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I used to think that children in media were nothing like children in real life. As far as I can tell, children in media spend all of their time (a) getting into danger that could have been avoided if anyone had been paying attention, (b) playing out corporate-style bloody power struggles in primary education settings, or (c) being soft and friendly and helpless in a symbolic contrast to a cutthroat cast of adults. I guess. I don’t actually watch much media about children.
But it turns out that thing they do, where they want to do something, so they ask every adult if they can do it until one says yes — that’s a real thing. You’d think that the adult humans would agree on what a juvenile human can or can’t do, so asking more than one is pointless, but apparently, they don’t coordinate.
Some of Mensah’s family (Tano, Thiago, and Thiago’s marital partner, Nadir) had come up to the station to meet friends. Only the adult humans needed to be there, but Mensah’s fourth child, Imaan, had insisted on coming along. The adults had assumed she’d wanted to see Mensah; but she’d been fidgety through the whole reunion, and had started pacing while they were checking into temporary housing. A cursory review of the family’s feed page (I had access for security reasons, but it was mostly questions about upcoming meals, reminders of medical appointments, and photos of farm fauna, so I had its alerts muted) suggested that she’d tagged along to acquire a limited edition card for the game Food Fight Apocalypsis.
(I never got the appeal of collector’s items. Media is all digital. Why does anyone need a physical signature from the actors, or a sticker that says “I was at BlahBlah Station for WhateverCon”, or a fancy playing card that projects an image when you shine a light on it? But Imaan had been talking about the game nonstop, and had started wearing her in-game affiliation on a bracelet, and had covered her bedroom walls in trading cards (after scanning them into her deck, of course). She’s really into this game, is what I mean.)
Mensah was away with one of the visitors, and had asked me to stay and keep an eye on the rest of her family. (Well, she’d told me to “take a breather”, and they’d all be fine on their own for a few hours, but I can’t “take a breather” from being a security construct, can I? It’s like taking a breather from having hands.) (Wait, I can detach my hands.) So I was sequestered in one of the temporary rooms, watching the newest episode of The Lost Cranes of YumeNaviEnd. (It’s a pseudohistory of a defunct station orbiting a moon colony, and it involves more ghosts than real defunct stations do.) But I was also watching Imaan through a drone, just in case she did anything unexpected. My other drones were following the more predictable members of the family. Tano was talking to one of the visitors about dinner, and Thiago and his partner were comparing photos of a farm fauna that had been sick when they’d left.
Imaan was loitering in the hallway between the entrance and the sitting area. When there was a lull in Tano’s conversation, she stuck her head around the door. Tano had gotten distracted by video clips of the friend’s classroom. Both of them looked up when Imaan came in. “Hi, Tano,” she said, “can you take me to the station mall?”
Tano frowned and waved the video aside. “What for?”
“I need to pick something up.”
Tano’s friend squinted at Imaan’s bracelet, then put her elbows on the table with a knowing grin. “You’re getting cards for that outsystem game, aren’t you?” she said. “Snack Attack! My students are obsessed with it.”
Imaan blinked at her, then said, very seriously, “Snack Attack! is for kids 10 and under. I’m playing Food Fight Apocalypsis.”
“Okay, well, let’s get dinner, and we’ll look for cards after, okay?” said Tano, flicking through clips again.
Imaan is one of those lucky humans that doesn't emote with her face. (I’m not jealous of a juvenile human.) (Maybe I’m a little jealous.) But I’ve seen enough of her to know that she was disappointed. (It’s the way she starts fidgeting, like she’s trying to wind up strings with her fingers.) “Okay,” she said, and left. As her drone followed her out, Tano looked up at it and raised both eyebrows.
In the sitting area, Thiago had gotten up to take a call, leaving his partner to read something on the feed. (I snuck a look at his read-space, since he was doing it on the public feed, then immediately stopped reading. Fauna are almost as gross as humans, I swear.) Imaan poked her head in. “Uncle, can you take me to the station mall?”
Without looking up, he said, “What for?”
“I need to pick something up.”
“Is it important?” he said. She made an emphatic noise. “Alright, we’ll have time after dinner. Are you ready to leave?”
She shook her head and left. Thiago was coming down the hallway in a hurry, with his external feed interface held to his chest. She squooshed against the wall to let him pass. “Uncle—?”
“Just a minute.” He rushed into the other room. She didn’t stick around to eavesdrop on the ensuing conversation (“Dear, help, that damn journalist is back”), just went back down the hallway. The probability that she would sneak out and go to the mall alone was rising rapidly, so I told Thiago’s drone to go join Imaan’s drone. The station mall was busy at this time of day, and while I could keep track of her with one drone, I’d do better with two.
She fidgeted, paced a bit, then asked the public feed to pull up a game store’s page. The page indicated that they were almost out of the limited edition cards. After five seconds, she closed the page and started walking. But she stopped after six steps, hesitated, then turned and went back down the hall. Maybe there was another adult hiding in the bathroom? But the other visiting humans were staying in a different set of rooms, nobody was down this hall except oh shit.
She stopped at the door and pinged my feed. SecUnit, can you take me to the station mall?
I could’ve ignored her, if I wanted to be an asshole. I sent her a capture of the store’s page with the “possibly out of stock” notification highlighted. She sent back the definition of possibly, with the part that said “is not certain” highlighted.
Okay, fair. I paused my show and sat up. On the feed, I said, You need permission from your guardian. (That’s a line from one of the “juvenile humans locked in bloody power struggles” shows.)
She fidgeted for four seconds, then sent back the definition of guardian, with the part about protection highlighted. You do security for second mom and her family. That makes you a guardian.
That’s not what that means.
She kept fidgeting. The store was a short walk away, and she would be sad if she didn’t get her card. So I sent Imaan’s request to Thiago. He had warmed up to me since the whole alien colony incident, but the last time I took a trip with one of his nieces, I eviscerated a Target in front of her. I probably wouldn’t need to eviscerate anyone in a game store, but I figured he’d rather take Imaan himself, and I could get back to my show.
He sent back a sigil of a face rolling its eyes and smiling. Go ahead. But make it quick, we’re about to leave.
Very helpful, Thiago.
I sent the store a message on the feed, then stood up and told my door to open. Imaan stopped fidgeting and squooshed against the wall again. She didn’t look at me, which I appreciated. On the feed, I told her, We need to be back in the next 15 minutes.
She ran for the exit. I sighed and followed her out.
There were no further anomalies. The humans all went to dinner. I had my drones watching their table, the entrance to the restaurant, and the doors to the temporary housing rooms, just in case any other juvenile humans interrupted my show. Imaan had her card, plus a plate of noodles that were getting cold, because she was too busy shuffling cards in her feed. The adults were too busy talking to notice.
Diya has never lost with her spicy deck, she explained, sorting a set of cards decorated with stylized pictures of foods. Despite my best efforts, she had explained the basic rules of Food Fight Apocalypsis on the way back from the store, so I knew that Imaan was taking the hard way out by building a spicy deck instead of a counter-flavor deck. The limited edition card, the key to her new deck, was a bowl of bright red soup with big chunks of vegetables. The bowl and all of the chunks had smiling faces on them. (No, I don’t get it, either.) But with the Tomato Storm Stew card, I can overpower her Tongue Killer Curry cards before they wipe out my deck. Although her condiment cards might cancel it out.
Diya’s spicy deck had six different types of hot sauce, a fact that Imaan had despaired about at length on the family’s feed page. I said, Can you hack up her deck?
No hacking. If I break the rules, she’ll say I didn’t really win.
I meant the cutlery cards. I highlighted a card in her old deck. You have a Bottle Breaker Tongs card. If you put it in standby, you can disable her condiment cards before they activate.
She thought about it for five seconds, long enough that I pulled up the rulebook to see if that was actually a terrible idea. Then she started bouncing in her seat. She stopped when one of the adult humans looked at her, and moved the card into her new deck. I'll try that. Thank you.
I acknowledged the message, then withdrew from her feed. As I resumed my episode, a drone picked up Thiago’s partner saying, “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”
She picked up her utensil. “Do you think SecUnit is more sour, or spicy?”
I almost dropped the input. Down the table, Thiago choked on his soup, but his neighbor whacked him on the back until he stopped coughing. Tano side-eyed one of my drones, then mused, “I could make an argument for sweet.”
Imaan, the traitor, nodded thoughtfully. I pinged Tano in protest. Tano didn’t respond except to laugh.