Saturday Snippet.

Been writing dialog for twelve year olds - not sure I got it right, but I was a weird twelve year old. 

Shannon stepped back into the main compartment.  “We’re almost at the LZ dad.  The shuttle is on the ground.  You want to do a direct transfer?”

            “Yeah.  If the air traffic controllers don’t object?”

            “Nah, they said its fine.  They want the shuttle out of here so they can go back to sleep, I think,” she said, grinning.

            “Could be.  Or they’ve got one hell of a raid going on in a game and want to get back to it.  So, pull us up next to the shuttle and I’ll unass this beast through the airlock.”

            “I can even slow down if you want,” she said grinning wickedly.

            “You’ve been talking to your mom about my driving again, haven’t you?”

            “Nah.  Been watching old footage of you making delivery runs.  The one where you offload a rolling truck.”

            “That took . . . coordination.”

            “Uh huh.  I’m going back up front.  Love you,” she said hugging me.

            “Love you too.  Send your sister back, and I’ll get out of your hair as quick as I can.”

            Samarra came back into the cabin.  I waited till she had taken a seat, then gave her a wolfish grin.  And waited.  I love my youngest daughter, but some days she can’t take silence and a knowing grin.

            “Umm dad, I didn’t mean to do it.”

            “Do what?”

            “Whatever it is you’ve found out about.”

            “You mean giving your brother shit because he wants to be a pilot?  Jed, go up front with Shannon for a bit, will you?”  I don’t believe in public humiliation – unless, of course, the inciting behavior is public.  Jed got up and wandered forward.  “And turn off the pickups back here, OK?”

            “Ok, geeze,” he said, slouching his way forward.

            “Oh, that.  It’s just such, such macho behavior.”

            “Did you ever think he wants to be a pilot because it interests him?”

            “But it’s, it’s like he just pulled it out of nowhere.  And it’s fun when he gets frustrated and storms off.”

            “And?  How’d you feel when Shannon was tweaking you about geography over anthropology?”

            “It’s not the same,” she said employing the logic of a twelve year old.

            “How is it different?”

            “Anybody can be a geographer.  Most pilots are male, according to Ms. Davis.”

            “I see.  And she says this is because of?”

            “Gender bias in the selection process.”

            “Hmm.  Has she explained that part of the problem might be that women like herself tell girls it’s hard to be a pilot?  That the perceived bias might be part of cultural norming that says men should be pilots?  Has she talked about the studies that show women are better pilots than men, or the fact that sixty five percent of the pilots here on Mars and out in the belt are female?”

            “No.”

            Great.  Something else to bring up when I got back from Burroughs.  “Tell you what, I want you to do some work while I’m gone.  Research both what Ms. Davis told you and what I told you.  Then make your argument either way, but I want to see the data to back things up.”

            “But dad, I’ve got a ton of work to do for school.”

            “And a ton of work to show you’re going to be someone who thinks, not just someone who parrots what others have told them is the ‘truth’.  Right now, I’m kinda wondering which it’s going to be.”

            “Yes papa.  I’ll get it done.”

            “Good girl,” I said, hugging her.  The truck rolled to a stop.  “I think we’re here.  Want to check my suit fittings for me?”