Connoisseur's SF

by Tom Boardman (ed. )

  8

  The court sat again after a brief adjournment: The judge peered at Alison and at Dr Smith, who was again on the stand.

  “Mrs Liffcom,” he said, “would you care to take up your examination at the same point?”

  “Certainly,” said Alison. She addressed herself to Dr Smith. “You say that androids can have children?”

  This time there was silence except for the doctor’s quiet voice. “Yes. There is, as may well be imagined, conflicting evidence on this. The evidence I propose to bring forward has frequently been discredited. The reaction when I first made this statement shows why. It is an important question on which everyone must have reached some conclusion. Possibly one merely believes what one is told.”

  As he went on, Alison cast a glance at Roderick. At first he was indifferent. He didn’t believe it. Then he showed mild interest in what the doctor was saying. Eventually he became so excited that he could hardly sit still.

  And Alison began to hope again.

  “There is a psychologist in court,” remarked the doctor mildly, “who may soon be asking me questions. I am not a psychologist any more than any other general practitioner, but before I mention particular cases, I must make this point. Every android grows up knowing he or she cannot have children. That is accepted in our civilization.

  “I don’t think it should be accepted. I’ll tell you why.”

  No one interrupted him. He wasn’t spectacular, but he wasted no time.

  He mentioned the case of Betty Gordon Holbein, 178 years before. No one had heard of Betty Gordon Holbein. She was human, said the doctor. Prostrate with shock, she testified she had been raped by an android. The android concerned was lynched. In due course, Betty Holbein had a normal child.

  “The records are available to everyone,” said the doctor. “There was a lot of interest and indignation when the girl was raped, very little when she had her child. The suggestion that she had conceived after the incident was denied, without much publicity, or belief, for even then it was known that androids were barren.”

  Roderick was on his feet. He looked at the judge, who nodded.

  “Look, are you twisting this to make a legal case,” he demanded, “or did this girl—”

  “You cannot ask the witness if he is perjuring himself,” remarked the judge reprovingly.

  “I don’t give a damn about perjury!” Roderick exclaimed. “I just want to know if this is true!”

  It was all very irregular; but Alison knew he might explode any moment and swear at the doctor and the judge. She didn’t want that. So her eyes met his and she said levelly: “It’s true, Roderick.”

  Roderick sat down.

  “Now to get a true picture,” the doctor continued, “we must remember that millions of androids were being tested, and mating among themselves, and even having irregular liaisons with humans—and no conception took place. Or did it?

  “A little over a century ago, an android girl had been found in a wood, alive, but only just. Around her there were marks of many feet. She had been mutilated. Though she lived, she was never quite sane after that.

  “But she also had a child.”

  Roderick rose again, frowning. “I don’t understand,” he said. “If this is true, why is it not known?”

  The judge was going to intervene, but Roderick went on quickly, “The doctor and I are professional men. I can ask hint for a professional opinion, surely? Well, Doctor?”

  “Because it has always been possible to disbelieve what one has decided to disbelieve. In this case, that nameless woman was mutilated so that the navel mark would be removed. There was a record of her fingerprints as those of an android. But it was authoritatively stated that there must have been a mistake and that, by having a child, the woman had thus been proved to be human.

  “A century and a half ago, Winnie—androids had begun to have at least a first name by this time—had a child and it was again decided that this girl, who had been a laundry maid, must have been mixed up with an android while a baby and was in fact human.

  “A little dead baby was found buried in a garden and an android couple was actually in court over the matter. But since they were androids, it could obviously not be their child, and they were discharged.”

  Roderick jumped up again. “If you knew this,” he asked Dr Smith, “why keep it secret until now?”

  “Five years ago,” said the doctor, “I wrote an article on the subject. I sent it to all the medical journals. Eventually one of the smaller publications printed it. I had half a dozen letters from people who were interested. Then nothing more.

  “One must admit,” he added, “that not one of the cases I have mentioned—as reported at the time—would be accepted as positive scientific proof that androids can reproduce. The facts were recorded for posterity by people who didn’t believe them. But…”

  “But,” said Alison, a few minutes later, when the doctor had finished giving his evidence, “in view of this, it can hardly be stated that I know I cannot have a child. It may be unlikely; shall I call more medical evidence to show how unlikely conception is for the average human woman?”

  Judge Collier said nothing, so she continued: “The present position, as anyone concerned with childbirth would tell you, is that few marriages produce children, but those that do produce a lot. People who can have children go on doing it, these days.

  “Now I want to introduce a new point. It is not grounds for divorce among humans if the woman is barren and is not aware of it. It is, on the other hand, if she has had an operation which makes it impossible for her to have children and she conceals the fact.”

  “I see what you are getting at,” said the judge, “and it is most ingenious. Finish it, please.”

  “Having had no such operation,” said Alison, “and being able to prove it, I understand that I can’t be held, legally, to have known that I could never have children.”

  “To save reference to case histories,” said the judge contentedly, “I can say here and now that the lady is right. It is for the jury to decide on the merits of the case, but Mrs Liffcom may be said to have established—”

  “I demand an adjournment,” said Roderick.

  There was a low murmur that gradually died out. Roderick and Alison were both on their feet, staring at each other across ten yards of space. The intensity of their feeling could be felt by everyone in the courtroom.

  “Court adjourned until tomorrow,” said the judge hastily.

  9

  Almost every newspaper which mentioned the Liffcom case committed contempt of court. Perhaps the feeling was that no action could be taken against so many. All the newspapers went into the rights and wrongs of the affair as if they were giving evidence, too. Very little of the material was pro- or anti-android. It was, rather, for or against the evidence brought up.

  Anyone could see, remarked one newspaper bluntly, that Alison Liffcom was nobody’s fool. If a woman like that went to the trouble of defending a suit of any kind, she would dig up something good and play it to the limit. This was no aspersion on the morals or integrity of Mrs Liffcom, for whom the newspaper had the keenest admiration. All she had to do was cast the faintest doubt on the truism that androids could not reproduce. She had done that.

  But that, of course, said the paper decisively, didn’t mean that androids could.

  Another newspaper took it from there, just as good a case, it remarked, could have been made out for spiritualism, telepathy, possession, the existence of werewolves… Dr Smith, who was undoubtedly sincere, had been misled by a few mistakes, Obviously, when androids were human in all respects save one, some humans would be passed off or mistaken for androids and vice versa. Equally obviously, the mistake would only be discovered if and when conception occurred, as in the cases quoted by Dr Smith.

  A third paper even offered Alison a point to make in court if she liked. True enough Dr Smith had shown that such mistakes could occur. It was only necessary for Alison then to quo
te these cases and stress the possibility that the same thing might have happened to her. If the proof of android origin was not proof, the case would collapse.

  Other papers, however, took the view that there might be something in the possibility that androids could reproduce. Why not? asked one. Androids weren’t bloodless, inferior beings. One could keep things warm by holding them against the human body—or by building a fire. In the same way, children could be nurtured in a human body or in culture tanks. The results were identical. They must be identical if one could take them forty years later, give them rigorous tests, and tell one from the other only because the android was stamped “Made in U.S.A.” and because his fingerprints were on file.

  People had believed androids could not have children because they had been told androids never had. Now they were told androids had reproduced. Where was the difficulty? You believed you had finished your cigarettes until you took out the pack and saw there was one left. What did you do then—say you had finished them, therefore that what looked like a cigarette wasn’t, and throw it away?

  And almost all the newspapers, whatever their general view, asked the real, fundamental question as well.

  That artificially made humans could conceive was credible, in theory. That they could not was also credible, in theory.

  But why one in a million, one in five million, one in ten million? Even present-day humans could average one fertile marriage in six.

  10

  “If you have no objections,” said Roderick politely—determined to be on his best behaviour, thought Alison—“let’s turn this into a court of inquiry. Let’s say, If you like, that Alison has successfully defended the case on the grounds that she can’t legally be said to have known she couldn’t have a child. Forget the divorce. That’s not the point.”

  “I thought it was,” the judge objected, dazed.

  “Anyone can see that what matters now,” said Roderick impatiently, “is what Dr Smith brought up. Let’s get down to the question of whether there’s any prospect of Alison having a baby.”

  “A courtroom is hardly the place to settle that,” murmured Alison. But she felt the first warm breath of a glow of happiness she had thought she would never be able to experience again.

  “Women always go from the general to the particular,” Roderick retorted. “I don’t mean the question of whether you will have children. I mean the question of whether it’s really possible that you might.”

  The judge rapped decisively. “I have been too lenient. I insist on having a certain amount of order in my own court. Roderick Liffcom, do you withdraw your suit?”

  “What does it matter? Anyway, if you must follow that line, we’d have to have a few straight questions and answers like whether Alison still loves me.”

  The judge gasped.

  “Do you?” demanded Roderick, glaring at Alison.

  Alison felt as if her heart was going to explode. “If you want a straight answer,” she said, “yes.”

  “Good,” said Roderick with satisfaction. “Now we can go on from there.”

  He turned to glower at Judge Collier, who was trying to interrupt.

  “Look here,” Roderick demanded, “are you interested in getting at the truth?”

  “Certainly, but—”

  “So am I. Be quiet, then. I meant to keep my temper with you, but you’re constantly getting in my hair, Alison, would you mind taking the stand?”

  There was no doubt that Roderick had personality.

  With Alison on the stand, he turned to the jury. “I’ll tell you what I have in mind,” he told them in friendly fashion. “We all wonder why, if this thing’s possible, it’s happened so seldom. Unfortunately, to date there hasn’t been any real admission that it is possible, so I didn’t know. I never had a chance to work on it. Now I have. What I want to know is, if androids can have children, what prevents them from doing so.”

  He reached out absently, without looking around, and squeezed Alison’s shoulder. “We’ve got Alison here,” Roderick went on. “Let’s find out if we can, shall we, what would stop her from having children?”

  Alison was glad she was sitting down. Her knees felt so weak that she knew they wouldn’t support her. Did she have Roderick back or didn’t she? Could she really have a baby? Roderick’s baby? The court swam dizzily in front of her eyes.

  Only gradually did she become aware of Roderick’s voice asking anxiously if she was all right, Roderick bending over her, Roderick’s arm behind her back, supporting her.

  “Yes,” she said faintly. “I’m sorry. Roderick, I’ll help you all I can, but do you think there’s really very much chance?”

  “I’m a psychologist,” he reminded her quietly, “and since you’ve never seen me at work, there’s no harm in telling you I’m pretty good. Maybe we won’t work this out here in half an hour, but we’ll get through it in the next sixty years.”

  Alison didn’t forget where she was, but everything was so crazy that a little more wouldn’t hurt. She reached up and drew his lips down to hers.

  11

  “What I’m looking for must be in the life of every android, male and female,” said Roderick. “I don’t expect to find it right away, just tell us, Alison, about any times when you were aware of distinction—when you were made aware that you were an android, not a human. Start as early as you like.

  “And,” he added with a sudden, unexpected grin, “please address your remarks to the judge. Let’s keep this as impersonal as we can.”

  Alison composed her mind for the job. She didn’t really want to look back. She wanted to look into the new marvellous future. But she forced herself to begin.

  “I grew up in the New York Android Crèche,” she said. “There was no distinction there. Some of the children thought there was. Sometimes I heard older children talking about how much better off they would be if they were humans. But twice when there was overcrowding in the crèche and plenty of room in the orphanage for human children, I was moved to the orphanage. And there was absolutely no difference.

  “In a crèche, it’s far more important to be able to sell yourself than it ever can be later. If you’re attractive or appealing enough, someone looking for a child to adopt will notice you and you’ll have a home and security and affection. I wasn’t attractive or appealing. I stayed in the crèche until I was nine. I saw so many couples looking for children, always taking away some child but never me, that I was sure I would stay there until I was too old to be adopted and then have to earn my living, always on my own.

  “Then, one day, one of the sisters at the crèche found me crying—I forget what I was crying about—and told me then; was no need for me to cry about anything because I had brains and I was going to be a beauty, and what more could any girl want? I looked in the mirror, but I still seemed the same as ever. She must have known what she was talking about, though, for just a week later, a couple came and looked around the crèche and picked me.”

  Alison took a deep breath, and there was no acting about tin: tears in her eyes.

  “Nobody who’s never experienced it can appreciate what it is to have a home for the first time at the age of nine,” she said. “To say I’d have died for my new parents doesn’t tell half of it. Maybe this is something that misled Roderick. He knew that twice a month, at least, I go and see my folks. He must have thought they were my real parents, so he didn’t ask if S was android.”

  She looked at Roderick for the first time since she started the story. He nodded.

  “Go on, Alison,” he said quietly. “You’re doing fine.”

  “This isn’t a hard world for androids,” Alison insisted. “It’s only very occasionally…”

  She stopped, and Roderick had to prompt her. “Only very occasionally that what?”

  But Alison wasn’t with him. She was eleven years back in the past.

  12

  Alison had known all about that awkward period when she would cease to be a child and become a woman. Bu
t she had never quite realized how rapid It would be, and how it would seem even, more rapid, so that it was over before she was ready for it to start.

  She wasn’t sleeping well, but she was so healthy and had such reserves of strength that it didn’t show, and for once her adopted parents failed her. Though Alison would never admit that, it would have been so much easier if Susan had talked with her, and Roger, without saying a word, had indicated in his manner that he knew what was going on.

  One day she was out walking, trying to tire herself for sleep later, and ran into a group of youths of her own age in the woods. She knew one of them slightly, Bob Thompson, and she knew that their apparent leader, as tall as a man at fifteen, was Harry Hewitt. She didn’t know whether any of them were androids or not—the question had never occurred to her. And it didn’t seem of any immediate interest or importance that she was an android, either, as she passed through them and some of them whistled, and involuntarily, completely aware of their eyes on her, she reddened.

  She saw Bob Thompson whisper to Harry Hewitt and Hewitt burst out; “Android, eh? Android! That’s fine!” He stepped in front of her and barred her path. “What a pretty android,” he said loudly, playing to his gallery. “I’ve seen you before, but I thought you were just a girl. Take off your blouse, android.”

  There was a startled movement in the group, and someone nudged Hewitt.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “She’s an android. No real parents, only people who have taken her in to pretend they can have kids.”

  Alison looked from side to side like a cornered animal.

  “Humans can do anything they like with androids,” Hewitt told his more timorous companions. “Don’t you know that?” He turned back to Alison. “But we must be sure she is an android. Hold her. Butch.”

  Alison was grasped firmly by the hips, which had so recently stopped being boyish and swelled alarmingly. She kicked and struggled, her heart threatening to burst, but Butch, whoever he was, was strong. Two other boys held her arms. Carefully, to a chorus of nervous, excited sniggers, Hewitt parted her blouse and skirt a narrow slit and peered at her navel.