by Tom Boardman
“No,” she said.
“Roderick Liffcom. Have you any objection—”
“Yes,” said Roderick belligerently. “I want to know how many of them are androids.”
There was a stir of interest in the court.
So it was really to be a human-android battle.
Judge Collier’s expression did not change, “Out of order,” he said. “Humans and androids are equal at law, and you cannot object to any juror because he is an android.”
“But this case concerns the rights of humans and androids,” Roderick protested.
“It concerns nothing of the kind,” replied the judge sternly, “and if your plea is along those lines, we may as well forget the whole thing and go home. You cannot divorce your wife because she is an android.”
“But she didn’t tell me—”
“Nor because she didn’t tell you. No android now is obliged, ever, to disclose—”
“I know all that,” said Roderick, exasperated. “Must I state the obvious? I never had much to do with the law, but I do know this—the fact that A equals B may cut no ice, while the fact that B equals A may sew the whole case up. Okay, I’ll state the obvious. I seek divorce on the grounds that Alison concealed from me until after our marriage her inability to have a child.”
It was the obvious plea, but it was still a surprise to some people. There was a murmur of interest. Now things could move. There was something to argue about.
Alison watched Roderick and smiled at the thought that she knew him much better than anyone else in the courtroom did. Calm, he was dangerous, and he was fighting to be calm. And as she looked steadily at him, part of her was wondering how she could upset him and put him off stroke, while the other part was praying that he would be able to control himself and show up well.
She was asked to take the stand and she did it absently, still thinking about Roderick. Yes, she contested the divorce. No, she didn’t deny that the facts were as stated. On what grounds did she contest the case, then?
She brought her attention back to the matter in hand. “Oh, that’s very simple. I can put it in—” she counted on her fingers—“nine words. How do we know I can’t have a child?”
Reporters wrote down the word “sensation”. It wouldn’t have lasted, but Alison knew that. She piled on more fuel.
“I’m not stating my whole case,” she said. “All I’m saying at the moment is…” She blushed. She felt it on her face and was pleased with herself. She hadn’t been sure she could do it. “I don’t like to speak of such things, but I suppose I must. When I married Roderick, I was a virgin. How could I possibly know then that I couldn’t have a baby?”
5
It took a long time to get things back to normal after that. The judge had to exhaust himself hammering with his gavel and threatening to clear the court. But Alison caught Roderick’s eye, and he grinned and shook his head slowly. Roderick was two people, at least. He was the hot-head, quick to anger, impulsive, emotional. But he was also, though it was hard to believe sometimes, a psychologist, able to sift and weigh and classify things and decide what they meant.
She knew what he meant as he shook his head at her. She had made a purely artificial point, effective only for the moment. She knew she was an android and that androids didn’t have children. The rest was irrelevant.
“We have now established,” the judge was saying, breathless from shouting and banging with his gavel, “what the case is about and some of the facts. Alison Liffcom admits that she concealed the fact that she was an android, as she was perfectly entitled to do—” He frowned down at Roderick, who had risen. “Well?”
Roderick, at the moment, was the psychologist. “You mentioned the word ‘android’ , Judge. Have you forgotten that none of us knows what an android is? You said, I believe: ‘We have never heard of androids.’ ”
Judge Collier clearly preferred the other Roderick, whom he could squash when he liked. “Precisely,” he said without enthusiasm. “Do you propose to tell us?”
“I propose to have you told,” said Roderick.
Dr Geller took the stand. Roderick faced Mm, looking calm and competent. Most of the audience were women. He knew how to make the most of himself, and he did. Dr Geller, silverhaired, dignified, was as impassive as a statue.
“Who are you, Doctor?” asked Roderick coolly.
“I am director of the Everton Crèche, where the androids for the entire state are made.”
“You know quite a bit about androids?”
“I do.”
“Just incidentally, in case anyone would like to know, do you mind telling us whether you are human or android?”
“Not at all. I am an android.”
“I see. Now perhaps you’ll tell us what androids are, when they were first made, and why?”
“Androids are just people. No different from humans except that they’re made instead of born. I take it you don’t want me to tell you the full details of the process. Basically, one starts with a few living cells—that’s always necessary—and gradually forms a complete human body. There is no difference. I must stress that. An android is a man or a woman, not in any sense a robot or automaton.”
There was a stir again, and the judge smiled faintly. Roderick’s witness looked like something of a burden to Roderick. But Roderick merely nodded. Everything, apparently, was under control.
“About two hundred years ago,” the doctor went on, “it was shown beyond reasonable doubt that the human race was headed for extinction fairly soon. The population was halving itself every generation. Even if human life continued, civilization could not be maintained…”
It was dull for everybody. Even Dr Geller didn’t seem very interested in what he was saying. This was the part that everyone knew already. But the judge didn’t interfere. It was all strictly relevant.
At first the androids had only been an experiment, interesting because they were from the first an astonishingly successful experiment. There was little failure, and a lot of startling success. Once the secret was discovered, one could, by artificial means, manufacture creatures who were men and women to the last decimal point. There was only one tiny flaw. They couldn’t reproduce, either among themselves or with human partners. Everything was normal except that conception never took place.
But as the human population dropped, and as the public services slowed, became inefficient, or closed down, it was natural that the bright idea should occur to someone: Why shouldn’t the androids do it?
So androids were made and trained as public servants. At first they were lower than the beasts. But that, to do humanity justice, lasted only until it became clear that androids were people. Then androids ascended the social scale to the exalted level of slaves. The curious thing, however, was that there was only one way to make androids, and that was to make them as babies and let them grow up. It wasn’t possible to make only stupid, imperfect, adult androids. They turned out like humans, good, bad, and indifferent.
And then came the transformation. Human births took an upsurge. It was renaissance. There was even unemployment for a while again. It would have been inhuman, of course, to kill off the androids, but on the other hand, if anyone was going to starve, they might as well.
They did.
No more androids were made. Human births subsided. Androids were manufactured again. Human births rose.
It became obvious at last. The human race had not so much been extinguishing itself with birth control as actually failing to reproduce. Most people, men and women, were barren these days. But a certain proportion of this barrenness was psychological. The androids were a challenge. They stimulated a stubborn strain deep in humans.
So a balance was reached. Androids were made for two reasons only—to have that challenging effect that kept the human race holding its ground, almost replacing its losses, and to do all the dirty work of keeping a juggernaut of an economic system functioning smoothly for a decimated population.
E
ven in the early days, the androids had champions. Curiously enough, it wasn’t a matter of the androids fighting for and winning equality, but of humans fighting among each other and gradually giving the androids equality.
The humans who fought most were those who couldn’t have children. All these people could do if they were to have a family was adopt baby androids. Naturally they lavished on them all the affection and care that their own children would have had. They came to look on them as their own children. They therefore were very strongly in favour of any move to remove restrictions on androids. One’s own son or daughter shouldn’t be treated as an inferior being.
That was some of the story, as Dr Geller sketched it. The court was restive, the judge looked at the ceiling, the jury looked at Alison. Only Roderick was politely attentive to Dr Geller.
6
Everyone knew at once when the lull was over. If anyone missed Roderick’s question, no one missed the doctor’s answer: “—reasonably established that androids cannot reproduce. At first there was actually some fear that they might. It was thought that the offspring of android and human would be some kind of monster. But reproduction did not occur.”
“Just one more point, Doctor,” said Roderick easily. “There is, I understand, some method of identification—some means of telling human from android, and vice versa?”
“There are two,” replied the doctor. Some of the people in court looked up, interested. Others made their indifference obvious to show that they knew what was coming. “The first is the fingerprint system. It is just as applicable to androids as to humans, and every android at every crèche is finger-printed. If for any reason it becomes necessary to identify a person who may or may not be android, prints are taken. Once these have been sent to every main android centre in the world—a process which takes only two weeks—the person is either positively identified as android or by elimination is known to be human.”
“There is no possibility of error?”
“There is always the possibility of error. The system is perfect, but,to err is human—and, if I may be permitted the pleasantry, android as well.”
“Quite,” said Roderick. “But may we take it that the possibility of error in this case is small?”
“You may. As for the other method of identification: this is a relic of the early days of android manufacture and many of us feel—but that is not germane.”
For the first time, however, he looked somewhat uncomfortable as he went on: “Androids, of course, are not born. There is no Umbilical cord. The navel is small, even, and symmetrical, and faintly but quite clearly marked inside it are the words—in this country, at any rate—‘Made in U.S.A.’ ”
A wave of sniggers ran round the court. The doctor flushed faintly. There were jokes about the little stamp that all androids carried. Once there had been political cartoons with the label as the motif. The point of one allegedly funny story came when it was discovered that a legend which was expected to be “Made in U.S.A.” turned out to be “Fabriqué en France” instead…
It had always been something humans could jibe about, the stamp that every android would carry on his body to his grave. Twenty years ago, all persecution of androids was over, supposedly, and androids were free and accepted and had all but the same rights as humans. Yet twenty years ago, women’s evening dress invariably revealed the navel, whatever else was chastely concealed. Human girls flaunted the fact that they were human. Android girls either meekly showed the proof or, by hiding it, admitted they were android.
“There is under review,” said the doctor, “a proposal to discontinue what some people feel must always be a badge of subservience—”
“That is sub judice,” interrupted the judge, “and no part of the matter in question. We are concerned with things as they are.” He looked inquiringly at Roderick. “Have you finished with the witness?”
“Not only the witness,” said Roderick, “but my case.” He looked so pleased with himself that Alison who was difficult to anger, wanted to hit him. “You have heard Dr Geller’s evidence. I demand that Alison submit herself to the two tests he mentioned. When it is established that she is an android, it will also be established that she cannot have a child. And that she therefore, by concealing her android status from me, also concealed the fact that she could not have a child.”
The judge nodded somewhat reluctantly. He looked over his glasses at Alison without much hope. It would be a pity if such a promising case were allowed to fizzle out so soon and So trivially. But he personally could see nothing significant that Alison could offer in rebuttal.
“Your witness,” said Roderick, with a gesture that called for a kick in the teeth, or so Alison thought.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly. She rose from her seat and crossed the floor. She wore a plain grey suit with a vivid yellow blouse, only a little of it visible, supplying the necessary touch of colour. She had never looked better in her life and she knew it.
Roderick looked as though he were losing the iron control which he had held for so long against all her expectations, and she did what she could to help by wriggling her skirt straight in the way he had always found so attractive.
“Stop that!” he hissed at her. “This is serious.”
She merely showed him twenty-eight of her perfect teeth, and then turned to Dr Geller.
7
“I was most interested in a phrase you used, Doctor,” said Alison. “You said it was ‘reasonably established’ that androids could not reproduce. Now I take it I have the facts correct. You are director of the Everton Crèche?”
“Yes.”
“And your professional experience is therefore confined to androids up to the age of ten?”
“Yes.”
“Is it usual for even humans,” asked Alison, “to reproduce before the age of ten?”
There was stunned silence, then a laugh, then applause. “This is not a radio show,” shouted the judge. “Proceed, if you please, Mrs Liffcom.”
Alison did. Dr Geller was the right man to come to for all matters relating to young androids, she said apologetically, but for matters relating to adult androids (no offence to Dr Geller intended, of course), she proposed to call Dr Smith.
Roderick interrupted. He was perfectly prepared to hear Alison’s case, but hadn’t they better conclude his first? Was Alison prepared to submit herself to the two tests mentioned?
“It’s unnecessary,” said Alison, “I am an android. I am not denying It.”
“Nevertheless—” said Roderick.
“I don’t quite understand, Mr Liffcom,” the judge put in. “If there were any doubt, yes. But Mrs Liffcom is not claiming that she is not an android.”
“I want to know.”
“Do you think there is any doubt?”
“I only wish there were.”
It was “sensation” again.
“And yet it’s all perfectly natural, when you consider it,” said Roderick, when he could be heard, “I want a divorce because Alison is an android and can’t have a child. If she’s been mistaken, or has been playing some game, or whatever it might be, I don’t want a divorce. I want Alison, the girl I married. Surely that’s easy enough to understand?”
“All right,” said Alison emotionlessly, “It’ll take some time to check my fingerprints, but the other test can be made now. What do I do, Judge, peel here in front of everybody?”
“Great Scott, no!”
Five minutes later, in the jury room, the judge, the jury, and Roderick examined the proof. Alison surrendered none of her dignity or self-possession while showing it to them.
There was no doubt. The mark of the android was perfectly clear.
Roderick was last to look. When he had examined the brand, his eyes met Alison’s, and she had to fight back the tears. For he wasn’t satisfied or angry, only sorry.
Back in court, Roderick said he waived the fingerprint test. And Alison called Dr Smith. He was older than Dr Geller, but bright-eye
d and alert. There was something about him—people leaned forward as he took the stand, knowing somehow that what he had to say was going to be worth hearing.
“Following the precedent of my learned friend,” said Alison, “may I ask you if you are human or android, Dr Smith?”
“You may. I am human. However, most of my patients have been android.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I realized long ago that androids represented the future. Humans are losing the fight. That being so, I wanted to find out what the differences between humans and androids were, or if there were any at all. If there were none, so much the better—the human race wasn’t going to die out, after all.”
“But of course,” said Alison casually, yet somehow everyone hung on her words, “there was one essential difference. Humanity was becoming sterile, but androids couldn’t reproduce.”
“There was no difference,” said Dr Smith.
Sometimes an unexpected statement produces silence, sometimes bedlam. Dr Smith got both in turn. There was the stillness of shock as he elaborated and put his meaning beyond doubt.
“Androids can have and have had children.”
Then the rest was drowned in a wave of gasps, whispers and exclamations that swelled in a few seconds to a roar. The judge hammered and shouted in vain.
There was anger in the shouts. There was excitement, anxiety, incredulity, fear. Either the doctor was lying or he wasn’t. If he was lying, he would suffer for it. People tricked by such a hoax are angry, vengeful, people.
If he wasn’t lying, everyone must re-evaluate his whole view of life. Everyone—human and android. The old religious questions would come up again. The question would be decided of whether Man, himself becoming extinct, had actually conquered life, instead of merely reaching a compromise with it. It would cease to matter whether any person was born or made.
There would be no more androids, only human beings. And Man would be master of creation.