The Margarets by Sheri S. Tepper

“That’s all right, we’ll find the data on the previous reproductive history and we’ll do the GV. Just tell me her name and where she lived at the time.”
    Father muttered, the proctor nodded and entered the data. “And your pregnancy, ma’am?”
    Mother flushed. “Margaret’s conception was unassisted.”
    “Very good. That’s all we need. Your family will be filed as a unit. You’ll be provided with the code at the time of filing, so you’ll have it for reference if it’s ever needed.”
    As his console refolded itself, the man turned to me to ask, “What were you studying on Phobos, Margaret?”
    “I started learning ET languages,” I murmured. “I know some Pthas, some Omniont, and quite a bit of Mercan Trade Tongue.”
    The proctor nodded. “I’m impressed. Fluency in ET languages is valuable, but few families are sensible enough to let their children learn them early, when it’s easy for them.”
    I said, “Mother encouraged me. She says she wishes she’d learned languages when she was little.”
    The machine made a quiet sound, like a hiccup, and produced a screenful of figures. The proctor pressed a button, a machine voice said, “Clear.”
    “Very well,” the proctor said, pressing a button. “We always compare, just to be sure. In your case, everything agrees with everything else. Provisionally, until we receive the information on your previous history, your registration rating, sir, is a two. You, ma’am, are a four. Your daughter a four.”
    “We’re in good shape, then,” said Father in a relieved voice.
    “You are indeed, sir,” said the proctor.
    When the door closed behind the proctor, I whispered, “What did he mean, that we’re in good shape.”
    Mother answered. “It means we can have a water ration. It also means anyone who’s a five or higher can’t.”
    Father cleared his throat and shook himself, as though to shed whatever mood he’d been in. “Margaret, I think we’ve had enough ofthis discussion. We need to take a family walk, get out of here. Right, Louise?”
    Mother, looking very pale, nodded. “Yes. Oh, yes. Let’s get out of here. Let’s give ourselves a treat of some kind…”
    I looked from one to the other, frightened at their tone. “Is something wrong?”
    Her father said, “Everything’s all right, Margaret. You can have water, you can even have a family when you’ve grown up.”
    “That is, if you pick the right husband,” said Mother tartly. “One who hasn’t used up all his quota sowing wild oats. No, no, Margaret, don’t ask me to explain wild oats.”
    I felt something squeezing my stomach and farther down, in my belly. As the three of us took our rare, almost unprecedented walk, I looked into every store window we passed while my insides cramped and jumped as though I’d swallowed something alive that was trying to get out, split off from me. My skin felt damp. I thought I saw a shadowy presence moving around, reflected in the window, standing just behind me, but there was nothing there except my own white and frightened face staring back. After a time, I stopped looking and trudged along, eyes fixed on my feet.

Who Is Margaret?
     
    It seemed to me I dreamed the proctor came, just as he had. I dreamed everything he had said and we had said, up until the point where the proctor turned to me to say, “Fluency in ET languages is valuable, but few families are sensible enough to let their children learn them early, when it’s easy for them.”
    “It was Mother’s idea,” I said. “She says she wishes she’d learned languages when she was little, like her brother Hy.”
    “You mean her uncle, Hy?” said the proctor.
    I stopped. Why had I said that?
    Mother said, “My uncle Hy, yes…”
    The machine interrupted with a harsh, buzzing sound. It spoke: “Duplicated reference to unverified identity, name Hy, maternal kinsperson. Possible data variance. Hold! Hold!”
    The proctor sat back, his lips tightly compressed, as