Friday

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.

Passing as human gets one over on the side of privilege; it does not end resentment against the system. The pressure builds up even more because it can't be expressed. The day came when it was more important to me to find out whether my adopted family could accept me as I truly am, an artificial person, than it was to preserve my happy relationship.

I found out. Not one of them stood up for me... just as none of them had stood up for Ellen. I think I knew that they would reject me as soon as I learned that they had failed Ellen. But that level of my mind is so far down that I'm not well acquainted with it-that's the dark place where, according to Boss, I do all my real thinking.

I reached Auckland too late for the daily SB to Winnipeg. After reserving a cradle for the next day's trajectory and checking everything but my jumpbag, I considered what to do with the twenty-one hours facing me, and at once thought of my curly wolf, Captain Ian. By what he had told me, the chances were five-to-one against his being in town-but his flat (if available) might be pleasanter than a hotel. So I found a public terminal and punched his code.

Shortly the screen lighted; a young woman's face-cheerful, rather pretty-appeared. "Hi! I'm Torchy. Who're you?"

"I'm Marj Baldwin," I answered. "Perhaps I've punched wrong. I'm seeking Captain Tormey."

"No, you're with it, luv. Hold and I'll let him out of his cage." She turned and moved away from the pickup while calling out, "Bubber! A slashing tart on the honker. Knows your right name."

As she turned and moved away I noticed bare breasts. She came fully into view and I saw that she was jaybird to her heels. A good body-possibly a bit wide in the fundament but with long legs, a slender waist, and mammaries that matched mine... and I've had no complaints.

I quietly cursed to myself. I knew quite well why I had called the captain: to forget three men in the arms of a fourth. I had found him but it appeared that he was fully committed.

He appeared, dressed but not much-a lava-lava. He looked puzzled, then recognized me. "Hey! Miss... Baldwin! That's it. This is sonky-do! Where are you?"

"At the port. I punched on the off chance of saying hello."

"Stay where you are. Don't move, don't breathe. Seven seconds while I pull on trousers and shirt, and I'll come get you."

"No, Captain. Just a greeting. Again I am simply making connections."

"What is your connection? To what port? What time is departure?"

Damn and triple damn-I had not prepared my lies. Well, the truth is often better than a clumsy lie. "I'm going back to Winnipeg."

"Ah so! Then you are looking at your pilot; I have the noon lift tomorrow. Tell me exactly where you are and I'll pick you up in, uh, forty minutes if I can get a cab fast enough."

"Captain, you are very sweet and you are out of your mind. You already have all the company you can handle. The young woman who answered my call. Torchy."

"Torchy isn't her name; that's her condition. She's my sister Betty, from Sydney. Stays here when she's in town. I probably mentioned her." He turned his head and shouted. "Betty! Come here and identify yourself. But get decent."

"It's too late to get decent," her cheerful voice answered, and I saw her, past his shoulder, returning toward the pickup and wrapping a lava-lava around her hips as she did so. She seemed to be having a little trouble with it and I suspected that she had had a few. "Oh, the hell with it! My brother is always trying to get me to behave-my husband has given up. Look, luv, I heard what you said. I'm his married sister, too true. Unless you are trying to marry him, in which case I am his fiancée. Are you?"

"Good. Then you can have him. I'm about to make tea. Do you take gin? Or whisky?"

"Whatever you and the Captain are having."

"He must not have either; he's lifting in less than twenty-four hours. But you and I will get smashed."

"I'll drink what you do. Anything but hemlock."

I then convinced Ian that it was better for me to find a hansom at the port where they were readily available than it was for him to send for one, then make the round trip.

Number 17, Locksley Parade, is a new block of flats of the double-security type; I was locked through the entrance to Ian's flat as if it were a spaceship. Betty greeted me with a hug and a kiss that showed that she had indeed been drinking; my curly wolf then greeted me with a hug and a kiss that showed that he had not been drinking but that he expected to take me to bed in the near future. He did not ask about my husbands; I did not volunteer anything about my family-my former family. Ian and I got along well because we both understood the signals, used them correctly, and never misled the other.

While Ian and I held this wordless discussion, Betty left the room and returned with a red lava-lava. "It's formal high tea," she an-

nounced, with a slight belch, "so out of those street clothes and into this, luv."

Her idea? Or his? Hers, I decided, before long. While Ian's simple, wholesome lechery was as clear as a punch in the jaw, he was basically rather cubical. Not so Betty, who was utterly outlaw. I didn't care, as it moved in the direction I wanted to go. Bare feet are as provocative as bare breasts, although most people do not seem to know it. A female packaged only in a lava-lava is far more provocative than one totally nude. The party was shaping up to suit me, and I would depend on Ian to shake off his sister's chaperonage when the time came. If necessary. It seemed possible that Betty would sell tickets. I didn't fret about it.

I got smashed.

Just how thorough a job I did on it I did not realize until next morning when I woke up in bed with a man who was not Ian Tormey.

For several minutes I lay still and watched him snore while I poked through my gin-beclouded memories, trying to fit him in. It seemed to me that a woman really ought to be introduced to a man before spending a night with him. Had we been formally introduced? Had we met at all?

In bits and pieces it came back. Name: Professor Federico Farnese, called either "Freddie" or "Chubbie." (Not very chubby- just a little pot from a swivel-chair profession.) Betty's husband, Ian's brother-in-law. I recalled him somewhat from the evening before but could not now (next morning) recall just when he had arrived, or why he had been away... if I ever knew.

Once I placed him I was not especially surprised to find that I (seemed to have) spent the night with him. The frame of mind I had been in the night before no male would have been safe from me. But one thing bothered me: Had I turned my back on my host in order to chase after some other man? Not polite, Friday-not gracious.

I dug deeper. No, at least once I decidedly had not turned my back on Ian. To my great pleasure. And to Ian's, too, if his commerits were sincere. Then I had indeed turned my back but at his request. No, I had not been ungracious to my host, and he had

been very kind to me, in exactly the fashion I needed to help me forget how I had been swindled, then tossed, by Anita's gang of selfrighteous racists.

Thereafter my host had had some help from this late arrival, I now remembered. It is never surprising that an emotionally troubled woman may need more soothing than one man can supply- but I could not remember how the transaction was achieved. Fair exchange? Don't snoop, Friday! An AP cannot empathize with or understand the various human copulation taboos-but I had most carefully memorized all the many, many sorts while taking basic doxy training, and I knew that this one was one of the strongest, one that humans cover up even where all else is wide open.

So I resolved to shun even a hint of interest.

Freddie stopped snoring and opened his eyes. He yawned and stretched, then saw me and looked puzzled, then suddenly grinned and reached for me. I answered his grin and his grab, ready to cooperate heartily, when Ian walked in. He said, "Morning, Marj. Freddie, I hate to interrupt but I'm already holding a cab. Marj has to get up and get dressed. We're leaving at once."

Freddie did not let go of me. He simply clucked, then recited:

"A birdie with a yellow bill

hopped upon my windowsill.

He cocked a shiny eye and said,

'Ain't you ashamed, you sleepyhead?'

"Captain, your attention to duty and to the welfare of our guest does you credit. What time must you be there? Minus two hours? And you lift at high noon as the clock is striking the steeple. No?"

"Yes, but-"

"Whereas Helen-your name is Helen?-is kosher if she presents herself at the gate called strait no later than minus thirty minutes. This I will undertake."

"Fred, I don't like to be a spoilsport but it can take a bloody hour to get a cab here, as you know. I have one waiting."

"How true. Cabbies avoid us; their horses don't like our hill. For that reason, dear brother-in-love, last night I hired a rig, pledging a purse of gold. At this very moment old faithful Rosinante is under this house in one of the janitor's stalls, gaining strength on nubbins of maize for her coming ordeal. When I phone down, said janitor, well plied with bribes, will harness the dear beast and fetch wain and her to entrance. Whereupon I will deliver Helen to the gate no later than minus thirty-one. To this end I pledge the pound of flesh nearest your heart."

"Your heart, you mean."

"I phrased it most carefully."

"Well-Marj?"

"Uh-Is it all right, Ian? I don't really want to jump out of bed this second. But I don't want to miss your ship."

"You won't. Freddie is reliable; he just doesn't look it. But leave here by eleven; then you could make it on foot if you had to. I can hold your reservation after check-in time; a captain does have some privileges. Very well; resume whatever it was you were doing." Ian glanced at his watch finger. "Nine up. Bye."

"Hey! Kiss me good-bye!"

"Why? I'll see you at the ship. And we have a date in Winnipeg."

"Kiss me, damn it, or I'll miss the bloody ship!"

"So untangle yourself from that fat Roman and mind you don't get spots on my clean uniform."

"Don't chance it, old son. I will kiss Helen on your behalf."

Ian leaned down and kissed me thoroughly and I did not muss his pretty uniform. Then he kissed the top of Freddie's head on his little bald spot and said, "Have fun, chums. But get her to the gate on time. Bye." Betty glanced in at that point; her brother gathered her in with one arm and took her away.

I turned my attention back to Freddie. He said, "Helen, prepare yourself." I did, while thinking happily that Ian and Betty and Freddie were just what Friday needed to offset the puritanical hypocrites I had lived with far too long.

Betty fetched in morning tea precisely on the moment, so I assume that she listened. She made a lotus on the bed and had a cuppa with us. Then we got up and had breakfast. I had porridge with thick cream, two beautiful eggs, Canterbury ham, a fat chop, fried potatoes, hot muffins with strawberry jam and the world's best butter, and an orange, all washed down with strong black tea with sugar and milk. If all the world broke fast the way New Zealand does, we wouldn't have political unrest.

Freddie put on a lava-lava to eat breakfast but Betty didn't so I didn't. Being crèche-raised, I can never learn enough about human manners and etiquette but I do know that a woman guest must dress-or undress-to match her hostess. I'm not really used to skin in the presence of humans (the crèche was another matter) but Betty was awfully easy to be with. I wondered if she would snub me if she knew that I was not human. I didn't think so but I was not anxious to test it. A happy breakfast.

Freddie delivered me to the passenger lounge at eleven-twenty, sent for Ian, and demanded a receipt. Solemnly Ian wrote one. Again Ian belted me into the acceleration cradle, while saying quietly, "You didn't really need help with this the other time, did you?"

"No," I agreed, "but I'm glad I pretended. I've had a wonderful time!"

"And we'll have a good time in Winnipeg, too. I reached Janet during countdown, let her know that you would be with us for dinner. She told me to tell you that you would be with us for breakfast as well-she says to tell you that it is silly to leave Winnipeg in the middle of the night; you could get mugged at any transfer. She's right-the informal immigrants we get over the border from the Imperium would kill you for a toke."

"I'll speak with her about it when we get there." (Captain Ian, you triflin' man, you told me that you would never marry because you must "go where the wild goose goes." I wonder if you recall that? I don't think you do.)

"It's settled. Janet might not trust my judgment about women- she says I'm prejudiced, a base canard. But she does trust Betty- and by now Betty has phoned her. She's known Betty longer than she's known me; they were roommates at McGill. And that's where I got Janet and Fred got Sis; we four were subversives-every now and then we would unhook the North Pole and turn it around."

"Betty is a darling. Is Janet like her?"

"Yes and no. Janet was the leader of our seditious activities. Excuse me; I've got to go pretend to be a captain. Actually the computer flies this tin coffin but I'm planning to learn how next week." He left.

After the healing catharsis of a night of drunken saturnalia with Ian and Freddie and Betty I was able to think about my ex-family more rationally. Had I in fact been cheated?

I had signed that silly contract willingly, including the termination clause I tripped on. Had I been paying for sex?

No, what I had told Ian was true; sex is everywhere. I had paid for the happy privilege of belonging. To a family-especially the homely delights of changing wet nappies and washing dishes and petting kittens. Mister Underfoot was far more important to me than Anita had ever been-although I had never let myself think about it. I had tried to love them all until the matter of Ellen had thrown light into some dirty corners.

Let me see now: I knew exactly how many days I had been able to spend with my ex-family. A little arithmetic told me that (since all had been confiscated) my cost for room and board for those sweet vacations was slightly over four hundred and fifty Ennzedd dollars per day.

A high price even for a luxury resort. But the actual cost to the family of having me at home was less than a fortieth of that. On what financial terms had each of the others joined the family? I had never known.

Had Anita, unable to stop the men from inviting me in, rigged things so that I could not afford to quit my job and live at home but nevertheless tied me to the family on terms quite profitable to the family-i.e., to Anita? No way to tell. I knew so little about marriage among human beings that I had not been able to judge-and still could not.

But I had learned one thing: Brian had surprised me by turning against me. I had thought of him as the older, wiser, sophisticated member of the family, the one who could accept the fact of my biological derivation and live with it.

Perhaps he could have done so had I picked some other enhanced quality to demonstrate, some nonthreatening ability.

But I had bested him in a feat of strength, a matter in which a male quite reasonably expects to win. I had hit him in his male pride.

Unless you intend to kill him immediately thereafter, never kick a man in the balls. Not even symbolically. Or perhaps especially not symbolically.