Apprehensions and Other Delusions (23 page)

“More than four hundred years?” Marris asked without much hope.

“Oh, yes. Some are well over a thousand years old. They might have some older than that,” said Ashe with forced optimism. She hated to see her friend in such distress.

“Since Almeini is always talking about the laws of nature we’re breaking, it might impress Denny to hear about the old laws. If they help.” Marris turned gloomy eyes to Ashe. “It’s a good idea. I’ll try.”

Ashe patted Marris’s arm and did her best to smile encouragement. “It’s just worry about transference. A lot of kids go through it before the first transfer, and getting married makes it more ... oh, I don’t know. More upsetting for some of them. It’s such a big admission, the intention to have a child. Denny’ll change his mind when he gets near the wedding; he isn’t so radical that he’ll forget everything you have taught him to respect. In a year or two, you’ll all laugh about this.” She chuckled. “I remember I was as scared as I was excited when I transferred the first time.”

Marris achieved a wan smile. “So was I.”

“Denny’ll be fine.” As Ashe said it, she began to wonder if he would. To make her point, she added, “It’s not as if he’s refused to have his voter’s implant.”

“No,” agreed his mother. “Not yet.”

* * *

Denny was dressed outlandishly: all the fabrics were natural, and of virgin production, not made from reclaimed resources; the colors, too, were unreclaimed. It was all suggestive of the fashions of two or three centuries ago, and self-consciously so. Denny wore these garments with an air of satisfaction that was the most annoying thing about him. He looked at Brier, who was recovering from transferring. “You’re a freak, Father, whether you admit it or not.”

“A freak because you don’t approve?” Brier sighed; she was in no mood for another altercation. “I transferred when I married Marris, so we could have you. You ought to think I’ve stopped being a freak now, since I have become female once again, as I was born. Those years as your father should be the perversity,” she answered. “According to you, transferring from the sex you were born to is the wrong thing to do. You should be delighted that I’ve transferred back and Marris is going to: we’ll both be the sexes we were born to. You can relax, son.” The last was an attempt to lighten the mood; it was unsuccessful. Denny scowled at Brier without a hint of levity.

“Don’t you see that’s what’s wrong? You transfer when you marry, which is unnatural. You get to know each other as one sex and then turn into the opposite when it is most important you don’t. You transfer when you want a second child. And you transfer when you establish your maturity. Tradition! It is nothing more than the destruction of our species.” He flung his head like an angry animal. “It’s madness. The only reason you can’t see it is because it’s tradition.”

“And why do you think that is? How do you think it became a tradition? I know how tempting it is to try to change the world, but do you really want to upset a system that works as well as ours does?” Brier asked. Her position on the lounge was not quite natural yet; not all the scars had healed, though the transference had been four days ago. “Why would we have such a tradition if it hadn’t been good for us?”

“Because you were misled, lied to. You believe the graffiters, not yourself.” He paced down the entertainment room, ignoring everything but his father reclining on the lounge, getting used to her female body. “You let yourself be taken in by all the pressure and—and the outmoded fears of long ago.”

“You don’t know that. You’re parroting the words of Almeini. If I thought you had decided this for yourself, I might not be so concerned, but to give Almeini such ...” She frowned at her son. “You make me feel that I failed
you
as your father.”

Denny rounded on her, his eyes bright with anger. “Do you have any idea how perverse, how obscene that sounds coming out of your mouth?”

Brier made an effort to get to her feet. “Now you listen to me, Denny,” she warned. “You’re not going to throw your mother and me into a crisis no matter how hard you try. If you have some grievance against me, then you and I will deal with it. I expect you to behave as if you are a part of this family.”

“How can I?” Denny demanded, color mounting in his neck and cheeks, turning the skin from caramel to ruddy. “Don’t you see how absurd this is? You call yourself my father, and you’re waiting to get pregnant by my mother.” He made a gesture that was insulting and explicit.

At that Brier laughed aloud. “What did you expect? What made you think that we’d do anything different? Transferring isn’t new, after all. You’re acting as if it were something radical and dangerous—that you were being put at risk. Why do you stop only with transferring? Why not refuse Cellular Integrity Therapy as well? Or your voter’s implant? Why not join those Reversionists out in Manchuria, or wherever they are? With one child allowed per female, they might not want another male, but you can’t be certain. Their numbers get smaller every year.” She sat down again. “All right. If you don’t want to honor the tradition, I can’t stop you from it. That’s your decision. But I think you’ll be making a big mistake. You’re too taken in by Almeini and his promise of species correctness. He’s wrong. I know he’s wrong. And if you weren’t so caught up in what he says, you’d know it, too. Think about what it would be like to get to my age and never give birth—never have the chance to give birth.”

“Men aren’t supposed to give birth; it’s unnatural,” said Denny defensively. “It isn’t possible, and it shouldn’t happen. I’d die before I let it happen to me.”

His father ignored the last impassioned remark. “That’s why we transfer to women,” Brier said patiently, her voice level and steady.

“You’re talking to me like a school child,” Denny complained.

“That’s because you’re behaving like one.” Brier folded her arms. “Very well. You say your mind is made up. So I know you have decisions to make. I can’t pretend to approve of what you’re supporting, but I respect your convictions, if they are your convictions. I am not convinced they’re anything more than what Almeini wants them to be, but—” She rubbed her upper lip, a gesture left over from when she had had a moustache. “You do what you need to do. But remember that your mother and I will do what we need to do, no matter what your opinion may be.”

“That’s obvious,” said Denny, trying for contempt and achieving sourness.

“One more thing,” said Brier, knowing that she should stop now, but unable to contain the impulse to make a last attempt to protect his son. “Almeini is a dangerous man, a radical demagogue, for all most of the world thinks he is a fool. I know you think he’s an idealist with an urge to help the world. But what he is proposing could ruin centuries of social evolution, and that would be catastrophic. Before you embrace his movement, keep in mind that he isn’t doing it for you.”

“He’s doing it for humanity,” said Denny heatedly.

“And that makes his bigotry all right,” Brier said, her voice and eyes cool.

“Of course,” said Denny, unable to come up with a stronger rejoinder.

* * *

Ashe and Marris had spent the afternoon at the clinic, Ashe for her pregnancy, Marris for his transference. They both noticed the protest graffiti on the civic screens around the building, and after they were some distance from the clinic, Ashe said, “Do you think they’re really going to burn it down?”

“I think they’d be foolish to do it; that doesn’t mean they don’t intend to try,” Marris declared. “The public isn’t as taken in by Almeini as his followers want us to think. He may have more support than we thought at first, but it can’t last. With such inflammatory slogans being displayed, I think we’re all aware of the potential for disaster. Catering to Almeini’s demands only serves to make him more outrageous. People will understand that, in time, and all this will calm down.” He cocked his head in the direction of the clinic. “Those signs are the work of his followers. They don’t represent anything but the most extreme elements, and everyone knows it. The graffiters make sure of that. You’ve seen the graffiti.”

“Is Denny still ... ?” Ashe asked, putting her hand to her abdomen, proud of her pregnancy. “Five months. Four to go.”

Marris chuckled. “I remember that part. In a month or so, you’ll wish it was almost over. Be sure you take care of your back—that’s what gets the most sore, and you’re going to need it for delivery. And you’re going to have to start getting ready for your delivery. You’ll probably have to get together with your midwife in another six weeks. Don’t put it off too long. The midwife will want to follow the last of the pregnancy. But you know all that.”

“Not from this end. You’re going to keep an eye on me, aren’t you?” Ashe asked. “I haven’t been through this before, remember. I’m going to need your guidance.”

“If you want it, it’s yours,” said Marris, watching the display set a course for Ashe’s home. Then he frowned. “And to answer your question, yes, Denny still says he’s going to get married without transferring. And some of his friends are supporting his decision, not just Londyl. He spouts Almeini’s theories every chance he gets. He says he is determined. I can’t believe he will not change his mind. And he says that Londyl is having her fertility inhibitor removed. Denny thinks it’s a good idea.” The amusement which had briefly lit his eyes was completely gone at this admission.

“Isn’t there a law against that?” Ashe wondered aloud; such an action was staggering in its impact.

“There is,” said Marris. “But there are enough meditechs in Almeini’s movement that it isn’t hard to get it done. Denny is proud of what they’re planning.” He rubbed his eyes. “Brier is beside herself with worry. She thinks there may be a crackdown on them, and Denny is likely to end up in real trouble. We’ve tried to warn him, but he fancies himself a martyr.”

“And you? Are you worried?” Ashe studied her friend, concern and impatience making her question sharper than she had intended.

“Of course I’m worried. But my worry isn’t going to change anything but my own resilience, and I know I’m going to need that for dealing with Denny. The trouble is, with Almeini’s popularity increasing, Denny thinks he is being proven right.” He patted Ashe’s arm. “Can you imagine what it might be like? I don’t like to think of myself as a slave to tradition, but I don’t want to think about what would happen if we all did what Almeini wants.”

“But you
do
think about it, don’t you?” Ashe guessed shrewdly.

“I don’t know how not to think about it,” Marris confessed. “I don’t like to trouble Brier about it, with everything she’s enduring just now; you know how difficult those first few months can be.” He rubbed his chin, and realized he needed to shave; he had not fallen into the routine of it yet.

“Trouble?” Ashe asked, more apprehensive than she thought was necessary.

“I hope not. Her first fertility index was low.” He did his best to dismiss his anxiety. “But so soon after transfer, it happens.”

“And Brier is certainly healthy and strong. If anyone is able to produce a child quickly, it would be Brier.” Ashe paused, thinking that she ought to say something else, something that would show she understood the problems they were having with Denny. “You shouldn’t borrow trouble, as my grandmother used to warn me.” She shifted in her seat, trying to make herself a bit more comfortable.

“What makes her most upset is that Denny is determined to convince her to remain female all the rest of her life. She was born female and Denny says she ought to die that way.” Marris paused as a robot announcer came down the walkway.

“Please detour to Lui Street. Please detour to Lui Street. Please detour to Lui Street.” The repetition was oddly soothing.

Ashe shrugged and turned at the next corner, Marris walking slightly behind her. They had gone about half a block in silence when Ashe said, “I wonder what the trouble is?”

“You can’t find out from a ’bot.” He glanced back over his shoulder in the hope of discovering the reason for their detour. He saw nothing unusual.

“Marris,” Ashe ventured. “Now that you’re male again ... do you resent having been female?”

“No. No, of course not,” said Marris, then realized Ashe needed more than a simple reassurance. “I know what Almeini has said about female embryos, but that’s just his intolerance speaking. I can’t imagine what must have happened to him to set him off this way. But he has found a real source of discontent. Transferring is harder on some than on others, and Almeini has used that to his advantage. He has to have something concrete to say in order to make his followers agree with him. Talking about the nature of the species is a hard message to convey, particularly since we know so much about gender determination in embryos.”

“But don’t you think there’s more to it than that? Isn’t he trying to create resentment among his followers?” Ashe laughed unhappily. “Resentment leads to hostility. That is another very human response.”

Marris tried not to shudder. “He’s had to take something specific to base his opinions on, and he’s chosen to make it a disgust of transferring, as if women were not also men. I’ve been over this with Denny—more than once. It’s all we ever seem to talk about now. You should hear him—or perhaps you shouldn’t. He says very offensive things. And now everyone is getting caught up. Everywhere you go, you hear people talking about Almeini’s views. Like it or not, we’ll have to weather his onslaught. He’s mad. That’s all.”

Ashe’s face lost all expression. “Yes. He is mad. But if he isn’t the only one, what then?” She held up her hand so that he would not answer. “I’m worried about what will happen to my baby. Typical female.”

“I know how you feel. No matter how upset I am with Denny, I can’t forget he’s my child, I bore him, and I want to protect him, even from himself.” Marris pointed at the intersection ahead of them. “We can stop at The Meerkat before we go home. You have time, don’t you?”

“Yes. I’d like a chance to get off my feet.” She made an apologetic hitch of her shoulder. “It’s not easy, walking long distances. Waddling long distances.”

“How well I remember,” said Marris, putting one hand into the small of his back to demonstrate his recollection.