Even Martin had had an ulterior motive.
The trapper caught a barmaid's eye, held up his glass. The girl looked bored, but finally nodded and off for a bottle. She was blonde, smooth-skinned, and Quick could easily imagine sharing a bed with her, afterward was something else again.
"Your health," he said to the fur dealer when he had resupplied.
He drank again, sighed contentedly.
"Now, then, Henry," Cartwright said, seeing that relaxation on the trapper's face, "you really ought to tel me more about the clearing where your cache of furs is. It would be worth a pretty pile of silver denaires, I dare say."
"So they would, so they would," Quick admitted, “drunk or sober, I have nothing to say to you about it. You can test it if you like; I'll sponge up as much as yot to buy."
"Worse luck for you, I believe it." But, laughing, the dealer signaled for another round. After it arrived he turned serious again.
"Henry, I just can't fathom you're being so pigheaded. It's not as if you could get those pelts back for yourself. Moving the way you do you needed a special miracle to make the trip out once can't be thinking of going in again for them."
"Oh, I can think about it," Quick said; the urge to get away would never leave him. But whenever he tried to even now, he knew long journeys were really behind
"Why, then?" Cartwright persisted.
The liquor had loosened Quick's tongue enough for him to be willing to justify himself out loud. "Because of the sims," he said. "That band deserves to have men leave them alone, instead of flooding in the way they would after they found my trail and took out my furs. Those sims took me in and saved me, and they've had enough grief for it.
"They're just Sims, Henry," Cartwright said. He knew the trapper's story, as much of it as Quick had told anyone, new about Sol; no one knew about the child. No one ever would.
They were here first, John," Quick said stubbornly. not their fault they're stupider than we are. Having to work fields and such is one thing; we can make better use of good land than they ever could. But let them keep the woods. Some of them ought to stay free."
Maybe you won't want to go trapping after all," Cartwright observed.
"You sound like you've got yourself a new aim in life."
Quick hadn't thought of it in quite those terms. He stroked his chin.
He'd shaved his beard, but wasn't yet used to it feeling smooth skin again. At last he said, "Maybe I do. Sims aren't animals, after al ."
A hunter sitting at the next table turned round at his remark. He grinned drunkenly. "You're right there, pal. they give better sport than any damned beasts." He hooked his thumb under his necklace, drawing Quick's eye to it. The necklace was strung with dried, rather hairy ears.
It took four men to pry Quick's hands from the fel ow's neck.
Freedom
Where can be no doubt that the labor of Sims
contribated greatly to the growth of the Federated Commonwealths of America. As we have seen, this was true in agriculture. It was also the case in the huge factories of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries: simple, repetitive tasks proved to be within the capacity of the native subhumans. Their treatment at the dormitories next to these factories was all too often worse than any suffered by human workers, who had both the wit and the political ability to combine to improve their conditons.
These workers' alliances were early supporters of he sims' justice movement. if factory owners could use sims instead of people, rewarding them with no more than what was frequently inadequate food and shelter, then wages for all workers were depressed.
Only the fact that humans greatly outnumbered sims Prevented this problem from being even worse than it was.
The steady growth of technology, however, did as much to change conditions for sims as did political agitation. Farming grew increasingly mechanized, and
machines gradual y began taking over many of the simple factory jobs sims had formerly performed. This transformation also affected humans, of course. But most succeeded in changing with the times, and in finding new positions in emerging high technology industries.
This option was not open to sims.
Even with improved technology, the Sims' justice movement has continual y faced a serious problem: sims, while more than beasts, manifestly are less than men and women. Defining a middle ground, and an appropriate role for Sims in modern society, has never been easy; the movement itself has fragmented several times over attempts to do so.
In recent years, though, the area of research has drawn attention from almost al factions of the sims' justice movement.
Because they are so like people in so many ways, sims have since their discovery been used for experiments where humans could not in good conscience be employed. Sometimes this has resulted in glorious successes: witness the sim Abel, who orbited the earth six months before the first man to do so.
Sometimes, as in the case of certain nineteenth century medical research conducted without benefit of anesthesia, words cannot convey the horror suffered by sims.
And yet, it cannot be denied that much good has accrued to humanity through the testing in sims of new surgical techniques and various methods of immunization. Whether this good outweighs the suffering that sims are intelligent enough to feel but not ful y to understand must, in the end, be decided by each person for him or herself. Society as a whole stil feels that it does; research with sims, under properly controlled conditions, continues. There remains, though, a vocal minority that cannot in its conscience justify, what it perceives as abuse of intel igent creatures From The stories of the Federated Commonweald
PETER HOWARD
stepped to the podium with the strides of a man who did not believe in wasting anytime , ever. Yes, I have something to say, his walk proclaimed, I'l say it and get out and get back to work, and once you've heard it you can do what you like with it.
Televisionvision lights glared overhead; flashbulbs from news or photographers made even the determined Dr. How blink repeatedly. As soon as he reached the rostrum, he turned on the microphone for quiet.
When he did not get it right away, a frown made his long, thin face longer.
He tapped again, louder this time, and said, "I'd like to start with a short statement, if I could. I don't want to spend more time here in Philadelphia than I have to. I want get down to Terminus and back to work."
The reporters gradually quieted. They still were not fast enough to suit Howard, who began when the room in the House of the Popular Assembly was still buzzing with talk. I have some progress to report in our efforts to find a cure required for immune deficiency syndrome, more commonly an as AIDS."
That got him silence, but only a moment's worth. Then buzz became a roar. A whole new fusil ade of flashbulbs went off. Howard held up his hand, as much to protect his eyes as to ask to be al owed to go on.
finally, he could. "I do not yet have a cure," he said.
Setting off hysteria was the last thing he wanted to When reporters who had leaped to their feet sat down. Good, Howard thought: having ridden an emotional roller coaster in two sentences, maybe they would quite down now and listen.
He,said, "As you know, the HIV virus that causes AiDS attacks the body's immune system, specifically the white blood cells cal ed T-lymphocytes.
Without these cells to hit off infection, the body becomes vulnerable to opportunity diseases it would otherwise repel.
Eventually, one of them proves fatal to the patient.
At the Terminus Disease Research Center, we have created a drug we are cal ing an HIV inhibitor, or HIVI for short. In the laboratory, HIVI seems to help prevent the virus from gaining a foothold in the bodys l-cel s, strengthens the effectiveness of the antibodies the immure system produces to fight AIDS. Let me show you what we have achieved."
He gestured in the direction from which he had come, his hands shaping words almost everyone in the chamber fol owed as easily as speech: Out here. Now. A sturdy male s
im emerged to join him at the podium.
"This is Matzo Howard said.
More flashbulbs popped. Matt lowered his head so they his heavy brow-ridges protected his eyes from the bursts of intolerable light.
"How do you feel, Matt?" Howard asked He signed the words as he spoke them, to make sure the sim would understand. I Feel good, Matt answered with his hands; like almost al sims, he found sign-talk much easier than true speech. "Matt feels good now," Howard said.
"Sadly, six month ago he was much less well." The doctor waved a hand and lights dimmed; a large screen dropped into place behind him and Matt. Howard waved again. At the far end of thin hal , a slide projector came on. The hall grew truly quiet at last. Into that silenced Howard said, "This was Matt six months ago." The sim on the slide was sadly different from the one who stood before the reporters in the flesh. The Federated Commonwealths, the world, had seen too many cases of AIDS for them to mistake this one. The image of the emaciated sim, his once , thick hair falling out in clumps all over his body, was vivid and a dreadful il ustration of why in Africa AIDS, was simply called "the slims." Howard went on, "Two days after that picture was taken Matt began receiving HIVI. Today, his T-cells are nearly normal, as are his immune responses. He does not know he still has AIDS."
Feel good, Matt signed again. The reporters could not stand it anymore.
"Why isn't it a cure, then?" one of them shouted.
"Because as I was about to say," Howard added pointy
"the AIDS virus is stil in Matt's bloodstream. He can still transmit it to others, other sims in his case, I suppose, in theory to humans as well, through sexual relations. if he stops receiving HIVI injections, the symptoms of course, will return. Now", he emphasized the word, "I will respond to questions." the frantically waving hands reminded him of stormtossed treetops. He chose one at random. "Yes, you in the row, with the blue ruffled tunic." how many sims have died of AIDS in the course of your experiments?" the man asked. Howard pursed his lips. He had expected questions of that sort. With the demonstrators marching outside the of the Popular Assembly, he would have been an idiot. But he had hoped not to have to deal with them so He should have listened to his colleagues down in Terminus, and planted a few people to ask the questions he wanted asked. He had always been headstrong, though. He thought could deal with anything. Now he'd have to. The program, to date, has seen the expiration of twenty sims," he answered steadily. His luck was not all bad. The reporter simply followed asking, "Wouldn't it have been better to use shimpanses than sims in your research?"
her than sims and men, shimpanses are the only resident in which the AIDS virus will grow,"
Howard akknowledged. "But there are several objections to their use in AIDS research. Most obvious, of course, is the fact that most of them must be caught wild in Africa and then shipped to the FCA.
That makes the supply uncertain and wsive, al the more so because of the growing instability in the African states as the AIDS epidemic debilitates in. Sims, being native to America, are easily available.
Were are also other reasons for preferring them to shimpanses.
Biologically, sims are much closer to humans shimpanses are: as we al know, mixed births between sims and humans are perfectly possible."
The reporters muttered in distaste. Everyone knew that but it was something seldom mentioned outside of dirty jokes.
Howard suspected there would be shocked gasps in living rooms al across the Federated Commonwealth talking about sex between people and sims was not standard television fare.
"Also, of course," the doctor finished, "sims have advantage of being able to report symptoms to us, somthing of which shimpanses are incapable." He pointed to another reporter. "Yes?"
"Isn't that part of the problem, Dr. Howard?" the she asked.
"How do you feel about deliberately subjecting twenty-eight intel igent creatures to the grim, lingering death AIDS brings?"
"I had hoped some of you might perhaps be interested in the success, or at least the partial success, of HIVI, rather than in the failures that preceded it," Howard said "I am, Dr.Howard," the reporter said,
"but that's not l question I asked."
Howard scowled out at the audience, but saw several nodding along with the reporter. If some of these people had their way, he thought with sudden hot anger that he did his best to conceal, he'd be lucky to be able to work shimpanses, let alone sims.
He chose his words with care; he had not come to Philadelphia to antagonize the press. "I always regret the death of any, ah, creatures in the laboratory but, particularly in the case of what is, as you say, a grim diseases as AIDS, I feel justified in doing whatever I must to people's lives."
"But sims, " the reporter persisted.
Howard cut him off. ", are not people. The law never regarded them as such. They are different from animals, true, but they are also very different from us.
sims in my research project were purchased with an appriation from the Senate for that express purpose. Everything I have done has been in accordance with all applicable regulations. And that is all I have to say on that; He looked toward another reporter.
"Yes?"
What is it that makes HIVI more effective against AIDS than er drugs?"
Howard nodded to her and smiled his thanks. At last, a sensable question.
"We're stil not entirely sure, Mistress, ah.. " Reynolds. " Mistress Reynolds, but we believe that the chief achievment has to do with the way HIVI interacts with the cel s outer membranes and strengthens them, making them more resistant to penetration by the AIDS virus. HIVI developed from, "
Round and round, round and round, Ken Dixon was sick of carrying his picket sign. He also did not like half the greencoats that were gathering in front of the Hall of Popular Assembly. He could not read their faces, not the mirrored visors on their helmets. But their body language said they were going to break up the demonstration soon.
Kil ing sims is murder he chanted. He'd been cal ing for a couple of hours now, since before Dr. Howard's conference convened. His throat felt sore and scratchy.
A man walking on the part of the sidewalk the demonstration wasn't using caught his eye. "Not under the law, it's not” he said. He looked prosperous and well-fed, nothing like a sim who'd been given AIDS on purpose.
Probably a lawyer himself, Dixon thought scornful y; Philly was lousy with them. While the chant went on Old the young man, he broke it to say, "The law is g e probable lawyer fell into step beside him.
"Why?" he "Sims aren't people. If using them will help us rid Ives of this terrible disease, why shouldn't we?" Dixon frowned. At the planning meeting for this protest, He'd worried out loud that people would say just what this this jumped up fellow was saying, that the threat of AIDS would let them justify the horror of the Terminus labs.
He'd been talked down then, and now gave back the reasoning the rest of the steering committee had used against him; "Howard's AIDS research is just a fragment of what were talking about here. If you al ow it, you set a precedent fame al owing all the other cruelty that sims have suffered since people first came to America: everything from working them to death on farms and in mines to hunting them and kil ing them for sport." He screwed up his face to show what he thought of that kind of sport. "Sims were here," the plump man shrugged. "We use them to do the work we didn't care to do for ourselves. stil do. why not?" The man's question grated on Dixon all over again, he thought before he answered; the fellow was not a fooll "In the old days we needed them, I admit. I'm not saying what we did then was right, far from it, but it understandable. It isn't anymore, not with machines to do sim-work, and do it better, Easter, and cheaper than sims
"You'd send them al to the preserves, then?" "That would be the ideal solution," Dixon said, seriously. Most of the people marching with him would given the plump man a yes at once. Three big track’s of land, together they were as large as a fair-sized commonwealth state, one in the Rockies, one on the plains, and one in
the northwest woods, gave wild sims and their way of life a last stronghold in the FCA.
Trouble was, even a smal band of wild sims needed a large territory on which to forage. There wasn't enough land to accommodate the subhumans who now lived in civilized country, even assuming they wanted to trade modern lives for ones like those of their ancestors. "And in this not-so-ideal world?" the plump man asked All his raised eyebrow telling Dixon he knew all the objections that had popped into the demonstrator's mind. "As much freedom as they can handle," Dixon said. He jerked his chin at the Hall of the Popular Assembly. "at least freedom from being made into lab animals because they're too much like us."
That eyebrow, damn it, climbed higher. "'As much freedom as they can handle,' " the plump man echoed. "I –can’t imagine a more dangerous gift, for either the sims or the people who give it to them." His eyes followed Dixon's stubborn chin to the portico of the Hal . Someone was handing the greencoat chief a rolled-up piece of paper. The fellow resumed, "I would say, for example, that our esttemed constabulary has just been granted al the freedom they can handle."
“Yes," Dixon said unhappily. He knew a writ when he the. Somebody on the committee had fouled up; the side was supposed to keep the greencoats off people's backs until the protest broke up by itself.
He turned to say that to the man who'd been walking him. The fellow wasn't there anymore. Dixon spotted him walking purposefully down the street in the direction he’d been going before he fell in with the demonstration. In the plump man's perspective, that made good sense. He was tempted to disappear himself.
The greencoat chief put a hailer to his mouth. The static belched from it as he turned it on made everybody look ray who hadn't already.
One of his assistants ceremonously unrolled the writ.
'h-oh, trouble," Melody Porter said from in front of them. They'd been in a lot of the same classes at the Philadelphia Collegium since they were both freshmen four years now, he thought, bemused. They'd been to lots of demonstrations together, too. Melody was even more Strongly committed to justice for sims than he was. She came by it honestly; she was the great-great-grandaughter of Henry Quick, the trapper who'd really founded the sim justice movement.
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