"Eh? I'm merely a vestryman, dear; souls are a matter for theologians. But it is certainly not difficult to spot a living artifact."
"I didn't say 'living artifact.' That term covers even a talking dog such as Lord Nelson. But an artificial person is strictly limited to human form and appearance. So how can you spot one? That was the silly thing Vickie was saying, that she could always spot one. Take me, for example. Brian, you know my physical being quite thoroughly-I'm happy to say. Am I an ordinary human being? Or an artificial person?"
Brian grinned and licked his lips. "Lovely Marjie, I will testify in any court that you are human to nine decimal places... except where you are angelic. Shall I specify?"
"Knowing your tastes, dear, I don't think it's necessary. Thank you. But please be serious. Assume, for the sake of argument, that I
am an artificial person. How could a man in bed with me-as you were last night and many other nights-tell that I was artificial?"
"Marjie, please drop it. It's not funny."
(Sometimes human people exasperate me beyond endurance.) I said briskly, "I'm an artificial person."
"Marjorie!"
"You won't take my word for it? Must I prove it?"
"Stop joking. Stop this instant! Or, so help me, when I get you home I'll paddle you. Marjorie, I've never laid an ungentle hand on you-on any of my wives. But you are earning a spanking."
"So? See that last bite of tart on your plate? I am about to take it. Slap your hands together right over your plate and stop me."
"Don't be silly."
"Do it. You can't move fast enough to stop me."
We locked eyes. Suddenly he started to slap his hands together. I went into automatic overdrive, picked up my fork, stabbed that bite of tart, pulled back the fork between his closing hands, stopped the overdrive just before I placed the bite between my lips.
(That plastic spoon in the crèche was not discrimination but to protect me. The first time I used a fork I stabbed my lip because I had not yet learned to slow my moves to match unenhanced persons.)
There may not be a word for the expression on Brian's face.
"Is that enough?" I asked him. "No, probably not. My dear, clasp hands with me." I shoved out my right hand.
He hesitated, then took it. I let him control the grasp, then I started slowly to tighten down. "Don't hurt yourself, dear," I warned him. "Let me know when to stop."
Brian is no sissy and can take quite a bit of pain. I was about to slack off, not wishing to break any bones in his hand, when he suddenly said, "Enough!"
I immediately slacked off and started to massage his hand gently with both of mine. "I did not enjoy hurting you, darling, but I had to show you that I am telling the truth. Ordinarily I am careful not to display unusual reflexes or unusual strength. But I do need them in the work I am in. On several occasions enhanced strength and
speed have kept me alive. I am most careful not to use either one unless forced to. Now-is there anything more needed to prove to you that I am what I say I am? I am enhanced in Other ways but speed and strength are easiest to demonstrate."
He answered, "It's time we started home."
On the way home we didn't exchange a dozen words. I am very fond of the luxury of horse-and-buggy rides. But that day I would happily have used something noisy and mechanical-but fast!
For the next few days Brian avoided me; I saw him only at the dinner table. Came a morning when Anita said to me, "Marjorie dear, I'm going into town on a few errands. Will you come along and help me?" Of course I said yes.
She made several stops in the general neighborhood of Gloucester Street and Durham. There was nothing in which she needed my help. I concluded that she simply wanted company and I was pleased by it. Anita is awfully nice to be with as long as one doesn't cross her will.
Finished, we strolled down Cambridge Terrace along the bank of the Avon and on into Hagley Park and the botanic gardens. She picked a sunny spot where we could watch the birds, and got out her knitting. We talked of nothing in particular for a while, or simply sat.
We had been there about half an hour when her phone buzzed. She took it out of her knitting bag, put the button to her ear. "Yes?" Then she added, "Thank you. Off," and put the phone away without offering to tell me who had called her. Her privilege.
Although she did speak of it indirectly: "Tell me, Marjorie, do you ever feel regret? Or a sense of guilt?"
"Why, I do sometimes. Should I? Over what?" I searched my brain as I thought that I had been unusually careful not to upset Anita.
"Over the way you have deceived us and cheated us."
"What?"
"Don't play innocent. I've never had to deal with a creature not of God's Law before. I was not sure that the concept of sin and guilt was one you could understand. Not that it matters, I suppose, now
that you are unmasked. The family is asking for annulment at once; Brian is seeing Mr. Justice Ridgley today."
I sat up very straight. "On what grounds? I've done nothing wrong!"
"Indeed. You forget that, under our laws, a nonhuman cannot enter into a marriage contract with human beings."
VIII
An hour later I boarded the shuttle for Auckland and then had time to consider my folly.
For almost three months, ever since the night I had discussed it with Boss, I had for the first time been feeling easy about my "human" status. He had told me that I was "as human as Mother Eve" and that I could safely tell anyone that I was an AP because I would not be believed.
Boss was almost right. But he had not counted on my making a really determined effort to prove that I was not "human" under Ennzedd law.
My first impulse had been to demand a hearing before the full family council-only to learn that my case had already been tried in camera and the vote had gone against me, six to nothing.
I didn't even go back to the house. That phone call Anita had received while we were in the botanic gardens had told her that my personal effects had been packed and delivered to Left Luggage at the shuttle station.
I could still have insisted on a poll of the house instead of taking Anita's (slippery) word for it. But to what end? To win an argument? To prove a point? Or merely to split a hair? It took me all of five seconds to realize that all I had treasured was gone. As vanished as a rainbow, as burst as a soap bubble-I no longer "belonged." Those children were not mine, I would never again roll on the floor with them.
I was thinking about this with dry-eyed grief and almost missed learning that Anita had been "generous" with me: In that contract I had signed with the family corporation the fine print made the principal sum due and payable at once if I breached the contract. Did being "nonhuman" constitute a breach? (Even though I had never missed a payment.) Looked at one way, if they were going to read me out of the family, then I had at least eighteen thousand Ennzedd dollars coming to me: looked at another way I not only forfeited the paid-up part of my share but owed more than twice that amount.
But they were "generous": If I would quietly arid quickly vanish away, they would not pursue their claim against me. Unstated was what would happen if I stuck around and made a public scandal.
I slunk away.
I don't need a psychiatrist to tell me that I did it to myself I realized that fact as soon as Anita announced the bad news. A deeper question is: Why did I do it?
I had not done it for Ellen and I could not hoodwink myself into thinking that I had. On the contrary, my folly had made it impossible for me to exert any effort on her behalf.
Why had I done it?
Anger.
I wasn't able to find any better answer. Anger at the whole human race for deciding that my sort are not human and therefore not entitled to equal treatment and equal justice. Resentment that had been building up since the first day that I had been made to realize that there were privileges human children had just from being born and that I could never have simply because I was not human.