"No, it's not that. Anita is simply angry because her daughter- her favorite; we all know that-has married a man she disapproves of. Anita hasn't had to scrape up that much cash because it wasn't necessary. There is no contractual obligation to pay out a share.
and Anita pointed out that there was no moral obligation to siphon off the family's capital to benefit an adventurer."
I felt myself getting coldly angry. "Vickie, I have trouble believing my ears. What sort of spineless worms are the rest of you to allow Ellen to be treated this way?" I took a deep breath and tried to control my fury. "I don't understand you. Any of you. But I'm going to try to set a good example. When we get home I'm going to do two things. First I'm going to the family-room terminal when everybody is there and phone Ellen and invite her and her husband home for a visit-come for the next weekend because I've got to get back to work and don't want to miss meeting my new son-in-law."
"Anita will burst a blood vessel."
"We'll see. Then I'm going to call for a family meeting and move that Ellen's share be paid to her with all orderly haste consonant with conserving assets." I added, "I assume that Anita will be furious again."
"Probably. To no purpose, as you'll lose the vote. Marj, why must you do this? Things are bad enough now."
"Maybe. But it's possible that some of you have just been waiting for someone else to take the lead in bucking Anita's tyranny. At least I'll find out how the vote goes. Vick, under the contract I signed I have paid more than seventy thousand Ennzedd dollars into the family and I was told that the reason I had to buy my way into a marriage was that each of our many children were to be paid a full
share on leaving home. I didn't protest; I signed. But there is an implied contract there no matter what Anita says. If Ellen can't be paid today, then I shall insist that my monthly payments go to Ellen until such time as Anita can shake loose the rest of one share to pay Ellen off. Does that strike you as equitable?"
She was slow in answering. "Marj, I don't know. I haven't had time to think."
"Better take time. Because, along about Wednesday, you are going to have to fish or cut bait. I shall not let Ellen be mistreated any further." I grinned and added, "Smile! Let's slide over to the post office and be sunny-side-up for Ellen."
But we didn't go to the G.P.O.; we didn't call Ellen at all that trip. Instead we proceeded to drink our dinner and argue. I'm not sure just how the subject of artificial persons got into the discussion. I think it was while Vickie was "proving" still another time how free she was from racial prejudice while exhibiting that irrational attitude every time she opened her mouth. Maori were just dandy and of course American Indians were and Hindu Indians for that matter and the Chinese had certainly produced their quota of geniuses; everybody knew that, but you had to draw the line somewhere. .
We had gone to bed and I was trying to tune out her drivel when something hit me. I raised up. "How would you know?"
"How would I know what?"
"You said, 'Of course no one would marry an artifact.' How would you know that a person was artificial? Not all of them carry serial numbers."
"Huh? Why, Marjie, don't be silly. A manufactured creature can't be mistaken for a human being. If you had ever seen one-"
"I've seen one. I've seen many!"
"Then you know."
"Then I know what?"
"That you can tell one of those monsters just by looking at it."
"How? What are these stigmata that mark off an artificial person from any other person? Name one!"
"Marjorie, you're being dreadfully difficult just to be annoying! This is not like you, dear. You're turning our holiday into something unpleasant."
"Not me, Vick. You are. By saying silly, stupid, unpleasant things without a shred of evidence to back them up." (And that retort of mine proves that an enhanced person is not a superman, as that is exactly the sort of factually truthful remark that is much too cruel to use in a family discussion.)
"Oh! How wicked! How untruthful!"
What I did next can't be attributed to loyalty to other artificial persons because APs don't feel group loyalty. No basis for it. I've heard that Frenchmen will die for La Belle France-but can you imagine anyone fighting and dying for Homunculi Unlimited, Pty., South Jersey Section? I suppose I did it for myself although, like many of the critical decisions in my life, I have never been able to analyze why I did it. Boss says that I do all of my important thinking on the unconscious level. He may be right.
I got out of bed, whipped off my gown, stood in front of her. "Look me over," I demanded. "Am I an artificial person? Or not? Either way, how do you tell?"
"Oh, Marjie, quit flaunting yourself! Everybody knows you have the best figure in the family; you don't have to prove it."
"Answer me! Tell me which I am and tell me how you know. Use any test. Take samples for laboratory analysis. But tell me which I am and what signs prove it."
"You're a naughty girl, that's what you are."
"Possibly. Probably. But which sort? Natural? Or artificial?"
"Oh, bosh! Natural, of course."
"Wrong. I'm artificial."
"Oh, stop being silly! Put your nightgown on and come back to bed."
Instead I badgered her with it, telling her what laboratory had designed me, the date I had been removed from the surrogate womb- my "birthday," although we APs are "cooked" a little longer to speed up maturing-forced her to listen to a description of life in a production laboratory crèche. (Correction: Life in the crèche that raised me; other production crèches may be different.)
I gave her a summary of my life after I left the crèche-mostly lies, as I could not compromise Boss's secrets; I simply repeated what I had long since told the family, that I was a confidential com
mercial traveler. I didn't need to mention Boss because Anita had decided years back that I was an envoy of a multinational, the sort of diplomat who always travels anonymously-an understandable error that I was happy to encourage by never denying it.
Vickie said, "Marjie, I wish you wouldn't do this. A string of lies like that could endanger your immortal soul."
"I don't have a soul. That's what I've been telling you."
"Oh, stop it! You were born in Seattle. Your father was an electronics engineer; your mother was a pediatrician. You lost them in the quake. You told us all about them-you showed us pictures."
'My mother was a test tube; my father was a knife.' Vickie, there may be a million or more artificial people whose 'birth records' were 'destroyed' in the destruction of Seattle. No way to count them as their lies are never assembled. After what happened just this month there will start being lots of people of my sort who were 'born' in Acapulco. We have to find loopholes like that to avoid being persecuted by the ignorant and the prejudiced."
"Meaning I'm ignorant and prejudiced!"
"Meaning you are a sweet girl who was fed a pack of lies by your elders. I'm trying to correct that. But if the shoe fits, you can lie in it."
I shut up. Vickie didn't kiss me good-night. We were a long time getting to sleep.
The next day each of us pretended that the argument had never taken place. Vickie did not mention Ellen; I did not mention artificial persons. But it spoiled what had started out to be a merry outing. We got the shopping done and caught the evening shuttle home. I did not do as I had threatened-I did not call Ellen as soon as we were home. I did not forget Ellen; I simply hoped that waiting a while might mellow the situation. Cowardly, I suppose.
Early the following week Brian invited me to go with him while he inspected a piece of land for a client. It was a long pleasant ride with lunch at a licensed country hotel-a fricasee billed as hogget although almost certainly mutton, washed down by tankards of mild. We ate out under the trees.