She said nothing about her parents. I said nothing about mine, either, but that was because I didn’t know who they were. My earliest memories were of an obsidian-walled undersurface bubble, home to some two dozen small children of both sexes, cared for by two nursemaids and four robots (who, in retrospect, I think were more reliable sources of affection than the human beings: said affection was simulated in both instances, but the AIs’ version was more believable).
Of my parents, I knew nothing. None of us did. That’s why we were in a government-run childcare facility, which was every bit as much fun as it sounds like.
From the nursery bubble, I went with other pre-adolescents to the Suffer the Little Children Orphanage. Somehow, probably through bribery, since theoretically, at least, a
