years, Sy. Well, I've decided. Besides trying to kill Mike, he played Celest
like a master. The gravity-well maneuver is one I've never seen discovered
unaided."
"Mike told me. It's slick, but I see a lot of players do it. We almost all use
it. Is it really that clever?"
"Depending on your background, it's more than clever. Isaac Newton didn't do a
lot more when he deduced elliptical orbits from the inverse square law."
"Look, Paul... I'm truly sorry, but even with Bill and Irma, it's just too
dangerous."
Mike thought about the pain in his arm. And then about the twin sisters he had
once had. "Uh, Boss, could you and I have a little talk?"
Wentz raised an eyebrow. "So...? Okay. 'Scuse us a minute, Paul."
