induction ceremonies for the new Earth Magnates at Concilium Orb. I thought that afterward, when the Human Polity finally took its place in the Milieu and the Dynasty was settled in as magnates, I’d eventually be exonerated.”
“That is by no means a certainty.”
“I’m not the only person who thinks the Reproductive Statutes are unjust! Nor am I the only operant who’s attempted to circumvent them. For normals, the penalty is only a fine and sterilization and the loss of a few entitlements. Why the Simbiari decided to deal with
us
in such a draconian manner—”
“We operants have more privileges,” said Lucille gently, “and we also have more responsibilities.”
“To hell with them both.” Teresa’s voice was level. Her musical improvisation became Bachian, faster and almost frenzied in its intricacy. “To hell with the whole ungodly Proctorship scheme. To hell with the exotics and their Milieu. What fools we all were to think it would be so wonderful to become part of a Galactic civilization.”
“There are some normals who would agree with you, and a few operants. But most of humanity believes that the Intervention saved our planet from catastrophe.”
“The price—in human freedom and dignity—has been too high.”
Lucille Cartier’s mental veneer of sympathy thinned momentarily to reveal the thought:
Poor neurotic fool!
And if any love or pity for Teresa tinged this stark judgment, it was imperceptible to Marc.
Teresa seemed to notice nothing and continued equably. “But all this is quite beside the point. My little scheme failed to reckon with your own maternal astuteness, Lucille. You found me out.”
Her playing slowed, and the music passed into a minor mode. Almost as an afterthought, she said, “If you and Severin are prepared to perform the procedure, we’d best do it early tomorrow, before Paul comes back from Concord.”
“Thank God you’ve finally come to your senses!” Lucille sprang up from the chair and came swiftly to her daughter-in-law, taking Teresa’s hands from the keyboard and drawing her to her feet. “Darling, I know how terrible this is for you. And I’m so sorry it has to be this way. We should have realized what emotional turmoil you were suffering.
Paul
should have known …”
Teresa freed her hands. “Not Paul,” she said very quietly. There were tears in her eyes now, but the mental façade that she displayed to her mother-in-law was suddenly casual, uncaring—almost as though the secret, once discovered, was no longer worth agonizing over. “Paul never would have known. It took another woman to find out the truth. Well, it will all be over tomorrow … Lucille, you mustn’t worry about me anymore. You’re quite right and I
am a
fool, and that’s an end to it. I think you’d better go now and arrange things. I’d like to be alone for a while … to do my vocal exercises. You know how I am about letting anyone hear how awful I’ve become.”
“That’s nonsense!” said Lucille stoutly. “Your voice is as fine as ever. How many times must we tell you that your singing difficulties are entirely psychosomatic? And this other—this obsession of yours would also respond to therapy if you’d only—”
“Please.” Pain flashed briefly from Teresa’s eyes. “Just let us be alone together for these last few hours.”
“It’s
not
sapient! Not at five months!” Lucille’s voice was shrill, and her eyes blazed. “It’s only your sick imagination hearing it!”
“Yes, of course.”
Teresa turned her back on Lucille, took her seat again at the keyboard, and toggled a fortepiano patch. She began to play Chopin’s Berceuse. “I’ll be ready tomorrow. Just call me. Tell me where and when.”
Lucille’s mouth tightened as she recognized the lullaby. But she only nodded and left the room, hurrying down the staircase and out of the house to her waiting groundcar. Marc waited until his grandmother drove off and turnedaway on Main
“That is by no means a certainty.”
“I’m not the only person who thinks the Reproductive Statutes are unjust! Nor am I the only operant who’s attempted to circumvent them. For normals, the penalty is only a fine and sterilization and the loss of a few entitlements. Why the Simbiari decided to deal with
us
in such a draconian manner—”
“We operants have more privileges,” said Lucille gently, “and we also have more responsibilities.”
“To hell with them both.” Teresa’s voice was level. Her musical improvisation became Bachian, faster and almost frenzied in its intricacy. “To hell with the whole ungodly Proctorship scheme. To hell with the exotics and their Milieu. What fools we all were to think it would be so wonderful to become part of a Galactic civilization.”
“There are some normals who would agree with you, and a few operants. But most of humanity believes that the Intervention saved our planet from catastrophe.”
“The price—in human freedom and dignity—has been too high.”
Lucille Cartier’s mental veneer of sympathy thinned momentarily to reveal the thought:
Poor neurotic fool!
And if any love or pity for Teresa tinged this stark judgment, it was imperceptible to Marc.
Teresa seemed to notice nothing and continued equably. “But all this is quite beside the point. My little scheme failed to reckon with your own maternal astuteness, Lucille. You found me out.”
Her playing slowed, and the music passed into a minor mode. Almost as an afterthought, she said, “If you and Severin are prepared to perform the procedure, we’d best do it early tomorrow, before Paul comes back from Concord.”
“Thank God you’ve finally come to your senses!” Lucille sprang up from the chair and came swiftly to her daughter-in-law, taking Teresa’s hands from the keyboard and drawing her to her feet. “Darling, I know how terrible this is for you. And I’m so sorry it has to be this way. We should have realized what emotional turmoil you were suffering.
Paul
should have known …”
Teresa freed her hands. “Not Paul,” she said very quietly. There were tears in her eyes now, but the mental façade that she displayed to her mother-in-law was suddenly casual, uncaring—almost as though the secret, once discovered, was no longer worth agonizing over. “Paul never would have known. It took another woman to find out the truth. Well, it will all be over tomorrow … Lucille, you mustn’t worry about me anymore. You’re quite right and I
am a
fool, and that’s an end to it. I think you’d better go now and arrange things. I’d like to be alone for a while … to do my vocal exercises. You know how I am about letting anyone hear how awful I’ve become.”
“That’s nonsense!” said Lucille stoutly. “Your voice is as fine as ever. How many times must we tell you that your singing difficulties are entirely psychosomatic? And this other—this obsession of yours would also respond to therapy if you’d only—”
“Please.” Pain flashed briefly from Teresa’s eyes. “Just let us be alone together for these last few hours.”
“It’s
not
sapient! Not at five months!” Lucille’s voice was shrill, and her eyes blazed. “It’s only your sick imagination hearing it!”
“Yes, of course.”
Teresa turned her back on Lucille, took her seat again at the keyboard, and toggled a fortepiano patch. She began to play Chopin’s Berceuse. “I’ll be ready tomorrow. Just call me. Tell me where and when.”
Lucille’s mouth tightened as she recognized the lullaby. But she only nodded and left the room, hurrying down the staircase and out of the house to her waiting groundcar. Marc waited until his grandmother drove off and turnedaway on Main
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