ng
attitude that everything he did was "cute" like the little girl who
decked herself out in mother's clothing from high heels and brassiere
to evening gown, costume jewelry, and a fumbled smear of makeup.

That was over. He'd made it to a couple of months over fourteen, he'd
finally reached a stature large enough so that he did not have to prove
his right to buy a railroad ticket, nor climb on the suitcase bar so that
he could peer over the counter. Newsdealers let him alone to pick his own
fare instead of trying to "save his money" by shoving Mickey Mouse at him
and putting his own choice back on its pile.

He had not succeeded in gaining his legal freedom, but as Ward of the
State under Judge Carter he had other interesting expectations that he
might not have stumbled upon. Carter had connections; there was talk of
James' entering a comprehensive examination at some university, where the
examining board, forearmed with the truth about his education, would test
James to ascertain his true level of comprehension. He could of course
collect his bachelor's degree once he complied with the required work
of term papers written to demonstrate that his information could be
interwoven into the formation of an opinion, or reflection, or view
of some topic. Master's degrees and doctor's degrees required the
presentation of some original area of study, competence in his chosen
field, and the development of some facet of the field that had not been
touched before. These would require more work, but could be handled in
time.

In fact, he felt that he was in pretty good shape. There were a couple
of sticky problems, still. He wanted Paul Brennan to get his comeuppance,
but he knew that there was no evidence available to support his story
about the slaughter of his parents. It galled him to realize that
cold-blooded, premeditated murder for personal profit and avarice could
go undetected. But until there could be proffered some material evidence,
Brennan's word was as good as his in any court. So Brennan was getting
away with it.

The other little item was his own independence. He wanted it. That he
might continue living with Judge Carter had no bearing. No matter how
benevolent the tyranny, James wanted no part of it. In fighting for his
freedom, James Holden's foot had slipped. He'd used his father's machine
on Martha, and that was a legal error.

Martha? James was not really sorry he'd slipped. Error or not, he'd made
of he