Apprehensions and Other Delusions

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  She made herself rise, then stood, wondering which way she ought to go. Which direction offered a haven? Where would she be safe? The sound she made was not laughter, though she had thought it would be.

  Then she heard the crack of a rifle. She dropped into the mud and lay still, trusting she would be mistaken for dead.

  The Jeep that lurched into the village was ancient, its engine grating. The three men clinging to it were scruffy, the guns they carried old-fashioned.

  “They said there was a clinic here!” one of them protested as the Jeep wallowed down the main street.

  “Where?” another asked in abiding cynicism.

  “Shit,” said the first. “What good’s this place without a clinic?”

  “Doesn’t look like it’s a place anymore,” said the third voice.

  “We need a clinic!” the first insisted.

  “Well, there isn’t one here,” said the third. “We might as well leave it alone.”

  “God, look at it,” said the second.

  “It happens,” said the third.

  Then they were too far off and their faltering engine too loud for Sister Maggie to hear more. Within five minutes she heard the Jeep labor out of the village, leaving it to the dying rain.

  Were they right? she wondered as she got unsteadily to her feet. Had the medical team brought disaster to the village? The clinic did give the village a prize, something others might want, but it had been there to help them, all of them. If the clinic had not come, the village would have sunk into decay unnoticed. And no one, she told herself inwardly, would have bothered the village. They would have been free of war but the prey of disease. Many of the villagers had resented the clinic, and Father Kenster. And her. And when Father Kenster and the other Sisters had been killed, the villagers had not mourned them. Had they been right all along? Had she come here as an act of sacrifice or suicide?

  She found a canteen and filled it with water. That was a beginning. She would have to eat soon or there would truly be another corpse in the village, one last—She pushed the thought out of her mind. Later, she told herself. Later.

  In case there was someone listening—if only the Rat—she whispered, “Lord have mercy on us. Lord have mercy on us. Lord have mercy on us. Christ have mercy on us,” as she walked away.

  About Novena

  No one in this story has a name except Sister Maggie. And it takes place some place jungular. Other than that, everything is undefined, with the intention that it could apply to many times and places. It was written for an anthology edited by Dennis Etchison; he had asked for something that was clearly horror but without any touch of the supernatural; I did my best to comply.

  “I DON’T know what to do about Denny,” said his mother as she adjusted the angle of the ambience control so that the cool, scented air did not blow directly in her guest’s face.

  “What is it, this time?” Ashe asked, accepting the tray of hybrid fruits Marris offered her. It was mid-morning and both women were taking time to relax before getting into the more arduous part of the day’s work. Neither was young but had that unstudied attractiveness that comes with, and from, experience.

  “He isn’t listening to us anymore. You’d think he didn’t have any comprehension of the past, or our values. He’s got us worried, really worried. I don’t know what to do about it.” Marris sat down opposite her friend. “We’ve tried everything we can think of.”

  “Parents have been saying that for ages and ages,” said Ashe, still awkward with her body modifications, and her maternity clothes; she did not really need them yet, but took great satisfaction in wearing them. “What makes you think you have to do anything? When he thinks about it, he’ll come around.”

  “He’s ... he’s been saying he isn’t going to transfer when he and Londyl get married.” She could not keep the disapproval out of her voice, though she spoke of her own son.

  “Then he and Londyl will have a hard time of it, if they want children,” said Ashe, not quite laughing. Everyone knew the reason to marry was for children—all the rest had domestic associate contracts. “Is Denny aware of that? Is Londyl?”

  “They say they’re getting married,” Marris told Ashe, her mouth a narrow, disapproving line. “They’re both going to stay the way they are. No changes for either of them. Honestly, you’d think they were animals.” Now that this confession was out, Marris was eager to confide the rest, relieved to have the chance to have a little sympathy. “I’ve told him he’ll never bear his own child. I’ve told him he will never comprehend female nature; and Londyl won’t know what it is to be male. Their children will be biased, and they will all be out of place in the world—throwbacks to barbarism. I’ve told him, and told him, and ... it doesn’t do any good.”

  “Denny’s young; he’s looking for something new in his life.” Ashe tried to keep herself from becoming distressed; that happened so easily now. She took the required deep breaths and steadied herself, focusing all her attention on her long-time friend. “Does he know that if you felt the way he does, he would never have been born?”

  “Yes. I’ve told him and so has Brier, but no luck so far. He’s said to Brier he doesn’t think we should transfer when he marries, either. He says that we should remain as we are, too. It’s lunacy.” She drank some of her tisane, hoping this ordinary act would conceal her embarrassment. “Brier wants to have a second child. I think that’s a reasonable desire; we’ve almost finished taking care of Denny. I’m willing to transfer. In fact, I want to, for Brier as much as for me, not just because it’s traditional. But you should hear Denny.” She set her mug down.

  “Why does Denny care what you do? He won’t be in the home with you. It’s not as if you’d be doing anything wrong. If you want another child ... Sounds to me as if Denny is trying to make sure you don’t have any more children. He may be jealous.” The more she thought about that, the more likely it seemed. “But you’ve provided for him as the law requires. Your second child will have the same protections. Not that that’s any of his concern. Now that he’s getting married, he will have his own affairs to occupy him, so even if he is jealous, he—” She cocked her head to the side. “Or is there more to it than that?” This shrewd question took Marris by surprise. She coughed.

  “What makes you ask?” Marris replied evasively.

  “I’ve known you—how many years? I think I can tell when you’re not saying everything that’s on your mind.” Ashe selected a golden-amber fruit with leathery skin concealing a delicious, custard-like interior.

  There was a long pause. “You’ve heard about Hirra Almeini?” Marris asked with her voice lowered; she glanced over her shoulder toward the high, narrow window as if she supposed they might be overheard.

  “Him? That crazy old man! No wonder you say it’s lunacy. Are you saying that Denny is listening to him?” Ashe was shocked. She could not conceal it as much as she wanted to. “That man is a menace. The graffiters make fun of him and his followers.”

  “Denny says the graffiters are paid to do that,” Marris said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

  “I think the graffiters go too easy on him,” Ashe said indignantly. “They can claim he’s harmless with only—well—lunatics for followers, but he frightens me.” She put the fruit down as if the succulent pulp had lost its flavor and texture.

  “Yes.” Marris stared into her empty mug. “Yes. Denny has decided he wants to live the way Almeini is saying we all should.” She coughed again, and Ashe realized how tense her friend was.

  “Well, no wonder he’s opposing another child for you and Brier.” She was upset on her friend’s behalf. “Would he object if you stayed female and carried the child?”

  “I guess not,” said Marris unhappily. “Almeini would approve, so I suppose Denny would, as well.”

  Ashe felt a rush of sympathy for her friend. �
�This must be just awful for you, Marris.”

  Marris nodded numbly. “I can’t help thinking about what happened in Contanzbul last year. All those people killed, and the hospital in ruins.”

  “Almeini praised the people who did it,” said Ashe, as if saying it aloud made it less dreadful. “I remember how shocked everyone was when he spoke out in support of the killing. How many died?”

  “Four hundred twenty-seven,” said Marris dully. “I looked it up. Denny was talking about it last night, saying that it was too bad there were so many dead, but it was their own fault for being in such a place.” She blinked to keep from weeping.

  “But doesn’t he understand?” Ashe demanded. “Doesn’t he know how important it is?”

  “According to Almeini, it is unnatural,” said Marris, reciting what her son had told her. “Almeini preaches that changing is perverse, against natural law.”

  “Nobody takes him seriously. Not the graffiters, not anyone.” Ashe flung out her hands as a sign of impatience. “Everyone starts out female, we know that. Embryonic development changes females to males. Transferring is the most natural thing about us; going from female to male and back again is built into our genes. Walking upright is unnatural,” scoffed Ashe. “Having artificial light is unnatural. Eating constructed hybrid food is unnatural. But we all do it. Including Denny. And Almeini.”

  “Almeini says he won’t transfer again, and Denny is proud of Almeini’s position, holding him up as an example to his other followers. He says that we shouldn’t interfere with our genetic make-up. He says that once we’re out of the womb, we should stay as we emerged; it’s more of Almeini’s doctrine.” She sighed. “Denny ranted about it for more than an hour.”

  “We’ve been interfering with our genetic make-up for centuries—for eons, in fact,” said Ashe, putting one hand on the slight swell in her abdomen. “Where would we be if we hadn’t?”

  “Almeini says we would be in a better balance with nature than we are now, according to Denny,” said Marris, and broke out in tears. “I’m so ashamed of Denny. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Nature!” Ashe scoffed. “Nature would have us digging for clams with a sharp stick. Nature would have us breed ourselves to extinction. Does Denny have anything to say about that?”

  “Only what he hears Almeini say,” was Marris’s dispirited answer as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “What does Brier think?” Ashe asked cautiously. She leaned over the table and put her hand on Marris’s arm. “This is probably as hard on him as it is on you.”

  Marris took a deep, irregular breath. “Possibly harder; he is so proud of Denny, and to have everything we’ve hoped for held up to derision. Denny told him it was wrong of him to have a child. That he should father one on me again or have no more. Brier was furious; he said he was entitled to have a child just as I had. They both said some hurtful thing to one another. I ... I hope they didn’t go too far.”

  “What does Londyl think about all this? Have you talked to her?” Ashe hoped that she could find a way to ease Marris’s distress. “Londyl must have some thoughts about all this if she’s going to go along with it.”

  “Oh, yes. She’s the one who got Denny into it in the first place.” She shook her head. “Why she would, I can’t think. She kept going on about the essential female.”

  “But we’re all essential females ...” Ashe drank her tisane. “Doesn’t she want that for Denny, too, if she thinks it is so unique?”

  “She says that Almeini has declared that transference is wrong, that the fundamental human experience is destroyed when we have our three traditional transferences.” She looked up at the ceiling as if hoping to find the answers she sought there.

  For a short time both women were silent. Then Marris said, “I’ve tried to get Denny to read about how things were before transference. It hasn’t done any good. According to him, all the records have been purged. The statistics on abuse and murder of spouses is nothing more than hearsay, a scare tactic to keep us from returning to the way we were. He says that making transferring possible ruined the way humans deal with one another. I asked him if he remembers anything from his domestic history class. He says it’s all propaganda. I can’t find a single argument he is willing to listen to about how things were. He says there would never be that kind of discrimination or oppression. I know he is only spouting what he hears Almeini say, but I—Almeini has explained that when we all remained the same sex all our life long, each sex respected the other and protected one another because anything else would have led to mistreatment of children, and no species is foolish enough to neglect its young. He says that by altering sex, the differences between the sexes becomes blurred. He says that fixed sexuality ends that.” The rote quality of this recitation made her sound more condemning than overt emotion would have done.

  “I’ve heard about that; it’s one of the things everyone’s debating; the graffiters are making the most of it,” said Ashe. “And he isn’t the only one who thinks that sexual identity ought to be fixed. Have you looked over the graffiti recently? Not just the usual services?” She pointed to the huge, flat screen on the far wall.

  Marris nodded, as if suddenly too tired to speak. She put her mug into the table aperture for a refill of tisane.

  “I hate to think of nice kids like Denny being lured into Almeini’s clutches. And Denny, of all people. He’s always been so sensible. He’d be the last person I’d expect to get caught up in Almeini’s rhetoric. And if Londyl is already hooked, you might have a real situation on your hands.” She finished her tisane and held out her mug for a refill. “I was so happy when I transferred year before last. It isn’t as if I didn’t like being Wynen’s father. She’s a wonderful young woman, and when she transfers, she’ll be as fine a young man as anyone. I’m proud to be her father. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But I don’t want to lose this chance to be a mother. I’m looking forward to giving birth. And you have a right to be a father, Marris.”

  She nodded again, in the same automatic acceptance that so concerned Ashe. “I’ve told that to Denny. I’ve warned him that the time will come when he will want to have his own child, not just father one. He thinks it won’t happen, that he will be more like human beings are supposed to be, staying male all his life.”

  “Just like any cow or rat or seahorse on the planet,” said Ashe with grim humor. “In your position, I’d be worried, too.” She had not wanted to admit so much, but she could not think of easy answers for her friend. “Can you imagine how difficult things would be with Yuki if we had not transferred when we separated? It is hard enough being former spouses, but if we had stayed in the sexes of our marriage, we would not have had such a clean break. Everyone knows how important it is to make clean breaks. Without transferring, that wouldn’t have been possible.” She glanced aside. “You and Brier are so lucky, remaining together as long as you have.”

  “If this doesn’t cause so much disruption that we are shaken by it,” said Marris as she dabbed at her eyes. “Brier is scheduled to transfer in three weeks. I’ll have mine a week after, while she gets used to her body.” She bit her lower lip. “Unless Denny makes it impossible.”

  “Could he do that?” Ashe asked, astonished at the defeatist attitude Marris showed.

  “I don’t know. If enough of Almeini’s followers helped him, he might be able to make things ... difficult.” She rose and paced down her entertaining room. “I’m searching out as much information as I can on how things were, four hundred years ago. It’s not easy. There’s so much more recent material, and many of the old records are suspect—Almeini may be right about that.”

  “Have you tried legal records?” Ashe recommended, liking her sudden inspiration. “They’re not easy to find, but they should help you make your point. One of the data services has a whole legal history section that goes back a long way.
”

  “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.”