Kiln an altogether different vein, Dixon thought marching with her was one of the things that made protests while.
After a few more seconds of fumbling, the boss greencoat got the hailer working. His aide handed him the paper. "Pro bono publico," he intoned, his amplified voice filling the square with formality. Dixon wonderes how many horrors had been perpetrated "for the publi "Pro bono publico," the greencoat repeated for the sake of the record and for the benefit of everyone this side a complete nerve-dead deafness. Then he got down to business:
"A court has declared this rally a danger to public order.
Those who do not disperse in the next five minute will be liable to arrest."
His blunt demand jerked the protesters out of thei chant. People shouted back at the greencoat: "We're peaceable! Why aren't you?"
"Can't stand to hear the truth, eh. And a cry that started a new chant:
"Justice for sims, and for people tool" Even so, Dixon noticed that the marcher’s picket signs, which had been steady, began to jerk as if pelted by hailstones.
People were having second thought Few were leaving, though.
The officer with the hailer knew his job. He kept the pressure on, loudly announcing each minute as it went by. The greencoats shook themselves out into a skirmish lin "Time's up," the chief announced.
The line moveed forward. Dixon took off his spectacles and stuck them In the hip pocket of his breeches.
Sometimes these affairs stayed polite, sometimes they didn't. The world turned blurry A greencoat emerged out of the blur. He was carrying a club. His voice conversational, matter-of-fact, he ask Dixon, "You going to take off, kid?"
Before he answered, he heard Melody loudly say "No"to what had to be the same question. That kil ed the few shreds of hesitation he had left. "No," he said, trying to I sound as firm as Melody had.
The greencoat only shrugged. "I arrest you, then, constituting a danger to public order." Formal langu done, he went on, "Come along quietly?"
"Sure."
"Al right, then. put down your sign, you won't get extra trash-strewing charge on account of it." Dixon did.
He fit his spectacles back on. The greencoat waited till he was done, then gave him a light shove. "Over that way, me boyo." He sounded more bored than anything else Dixon thought, a little resentfully. Justice for sims was too important to be handled as part of someone's routine.
Even with his spectacles, Dixon did not see what went wrong. Maybe a protester whacked a greencoat with a picket n. Maybe a greencoat thought one was going to, and swung first. Maybe a greencoat swung first for the hell of it.
However it happened, it happened fast. What had been a peaceful process turned ugly all at once. Demonstrators swung greencoats, and pushed them away when they tried to arrest them. Like the genie in the legend, once violence was of the bottle, it did not want to go back in.
She greencoat who was urging Ken Dixon along sudl y pushed him in the back, hard. He went down to his knees. His careful y replaced spectacles flew off his nose. He heard a crunch as a greencoat running toward the wing fight smashed them with his boot.
Melody screamed as she got the same treatment he just got. "Leave her alone!" he shouted. He tried to get to his feet to go help her.
A club exploded against the side of his head. He went down. He tried to get up again, but his legs didn't want to what he told them.
He had made it to al fours when a greencoat landed on him, knocking him down again.
"You're not going anywhere!" the greencoat bawled in his ear. It was his greencoat; he recognized the voice. He was irrationally pleased he was able to recognize anything.
The greencoat yanked his arms out from under him. His face in hit the pavement. The greencoat jerked his arms behind his back clapped manacles on his wrists. He had thought the roaring pain in his head left him immune to hurts. The bite of the manacles' metal teeth convinced otherwise in a hurry.
come on, you stinking sim-lover!" the gleencoat muted. He hauled Dixon to his feet, frog-marching him toward a constabulary motorcoach. Two more greencoats were waiting at the steps. They grabbed him, flung him inside.
He almost fel over somebody inside the motorcoach moment later, somebody almost fell over him Crawling with his hands locked behind him was almost lmpossible. Because he had to, he managed to lurch his way up or one of the motorcoach's hard, comfortless seats.
"Are you all right, Ken?" He hadn't even seen Melody the seat in front of him. Concern in her voice, she went on
"You're bleeding."
"I suppose so," he said vaguely; he felt something warm' and wet trickling down his cheek and jaw. He leaned head against the bar-reinforced glass of the window. Then he looked at Melody again.
Above one ear, blood matted her short, sandy hair. "So are you."
"I know." Despite the blow she'd taken, she stil had wits about her, and she was furious. "The bastard groped me, too when he was wrestling with me to get the manacle on. I Clawed him pretty good, I think, before he managed to."
"Good for you." Dixon leaned against the window again; talking and thinking hurt. Someone sat down beside him. He hardly noticed. He was watching the greens finish off the demonstration.
Protesters outnumbered constables, but the contest was never in doubt.
The demonstratars hesitated before they fought, and when they did it by ones and twos. The greencoats did not hesitate at al , and worked together. A few demonstrators managed to get away most were seized and hauled off to the motorcoaches.
"Maybe it's for the best," Melody said. "This way our side of the message is sure to reach the television tonight, along with Dr.
Howard's rationalizations."
"Maybe," was al Dixon could manage. After a while the greencoats slammed the motorcoach's doors shut. its engine roared to life. It rattled through the streets of Philadelpha toward the lockup.
The two sims separated. Matt lay back on the bed it was the one called Jane, Dr. Howard saw when she turned her face toward the monitor camera—she stayed on hands and knees beside him.
After a surprisingly short time, Matt's vigor returned. He got behind her and fel to it.
Don't they ever quite" a technician asked, pointing at creen. A whole bank of monitors let the investigators at Disease Research Center watch the sims they studied out disturbing them.
What else do they have to do?" Howard asked. "They not likely to sit around reading books, you know."
The technician laughed, but persisted. "This is the third time they've been at it today, and it's only", he glanced at locket watch, "a little past two."
Seward shrugged. "Weren't you ever a randy eighteenold? That's what Matt is, or the equivalent. Sims age a faster than we do, so he's probably about at his peak at fourteen. And up until not so long ago he was deathly ill, so I dare say he's making up for lost time too."
Ok, maybe," the technician said. Howard walked we row of television screens to check on some of the sims at the DRC. The technician muttered under his breath, "No way I could have gone that hard, even when I eighteen, especial y if my girl was that ugly."
Seward knew he was not supposed to hear, but turned anyway. "Jane looks as good to Matt as the lead in as in Love does to you."
That's his problem," the technician retorted. Howard he had a picture of that particular blonde taped above jsk.
Il"I'm glad he has his urge back,'
“the effectiveness of the HIVI in returning him to health."
Fnost," the technician reminded him. "What I'm glad is that Jane already carries the AIDS virus too, because no matter how good Matt feels, he's still got the virus in his blood and he can still spread it, right?"
Yes," Howard said reluctantly. "That's the main draw back to HIVI at the moment: it can let carriers transmit AIDS, giving it to people who will pass it on in turn."
"In some ways, you know, that strikes me as worse than no cure at al ," the technician said. Howard wished the man would shut up and let him
get away. He was putting his finger on just the problem that most worried the doctor. Luckily, it had not occurred to any of the reporters in Philadelphia, or a triumphant conference might have turned embarrassing in a blurr who he was, though, Howard could not sir or shove the comment aside. He paused to pick his words with care. "It depends. As far as checking the epidemic goes, I suppose you're right.
But if my blood test had just come, back positive, I'd scream bloody murder if somebody said I couldn't have HIVI."
"I can't argue with you there," the technician admitted and the doctor took advantage of the moment of agree A fresh batch of calc printouts was on his desk: ana of the effectiveness of a variant of HIVI at restoring immune system and protecting T-cells. The variant was good as the basic drug. Howard made a note to a begin writing up the new datum to somebody so it could get it in print. Negative information was information too some other lab would not have to waste time checking the new subtype.
It wouldn't be the sort of publication a news confrences accompanied, though.
Howard put his head in his hands. He wished he'd never called the bloody conference in the first place. That riot, exactly the word for it: dozens of people had been hurt what turned into a riot outside the Hall of the Popular Assembly. Censor Bryan had cal ed for an investigation into the way the constabulary handled it, and Censor ken had promptly vetoed the cal . It was the worst falling out the two chief executives had had in their term.
Howard did not care about that; politics meant nothing to him. He cared very much about what hurt people, that he known the protest outside would cause so many of fights, he never would have gone to Philadelphia. He sat up straight. No, that wasn't true. AIDS hurt more people than riots ever would. The only way to fight it was with research. Research took denaires, lots of them, and the only way to latch on to them was by shouting every piece of press, even one as ambiguous as HIVI, to the housetops the intercom buzzed.
He jumped, and was glad no one was with him to see it. "Mr. Tanaka is here to see you, sir," secretary said.
'Oh, yes, of course. Thank you, Doris. Send him in." Howard ran fingers through his thick brown hair. Joseph Tanaka had no official standing, but he had been friends of Censor Jennings since they were at middle school ether. "Jennings's eyes," the papers called him these days.
Doris opened the door for Tanaka. Howard rose to shake hand.
He had a strong grip, and looked a few years younger in person than in photos, he was, of course exactly the censor's age. His sturdy, middle-aged features somehow went well with the conservative velvet jacket and maroon ruffled shirt he wore. 'Good of you to take time from your busy schedule, Dr. Howard." Tanaka's voice was deep, almost gravelly, his manner straightforward."
'A pleasure." Howard waved to a chair. "Won't you sit " sanaka did not. "I was hoping you'd show me around In."
Certainly." Straightforward indeed, Howard thought.
'Follow me, then." He gave Tanaka a quick tour of the laboratories, ending with the bank of screens that , monitored the infected sims. The technician, fortunately had sense enough to keep his mouth shut. When they were back in Howard's office, Tanaka did at Iast take a seat. "Most interesting," he said, steepling his fingers,
"especially the sims' quarters. I must say, you treat sims well."
'Certainly we do," Howard said. "For one example, they eat the same food as our staff buys at the cafeteria we passed through. "
Tanaka gave a wry chuckle. "From what I know of cafeterias, that's not necessarily a recommendation. Still, l, see your point. You do well by the sims, as I said already." . He turned serious again. "Of course, you've also given , them AIDS."
"Mr. Tanaka," Howard said stiffly,"this research program operates under laws passed by the Popular Assembly with funds appropriated by the Senate.
Neither censor saw fit to affix his veto to the laws of the appropriation.
as you know, I am conforming to them in every particular."
"I do not doubt that for a moment, Dr. Howard, What I've come to see is the result of that conforming. After al , though they are not human beings, sims do have their own smal er measure of intelligence, and they did not consent to be experimented on."
Appalled, Howard burst out, "A sim cannot give informed consent!
That's a fundamental principle of lawns, "Not quite what I meant,"
Tanaka said. "I doubt the sim is eager to die, though, of a disease they almost certanly would not have contracted in the normal course of their lives. Many people not usually supportive of the sim justice movement, " He paused to let Howard make some uncomplimentary remark, but the doctor stayed quiet. Shrugg I Tanaka went on, ", still have qualms at their being finfected with AIDS." Howard had dealt with officials for years, and had no trouble translating what they said into what they ment. Tanaka was talking about votes. The doctor took a moment to make sure his reply informed without antagonising "They also have qualms, Mr.
Tanaka, about being ill themselves and two or three million of them have been those, somewhere around a third, maybe more, as it goes by, will actually develop AIDS. And just about al those will die, very unpleasantly. The people who still have symptoms are just as able to pass it on through sex as ones who do, more able because the ones without.
Sims give me my best chance of fighting it, in people. How can I do anything but use them?"
What would you do if there were no sims?" Tanaka asked after thinking a few seconds himself.
the best l could," Howard answered. "Muddle along shimpanses and a lot of in vitro work, I suppose. It wouldn't be the same. I think you've seen that here. A lot people would die while I, and a lot of other reseachers using sims, don't forget, struggled to translate answers we eventually got into clinical terms. We don't that problem with sims.
Their biochemistry is almost identical to ours."
Tanaka nodded and rose, showing the meeting was done.
He stuck out his hand. "Thank you very much, Dr. You've been most interesting."
Have l? I'm glad. What will you tell Censor Jennings, Tanaka blinked.
"You're very forthright."
'I'm concerned about my program, sir."
Reluctantly, Dr. Howard, I have to say you needn't be. I think the Censor will be happy when I tell him that, you've made your points well. you also might have given me another answer to my question just now, in which case I would have said something different to Censor Jennings."
Honestly puzzled, Howard asked, "What might I have said”
“When I asked what you'd do without sims, you might have suggested going on with human defectives."
The doctor felt his face freeze. "Good day, Mr. Tanaka.
Doris I am certain, will show you out." He sat down.
“I understand your reaction, Dr. Howard. As I said, you I the test nicely. The idea revolts me quite as much as you, I assure you. But I had to know."
“Good day," Howard repeated, unmollified. Nodding, he left. Howard was so filled with Fury that he did not whether he had hurt the DRC
political y. He did not think he had Tanaka plainly felt as he did.
He was also, he realized, furious at himself, and took a long while to figure out why. When he did, he wished he hadn't. If there were no sims, who could say what he might do to take a crack at AIDS. And who could say whether he would be able to look at himself in a mirror afterwards? He was not grateful to Tanaka for showing him a part of himself he would sooner have left unseen.
He got very little work done the rest of the day.
The air waggon pulled slowly to a stop outside Terminus. When it was not moving anymore, a steward opened the door. Ken Dixon got his shoulder bag out from under his seat, worked his way up the aisle.
"Thanks for breaking thee trail for me," Melody Porter said from behind him.
"My pleasure," he said, adding "Oaf " a moment later al another passenger stuck an accidental elbow in his bel y. He turned his head back toward Melody. "You'll forgive me it I omit the ga
llant bow."
"This once," she said graciously. He snorted.
"Have a pleasant stay in Terminus," the steward said as Dixon walked by, and then again to Melody. They walked out of the air waggon's cooled air and into the furious muggy heat of a Terminus August afternoon
"What's the matter?"
Melody asked when Dixon suddenly stopped halfway down the descent ladder. In less polite voices, passengers behind them asked the same thing.
"Sorry. My spectacles just steamed up." Dixon took them off his nose, peered at them in nearsighted wonder, and stuck them in his hip pocket.
Holding tightly to the rail, hat went carefully down the rest of the ladder. Once down on the ground, he was relieved to discover that the fog dissipated as his spectacles reached the same sweltering temperature as their surroundings. He put theg back on. When they went inside the cooled station building he let out a blissful sigh.
Melody echoed him, adding, "Philadelphia summer is bad, but this, "
walking left him covered with a sweaty film. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
Through the station building's broad sweep of plate glass, he and Melody watched a human boss supervise the gang of sims that was loading baggage from the air waggon onto carts. He shook his head. "The seventeenth century, alive and well in the twentieth," he said scornfully.
"Wel ," someone with an amused voice said at his elbow, "you sound like the chap I'm looking for. Look like him too," the young man added.
He looked the way the Philadelphia committee said he would: a tal man with a good many blacks in his ancestry who wore a thick mustache.
"You're Patrick?" Dixon asked, as he had been told to do.
"Sorry, no. Stephen's the name," the fel ow said. They nodded at each other. Amateurs' games, Dixon thought, but good enough, he hoped, for the moment. Later, later was another matter. He put it aside.
"Here comes the luggage." Melody had been watching the sims tossing bags onto the conveyor belt.
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