"Drop off and phone Wyoh, you'll have one in five minutes," my wife said.

I did. Then Sidris and I strolled, looking in shopwindows and moving slowly, as quarry was window-shopping. In seven or eight minutes a small boy came toward us, stopped and said, "Hello, Auntie Mabell. Hi, Uncle Joe."

Sidris took his hand. "Hi, Tony. How's your mother, dear?"

"Just fine." He added in a whisper, "I'm Jock."

"Sorry." Sidris said quietly to me, "Stay on her," and took Jock into a tuck shop.

She came out and joined me. Jock followed her licking a lollipop. "'Bye, Auntie Mabel! Thanks!" He danced away, rotating, wound up by that little redhead, stood and stared into a display, solemnly sucking his sweet. Sidris and I went home.

A report was waiting. "She went into Cradle Roll Creche and hasn't come out. Do we stay on it?"

"A bit yet," I told Wyoh, and asked if she remembered this kid. She did, but had no idea who she might be. "You could ask Finn."

"Can do better." I called Mike.

Yes, Cradle Roll Creche had a phone and Mike would listen. Took him twenty minutes to pick up enough to give analysis--many young voices and at such ages almost sexless. But presently he told me, "Man, I hear three voices that could match the age and physical type you described. However, two answer to names which I assume to be masculine. The third answers when anyone says 'Hazel'--which an older female voice does repeatedly. She seems to be Hazel's boss."

"Mike, look at old organization file. Check Hazels."

"Four Hazels," he answered at once, "and here she is: Hazel Meade, Young Comrades Auxiliary, address Cradle Roll Creche, born 25 December 2063, mass thirty-nine kilos, height--"

"That's our little jump jet! Thanks, Mike. Wyoh, call off stake-out. Good job!"

"Mike, call Donna and pass the word, that's a dear."

I left it to girls to recruit Hazel Meade and did not eyeball her until Sidris moved her into our household two weeks later. But Wyoh volunteered a report before then; policy was involved. Sidris had filled her cell but wanted Hazel Meade. Besides this irregularity, Sidris was doubtful about recruiting a child. Policy was adults only, sixteen and up.

I took it to Adam Selene and executive cell. "As I see," I said, "this cells-of-three system is to serve us, not bind us. See nothing wrong in Comrade Cecilia having an extra. Nor any real danger to security."

"I agree," said Prof. "But I suggest that the extra member not be part of Cecilia's cell--she should not know the others, I mean, unless the duties Cecilia gives her make it necessary. Nor do I think she should recruit, at her age. The real question is her age."

"Agreed," said Wyoh. "I want to talk about this kid's age."

"Friends," Mike said diffidently (diffidently first time in weeks; he was now that confident executive "Adam Selene" much more than lonely machine)--"perhaps I should have told you, but I have already granted similar variations. It did not seem to require discussion."

"It doesn't, Mike," Prof reassured him. "A chairman must use his own judgment. What is our largest cell?"

"Five. it is a double cell, three and two."

"No harm done. Dear Wyoh, does Sidris propose to make this child a full comrade? Let her know that we are committed to revolution... with all the bloodshed, disorder, and possible disaster that entails?"

"That's exactly what she is requesting."

"But, dear lady, while we are staking our lives, we are old enough to know it. For that, one should have an emotional grasp of death. Children seldom are able to realize that death will come to them personally. One might define adulthood as the age at which a person learns that he must die... and accepts his sentence undismayed."

"Prof," I said, "I know some mighty tall children. Seven to two some are in Party."

"No bet, cobber. It'll give odds that at least half of them don't qualify--and we may find it out the hard way at the end of this our folly."

"Prof," Wyoh insisted. "Mike, Mannie. Sidris is certain this child is an adult. And I think so, too."

"Man?" asked Mike.

"Let's find way for Prof to meet her and form own opinion. I was taken by her. Especially her go-to-hell fighting. Or would never have started it."

We adjourned and I heard no more. Hazel showed up at dinner shortly thereafter as Sidris' guest. She showed no sign of recognizing me, nor did I admit that I had ever seen her--but learned long after that she had recognized me, not just by left arm but because I had been hatted and kissed by tall blonde from Hong Kong. Furthermore Hazel had seen through Wyoming's disguise, recognized what Wyoh never did successfully disguise: her voice.

But Hazel used lip glue. If she ever assumed I was in conspiracy she never showed it.

Child's history explained her, far as background can explain steely character. Transported with parents as a baby much as Wyoh had been, she had lost father through accident while he was convict labor, which her mother blamed on indifference of Authority to safety of penal colonists. Her mother lasted till Hazel was five; what she died from Hazel did not know; she was then living in creche where we found her. Nor did she know why parents had been shipped--possibly for subversion if they were both under sentence as Hazel thought. As may be, her mother left her a fierce hatred of Authority and Warden.

Family that ran Cradle Roll let her stay; Hazel was pinning diapers and washing dishes as soon as she could reach. She had taught herself to read, and could print letters but could not write. Her knowledge of math was only that ability to count money that children soak up through their skins.

Was fuss over her leaving creche; owner and husbands claimed Hazel owed several years' service. Hazel solved it by walking out, leaving her clothes and fewer belongings behind. Mum was angry enough to want family to start trouble which could wind up in "brawling" she despised. But I told her privately that, as her cell leader, I did nor want our family in public eye--and hauled out cash and told her Party would pay for clothes for Hazel. Mum refused money, called off a family meeting, took Hazel into town and was extravagant--for Mum--in re-outfitting her.

So we adopted Hazel. I understand that these days adopting a child involves red tape; in those days it was as simple as adopting a kitten.

Was more fuss when Mum started to place Hazel in school, which fitted neither what Sidris had in mind nor what Hazel had been led to expect as a Party member and comrade. Again I butted in and Mum gave in part way. Hazel was placed in a tutoring school close to Sidris' shop--that is, near easement lock thirteen; beauty parlor was by it (Sidris had good business because close enough that our water was piped in, and used without limit as return line took it back for salvage). Hazel studied mornings and helped in afternoons, pinning on gowns, handing out towels, giving rinses, learning trade--and whatever else Sidris wanted.

"Whatever else" was captain of Baker Street Irregulars.

Hazel had handled younger kids all her short life. They liked her; she could wheedle them into anything; she understood what they said when an adult would find it gibberish. She was a perfect bridge between Party and most junior auxiliary. She could make a game of chores we assigned and persuade them to play by rules she gave them, and never let them know it was adult-serious----but child-serious, which is another matter.

For example:

Let's say a little one, too young to read, is caught with a stack of subversive literature--which happened more than once. Here's how it would go, after Hazel indoctrinated a kid:

ADULT: "Baby, where did you get this?"

BAKER STREET IRREGULAR: "I'm not a baby, I'm a big boy!"

ADULT: "Okay, big boy, where did you get this?"