I ran a hand through my hair. My stomach churned.
I don’t like these choices, Ronald.
“I know,” he said. I started. I hadn’t realized I had actually sent him that last message.
“You’re telling me that either I keep the same child and she can’t function in our society, or I give her the same chances as everyone else and take away who she is.”
“Yes,” he said.
“I can’t make that choice,” I said. “My husband will see this as a breach of contract. He’ll think that they sent us a defective child.”
“Read the fine print in your agreement,” Ronald said. “This one is covered. So are a few others. It’s boilerplate. I’ll bet your lawyer didn’t even flinch when she read them.”
“I can’t make this choice,” I said again.
He scooted forward and put his hands on mine. They were warm and strong and comfortable.
And familiar. Strangely familiar.
‘You have to make the choice,” he said. “At some point. That’s part of your contract too. You’re to provide for her, to prepare her for a life in the world. Either she gets a link or she gets an inheritance that someone else manages.”
“And she won’t even be able to check to see if she’s being cheated.”
“That’s right,” he said. “You’ll have to provide for that too.”
“It’s not fair, Ronald!”
He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and leaned it against my forehead. “It never was,” he said softly. “Dearest Sarah. It never was.”
“Damn!” my husband said. We were sitting in our bedroom. It was half an hour before supper, and I had just told him about Echea’s condition. “The lawyer was supposed to check for things like this!”
“Dr. Caro said they’re just learning about the problem on Earth.”
“Dr. Caro.” My husband stood. “Dr. Caro is wrong.”
I frowned at him. My husband was rarely this agitated.
“This is not a technology developed on the Moon,” my husband said. “It’s an Earth technology, pre-neural net. Subject to international ban in ’24. The devices disappeared when the link became the common currency among all of us. He’s right that they’re incompatible.”
I felt the muscles in my shoulders tighten. I wondered how my husband knew of the technology and wondered if I should ask. We never discussed each other’s business.
“You’d think that Dr. Caro would have known this,” I said casually.
“His work is in current technology, not the history of technology,” my husband said absently. He sat back down. “What a mess.”
“It is that,” I said softly. “We have a little girl to think of.”
“Who’s defective.”
“Who has been used.” I shuddered. I had cradled her the whole way back and she had let me. I had remembered what Ronald said, how precious it was to hold her when I knew how hard it was for her to reach out. How each touch was a victory, each moment of trust a celebration. “Think about it. Imagine using something that keys into your most basic desires, uses them for purposes other than—”
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“What?”
“Put a romantic spin on this. The child is defective. We shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
“She’s not a durable good,” I said. “She’s a human being.”
“How much money did we spend on in-the-womb enhancement so that Anne’s substandard IQ was corrected? How much would we have spent if the other girls had had similar problems?”
“That’s not the same thing,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” he asked. “We have a certain guarantee in this world. We are guaranteed excellent children, with the best advantages. If I wanted to shoot craps with my children’s lives I would—”
“What would you do?” I snapped. “Go to the Moon?”
He stared at me as if he had never seen me before. “What does your precious Dr. Caro want you to do?”
“Leave Echea alone,” I said.
My husband snorted. “So that she would be unlinked and dependent the rest of her life. A burden on the girls, a sieve for our wealth. Oh, but Ronald Caro would like that!”
“He didn’t want her to lose her personality,” I said. “He wanted her to remain Echea.”
My husband stared at me for a moment, and the anger seemed to leave him. He had gone pale. He reached out to touch me, then withdrew his hand. For a moment, I thought that his eyes filled with tears.
I had never seen tears in his eyes before.
Had I?
“There is that,” he said softly.
He turned away from me, and I wondered if I had imagined his reaction. He hadn’t been close to Echea. Why would he care if her personality had changed?
“We can’t think of the legalities any more,” I said. “She’s ours. We have to accept that. Just like we accepted the expense when we conceived Anne. We could have terminated the pregnancy. The cost would have been significantly less.”
“We could have,” he said as if the thought were unthinkable. People in our circle repaired their mistakes. They did not obliterate them.
“You wanted her at first,” I said.
“Anne?” he asked.
“Echea. It was our idea, much as you want to say it was mine.”
He bowed his head. After a moment, he ran his hands through his hair. “We can’t make this decision alone,” he said.
He had capitulated. I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or saddened. Now we could stop fighting about the legalities and get to the heart.
“She’s too young to make this decision,” I said. “You can’t ask a child to make a choice like this.”
“If she doesn’t—”
“It won’t matter,” I said. “She’ll never know. We won’t tell her either way.”
He shook his head. “She’ll wonder why she’s not linked, why she can only use parts of House. She’ll wonder why she can’t leave here without escort when the other girls will be able to.”
“Or,” I said, “she’ll be linked and have no memory of this at all.”
“And then she’ll wonder why she can’t remember her early years.”
“She’ll be able to remember them,” I said. “Ronald assured me.”
“Yes.” My husband’s smile was bitter. “Like she remembers a question on a history exam.”
I had never seen him like this. I didn’t know he had studied the history of neural development. I didn’t know he had opinions about it.
“We can’t make this decision,” he said again.
I understood. I had said the same thing. “We can’t ask a child to make a choice of this magnitude.”
He raised his eyes to me. I had never noticed the fine lines around them, the matching lines around his nose and mouth. He was aging. We both were. We had been together a long, long time.
“She has lived through more than most on Earth ever do,” he said. “She has lived through more than our daughters will, if we raise them right.”
“That’s not an excuse,” I said. “You just want us to expiate our guilt.”
“No,” he said. “It’s her life. She’ll have to be the one to live it, not us.”
“But she’s our child, and that entails making choices for her,” I said.
He sprawled flat on our bed. “You know what 111 chose,” he said softly.
“Both choices will disturb the household,” I said. “Either we live with her as she is—”
“Or we train her to be what we want.” He put an arm over his eyes.
He was silent for a moment, and then he sighed. “Do you ever regret the choices you made?” he asked. “Marrying me, choosing this house over the other, deciding to remain where we grew up?”