He shouldn’t be huddled in his shell. He should be talking with Miss Pretoria and the assembled dignitaries, walking the thin line between interest and flirting. He should be watching the women–especially Elena Pretoria, a grande dame if he’d ever met one, and most likely Lesa Pretoria’s mother–and the two reserved, quiet men at the table, picking out what he could about the social order, trying to understand the alliances and enmities so he could exploit them later.
The women seemed interested in Vincent and himself–by which he meant, attracted to–and a glance at Vincent confirmed he thought so, too. Elders Singapore and Montevideo were the obvious exceptions to the rule. They had eyes only for each other, and Kusanagi‑Jones might have found it sweet if he hadn’t suspected they’d cheerfully have him shot the instant he wasn’t conforming to their agenda.
The more he watched Montevideo, the more he thought–despite her apparent spunk–that she was like politicians’ wives everywhere: intelligent, intent, and ready to defer–at least publicly–to her mate’s judgment. Vincent was right; she looked at Singapore every time she said something.
Kusanagi‑Jones bit his lip on a pained laugh; he recognized no little bit of himself in her behavior.
It didn’t hurt that Vincent was now paying an outrageous and obviously insincere court to the prime minister that still seemed to entertain her enormously. She had switched to treating them like indulged children; Kusanagi‑Jones found it distasteful, but Vincent seemed willing to play the fool. The women were asking interested questions about the Colonial Coalition, seeming shocked by things in absolute disproportion to their importance.
Montevideo was particularly fascinated by eugenics and population‑control legislation, and kept asking pointed questions, which Vincent answered mildly. Kusanagi‑Jones pushed his plate away, unable to face another mouthful of red‑leaf lettuce and crispy native fruit mixed with imported walnuts. It wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t trying to eat, and it was amusing to eavesdrop as Montevideo tried to get a rise out of Vincent.
“Well, of course the Cabinet tries to limit abortions,” Vincent was saying. “Ideally, you control population through more proactive means–” He shrugged, and speared a piece of some juicy vegetable that Kusanagi‑Jones couldn’t identify with a perfectly normal Earth‑standard fork–except Kusanagi‑Jones would bet the forks were actual metal, mined and refined, and not fogs. “But even medical bots fail, or can be made to fail. Biology’s a powerful force; people have a reproductive drive.”
“You don’t think… peoplecan be trusted to make their own decisions, Miss Katherinessen?” Arch, still sharp.
Kusanagi‑Jones didn’t need to look at Vincent to know he would be smiling that wry, gentle smile. He looked anyway, and didn’t regret it, although Vincent’s expression made it hard to breathe. Again. Dammit.
He could not afford to care, to trust Vincent. He was here to destroy him. New Earth, all over again. Only worse this time.
“No,” Vincent said, as Kusanagi‑Jones picked the remainder of his bread apart. “We evolved for much more dangerous times, and memory is short. Just because Old Earth survived pandemics and famines and Assessments during the Diaspora to achieve a few modern ideas about stewardship doesn’t mean that enlightenment trickles down to everybody. And it’s very hard for most people to postpone an immediate want for a payoff they won’t see, and neither will their grandchildren.”
“Thus the Governors,” Elder Montevideo said, folding plump, delicate hands. The prime minister watched, silently, and so did Elder Pretoria, who was seated at the far end of the table.
“The Coalition,” Kusanagi‑Jones said, to demonstrate solidarity. He would notshow pain. “So the Governors don’t intervene again on a large scale. They arestill watching.”
He knew better than to attempt Vincent’s trick of speaking as if to an idiot child, but it was tempting.
“The Coalition isn’t allied with the Governors, then?” asked one of the other women at the table, an olive‑skinned matron with cool hazel eyes who never stopped smiling. Elder Kyoto, if Kusanagi‑Jones had the name right. He’d logged it; he could check his watch if needed.
“The Coalition is interested in…minimizing the impact the Governors have on human life. And the Governors permit the Coalition Cabinet that latitude.”
“And the Governors must be prevented from intervening?”
“If you know your history.” Vincent smiled right back. “It keeps us on our toes.”
Elder Singapore covered her partner’s hand with her own. “If it wasn’t for Diaspora, New Amazonia wouldn’t be here. And we would be robbed of the pleasure of each other’s company. Which would be a great pity indeed.”
Vincent asked, “Was yours one of the private ships?”
“The Colony craft? Yes. Ur was also, wasn’t it?”
He turned his fork over as if fascinated by the gleams of light on the tines. “My great‑grandmother was disgustingly rich. It was an experimental society, too. The colonists were all pregnant women. No men. And there was a religious element.”
Elder Montevideo leaned forward, although she wasn’t quite overcome enough to rest her elbows on the table. “What was the purpose of the experiment?”
“To prove a point of philosophy. To establish an egalitarian matriarchy based on Gnostic Christian principles.” He glanced up, twinkling. “My mother is the only woman on the Colonial Coalition Cabinet. We’re not so different.”
She sat back, picked up her silver knife, and gave minute attention to buttering a roll. “Our founding mothers believed that it was possible to live in balance with nature,” she said. “And by balance, they did not mean stasis. They meant an evolving dynamic whereby both the planet’s Gaian principle and her population would benefit. Not exploitation, as it was practiced on Old Earth: women do not exploit. We take care when we practice forestry, for example, to leave renewal niches, and we practice sustainable agriculture and humane animal husbandry.” The knife went down with a clink. “Of course, the impact of our activities is attenuated because we didn’t need to bootstrap through a fossil‑fuel economy. We’ve been fortunate.”
At least they know it,Kusanagi‑Jones thought. He sipped his wine and watched her eat.
“I’m curious,” Vincent said. “Something you said earlier hinted to me that you find eugenics distasteful.”
Miss Pretoria laughed out loud and glanced at the prime minister for permission to continue. Kusanagi‑Jones saw the elder Pretoria lean forward, but she still held her tongue. A watcher.Dangerous, if the mind was as sharp as the eyes. “If Old Earth gave women reproductive autonomy, I don’t believe you’d have a population problem. Wedon’t–”
“ Youhave an undamaged ecosystem,” Kusanagi‑Jones said. Vincent might have been the one to guess that a bold‑faced refusal to temporize was one way to earn their respect, but Kusanagi‑Jones wasn’t too shy to capitalize on it. Vincent didn’t quite smile, but the approval was there between them, warm and alive. “For now, at least, until you overrun it.”
Kusanagi‑Jones, who had been about to continue, closed his mouth tightly as Elder Montevideo spoke. “One of the reasons our foremothers chose to emigrate was because of Earth’s eugenics practices. They did not feel that a child’s genetic health or sexual orientation determined its value. Do you,Miss Kusanagi‑Jones? Miss Katherinessen? Because I assure you, the mothers at this table would disagree.”