Gentleman Jole and the Red Queen by Lois McMaster Bujold Page B

downtown. It seems all you have to do is walk in, present yourself, and buy a donated egg. All right, you do have to jump through a few hoops to prove yourself a, er, qualified purchaser. But it skips a lot of the other difficult middle steps.”
    “Dating, courtship, weddings? In-laws?” Haines’s mouth twisted up. “Seems like cheating, really.”
    “Galactics—I’m told—do it.” All the time was probably not technically correct.
    “Well, galactics,” said Haines vaguely.
    “I admit, when I picture the scenario, I keep seeing a boy of about, oh, seven. Age of reason and all that. One I could talk to, and do things with. I’m not sure how you get from the single-cell stage to that one, though.”
    Haines shrugged. “Having an infant aboard is no holiday, but any man who can learn to field-strip a weapon can learn to change a damn nappie. Just handle the kid gently but firmly, like an unexploded bomb. You wonder how some of those whiners would have dealt with the old horse cavalry days—manure by the metric ton, back then. I’ve no patience with a man who’s afraid to get his hands dirty. And at least babies more-or-less stay where you put them, at that age. Now, toddlers…suicidal maniacs, the lot of ’em, boy or girl. I’m so glad that stage is over.” He took a firm swallow of his iced tea. “I don’t know why you don’t have a mate—of whatever flavor—Oliver, and it’s no business of mine, but I will tell you, parenting is a team sport. You need backup, reserves. I admit, back when, it was more my wife’s family and the other base women trading favors than me, depending on where we were. But that does seem to me the one big flaw in your battle plan.”
    “The Vicereine claims one can hire help.”
    Haines snorted. “On Sergyar? Have you tried to hire anyone on Sergyar lately?”
    “About a hundred contractors?”
    Haines waved a conceding hand. “Point. But it doesn’t get any easier scaled down.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve suggested to Freddie that she get a part-time job of some kind. She thinks it’s because I’m too cheap to give her an allowance, but I think it might help keep her too busy to get into trouble. Except what would she do with the money? Like giving ammunition to a drunk. Babies are just a challenge. Teenagers are a nightmare. Look ahead, Oliver.”
    “I…think I might do better taking it one step at a time.”
    “Mm, that’s the way you do have to take it. Maybe fortunately.” Haines added after a moment, “I don’t deny I have mixed feelings about those replicator centers, but I have to admit, I’d prefer it for my daughter. Just think. She’d never have to date a boy at all .” He paused in apparent contemplation of this attractive state of theoretical affairs, or non-affairs.
    “I’d think you were in an excellent position to intimidate suitors.”
    “But everyone knows I’m not allowed to use the plasma cannons for personal purposes.”
    Jole choked a laugh around his last mouthful of sandwich. “Besides, she’s only, what—fifteen?”
    “A fact I have let be known, but I’m not sure it helps.” Haines sighed. “Horrible age, fifteen. Part of the time she’s still my little princess, Da’s Cadette, and then, with no warning—it’s like some hostile alien life-form takes over her brain. One minute it’s all puppies and ribbons, the next—the female werewolf!” Haines made claws of his hands and mimed a snarl, possibly the most expression Jole had ever seen the man display. “The bathroom is a war zone right now. Last week she had half her friends and the Cetagandan consul’s son in there, learning how to apply ghem face-paint patterns.”
    “That seems…cultural,” Jole offered, in some attempted consolation.
    “Eh, I suppose you’d think so. But when I made her clean it up after, perfectly reasonably , you’d think I was Mad Yuri come to life again.”
    “Er…can’t you requisition a place with two bathrooms?”
    “Base