But I wouldn't have been jumpy about friendly sex even if I had received no doxy training at all; such nonsense isn't tolerated in APs; we never learn it.
But we never learn anything about being in a family. The very first day I was there I made us all late for tea by rolling on the floor with seven youngsters ranging from eleven down to a nappy-wetter
plus two or three dogs and a young tomcat who had earned the name Mister Underfoot through his unusual talent for occupying all of a large floor.
I had never experienced anything like that in all my life. I didn't want to stop.
Brian, not Douglas, took me skiing. The ski lodges at Mount
Hutt are lovely but the bedrooms aren't heated after twenty-two and you have to snuggle up close to keep warm. Then Vickie took me out to see the family's sheep and I met socially an enhanced dog who could talk, a big collie called Lord Nelson. Lord had a low opinion of the good sense of sheep, in which he was, I think, fully justified.
Bertie took me to Milford Sound via shuttle to Dunedin (the "Edinburgh of the South") and overnight there-Dunedin is swell but it's not Christchurch. We took a flubsy little steamer there around to the fjord country, one with tiny little cabins big enough for two only because it's cold down at the south end of the island and again I snuggled up close.
There isn't any other fjord anywhere that can compare with Milford Sound. Yes, I've been on the Lofoten Islands trip. Very nice. But my mind's made up.
If you think I am as blindly pigheaded about South Island as a mother is about her firstborn, that is simply because it's true; I am. North Island is a fine place, with its thermal displays and the world wonder of the Glowworm Caves. And the Bay of Islands looks like Fairyland. But North Island does not have the Southern Alps and it doesn't have Christchurch.
Douglas took me to see their creamery and I saw huge tubs of beautiful butter being packed. Anita introduced me to the Altar Guild. I began to realize that, maybe, just possibly, I might be invited to make it permanent. And found that I had shifted from OhGod-what'll-I-do-if-they-ask-me to Oh-God-what'll-I-do-if-theydon't-ask-me and then simply to Oh-God-what'll-I-do?
You see, I had never told Douglas that I am not human.
I've heard humans boast that they can spot an artificial person every time. Nonsense. Of course anyone can pick out a living artifact that does not conform to human appearance-say a man creature with four arms or a kobold dwarf. But if the genetic designers have intentionally restricted themselves to human appearance (this being the technical definition of "artificial person" rather than "living artifact"), no human can tell the difference-no, not even another genetic engineer.
I am immune to cancer and to most infections. But I don't wear a
sign saying so. I have unusual reflexes. But I won't show them off by picking a fly out of the air with thumb and forefinger. I never compete with other people in games of dexterity.
I have unusual memory, unusual innate grasp of number and space and relationship, unusual skill at languages. But, if you think that defines a genius IQ, let me add that, in the school I was trained in, the object of an IQ test is to hit precisely a predetermined score-not to show off your smarts. In public nobody's going to catch me being smarter than those around me... unless it's an emergency involving either my mission or my neck or both.
The complex of these enhancements and others is reliably reported to improve sexual performance but, fortunately, most males are inclined to regard any noticeable improvement in this area as simply a reflection of their own excellence. (Properly regarded, male vanity is a virtue, not a vice. Treated correctly, it makes him enormously pleasanter to deal with. The thing that makes Boss so infuriating is his total lack of vanity. No way to get a handle on him!)
I was not afraid that I would be caught out. With all production laboratory identification removed from my body, even the tattoo that was on the roof of my mouth, there is simply no way to tell that I was designed rather than conceived through the bio roulette of a billion sperm competing blindly for one ovum.
But a wife in the S-group was expected to add to that swarm of kids on the floor.
Well, why not?
Lots of reasons.
I was a combat courier in a quasi-military organization. Picture me trying to cope with a sudden attack while pushing an eightmonths belly ahead of me.
We AP females are released or marketed in a reversible sterile condition. To an artificial person the yen to have babies-grow them inside your body-doesn't seem "natural"; it seems ridiculous. In vitro seems so much more reasonable-and neater, and more convenient-than in vivo. I was as tall as I am now before I ever saw a pregnant woman near term-and I thought she was deathly ill. When I found out what was wrong with her, it made me sort of sick to my stomach. When I thought about it a long time later in Christchurch, it still made me queasy. Do it like a cat, with blood and pain fer Gossake? Why? And why do it at all? Despite the way we are filling up the sky, this giddy globe has far too many people on it-why make it worse?
I decided, most sorrowfully, that I was going to have to duck the issue of marriage by telling them that I was sterile-no babies. True enough if not all the truth.
I wasn't asked.
Not about babies. For the next several days I reached out with both hands to enjoy family life as much as possible while I had it:
the warm pleasure of woman talk while washing up after tea; the rowdy fun of youngsters and pets; the quiet pleasure of gossip while gardening-these bathed every minute of my day in belonging.
One morning Anita invited me out into the garden. I thanked her while pointing out that I was busy helping Vickie. Whereupon I was overruled and found myself seated at the far end of the garden with Anita, and children firmly shooed away.
Anita said, "Marjorie dear"-I'm "Marjorie Baldwin" in Christchurch because that was my public name when I met Douglas in Quito-"we both know why Douglas invited you here. Are you happy with us?"
"Terribly happy!"
"Happy enough, do you think, to wish to make it permanent?"
"Yes but-" I never had a chance to say Yes-but-I'm-sterile; Anita firmly cut me off.
"Perhaps I had better say some things first, dear. We must discuss dowry. If I left it up to our men, money would never be mentioned; Albert and Brian are as dotty about you as Douglas is, and I quite understand it. But this group is a family business corporation as well as a marriage, and someone must keep an eye on the bookkeeping and that is why I am chairman of the board and chief executive; I never become so emotional that I fail to watch our businesses." She smiled and her knitting needles clicked. "Ask Brian-he calls me Ebenezer Scrooge-but he hasn't offered to take over the worries himself.
"You can stay with us as a guest as long as you like. What's one more mouth to feed at a table as long as ours? Nothing. But if you want to join us formally and contractually, then I must become Ebenezer Scrooge and discover what contract we can write. For I won't let the family fortunes be watered down. Brian owns and votes three shares, Albert and I each own and vote two shares, Douglas and Victoria and Lispeth have one each and vote it. As you can see, I have only two votes out of ten... but for some years, if I threaten to resign, I suddenly receive a strong vote of confidence. Someday I'll be overruled and then I can quit and be Alice Sit-by-the-Fire." (And the funeral will be later that same day!)
"Meanwhile I cope. The children each have one nonvoting share and a child never does vote his share because it is paid to him or her in cash on leaving home, as dowry or as starting capital-or wasted although I like to think not. Such reductions in capital must be planned; were three of our girls to marry in the same year the situation could be embarrassing if not anticipated."