by Darrell Bain
That upset me. I stared at her. "You're not going to become a Gater, are you?"
"No, of course not. I would never pretend to know what God is thinking. I do believe in a God, though, and I can't imagine aliens so far beyond us, they could be responsible."
"Here lately, I'm having trouble imagining the same thing," Russell admitted. "Damn it, we can't discover anything about them, other than how they affect humans. And why only humans, for that matter. Why not chimpanzees, or Chihuahuas?"
I laughed, but Rita didn't. "That fact alone makes me think it must be an alien race of some sort. The gates are aimed specifically at humans, the only self aware species, if you don't count the crazy dogs and cats the gengineers are fooling around with."
"Maybe they found us and didn't like the way we were developing as a species," Donna said quietly.
"In what way?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Maybe they think separate sexes are so weird, they're giving us a chance to see both sides of the equation. Maybe they think that will steer us in another direction."
"It certainly will do that. In fact, it already has," Rita said from beside me. She winked fondly in Donna's direction. "Whether that's their intent or not though, who knows?"
I turned to her. "Why do you think the race will go off in a different direction? We're still human, after all. You told me yourself that persons changed by the gates retain the same basic drives we've always had."
"So we do, but there hasn't been enough time yet to see how it will all play out. Once the majority of the population has experienced living in bodies of each gender for a time, the basic gestalt of the race is bound to change in some ways."
"There's a flaw in your thinking," I said.
"What's that, smarty?"
"For one thing, less than half the population will ever be made up of gender-changed individuals. Haven't you noticed there's still almost forty percent of the oldsters who refuse to enter a gate, even when they know they're dying?"
Rita looked smug. "That will change over time. We're already seeing a slight decline in their numbers. Besides, the ones who do change have had a lifetime of experience, not to mention, a lifetime to accumulate assets. They'll ultimately wind up controlling our destiny, just as the financially well off influence it so heavily now."
Donna got up and stirred together a pitcher of Rum Whatnot. See where political discussion leads? The brewers and distilleries certainly weren't going to go broke.
After a while, the news got old, especially when the ubiquitous commentators, pundits and politicians started in with their blather. We kept one screen on with the sound turned down low just in case anything new turned up. Our serious discussions gradually turned into an impromptu party.
We turned the sound up once in order to listen to a raging Arab mullah from one of the destitute Mideast countries threatening to call a jihad, or holy war, against the United States because of our policy on the gates. It was good for a laugh. Since the geological engineers figured out ways to recover virtually all the oil still left beneath old wells, not to mention the cheap coal conversion technology still growing by leaps and bounds, and most importantly, the plants multiplying all over the country that turned almost any kind of waste into oils, the Arab world had sunk back into third world status and was still heading down. They were always calling for jihads against some country or other now that they couldn't sell their oil for much more than production costs. Besides, they were so busy fighting amongst themselves that I didn't see how they could afford the time off for a war very far from home. Our only danger from Muslims was the fanatical terrorists, still active after years and years of trying to destroy western culture. There appeared to be no end to the number of suicidal Arabs they were able to recruit.
The party almost degenerated into an orgy. Well, not too many years in the past, it would have been called one. It didn't surprise me that much. Somehow, the sex gates, and especially Donna's change in status, had drawn us all even closer together than we already were. We were beginning to function as an enlarged family. I like to think that eventually it would have worked out like that, even without the gates, but there's no way to be certain. I suspect it was Rita, taking advantage of our inebriation, who orchestrated the matings, though by that time, I had enough to drink that it wasn't important to me. Whatever, if she was the director, the only combination she missed was me with Russell and I think she would have tried that if she had thought we would go for it. I certainly wouldn't have. I don't know about Russell. We didn't talk about sex with each other as often or as naturally as Don and I had.
That night was the first time (that I know of) where Donna went with a man other than myself. At any rate, she certainly seemed to enjoy herself. All the bedroom doors were left open and anyone was free to watch anyone else if they weren't busy themselves. I remember thinking how much I loved them all and telling Rita of my discovery.
"You're growing up," she said. I think that's what she said. That's about the last thing I clearly remember.
***
I was the first one up the next morning, mainly because I had forgotten to take a Nohang pill. I woke up with a pounding head and a mouth that felt like a garbage disposal looks after all the recyclables have been eliminated. I stumbled out of the bedroom leaving Donna sleeping peacefully behind me, and went to the bar where the Nohang pills were kept. I shook out a double dose, thinking that if we had another night like the one just finished, someone was going to have to go to the pharmacy-and to the liquor store.
While I was alternating orange juice with coffee, I stared at the screen. No one had ever turned it off. As the Nohang gradually started to work, I suddenly realized the mayor of North Houston was speaking. I told the volume to increase until I could hear what she was saying.
"...will not be tolerated here. The council is expected to act on my recommendation within the hour. Thank you."
Recommendation? I wondered what she had recommended. I left the volume up, filtering out comments that were mostly just repeats of what we had heard the previous evening.
My comphone beeped. "Lee," I said in a croaky voice.
"Lee? Is that you?" I didn't recognize the person speaking.
"Yes it is," I said.
"This is Edie. Are you sick, son? You don't sound good."
"Hi, Dad-Edie, I mean. No, I feel fine. Just not enough sleep." I was feeling better by then, so it wasn't a complete falsehood.
"Good. Listen, Lee, I've been called back to active duty. We have to leave for El Paso this afternoon."
"We? Is Mom-I mean Bert-going with you?"
"He wants to, but we need someone to look after the house. Are you and Rita ready to move yet?"
This was sooner than what I had anticipated, but not impossible. However... "Uh, there may be five of us coming up. We've sort of formed a, well, a family," I said.
There was a pause, then, "Whatever you want to do, Lee. Being young and healthy again has given me a new outlook on life. I sort of know how you young people feel now."
We talked for a few more minutes before I broke the connection. Just as I clipped the comphone back to my belt, Rita put her arms around me and nuzzled the back of my neck.
"Good morning," I said, twisting around to meet her embrace. Russell was right behind her. He had a silly grin on his face. A vague memory of them in my bedroom together surfaced. I twitched it, and nothing happened to upset me.
"What's going on?" Russell asked, nodding his head at the screen. He couldn't have picked a more appropriate time to ask. The mayor's image replaced a shot of a mob running through the downtown streets of Old Houston. She looked tired but her voice was firm as she announced that all licensed carriers were being drafted into the militia. It took a moment for it to register. That meant me. And Donna and Seyla.
Chapter Thirteen
Rita put her arms around me and hugged me silently. I could feel the wetness of her lashes as they brushed my cheek. Seyla and Donna stared at each other lik
e just reunited twins who had been separated since birth.
I patted Rita gently. "Don't get so upset. I think the mayor is just activating the militia as a precautionary measure. In fact, I heard her say so a few minutes ago."
"I don't care. I'm scared." She shivered in my arms, like a pet which has been left out in the cold and was now trying to get warm again.
"There's no way to get out of it," I said. When I applied for my license, militia service had been the farthest thing from my mind, even though I knew it made me subject to being called up, if the need ever arose. City and County militias had been legalized by the Supreme Court shortly after Orange County out in California used them to put down riots during the financial panic.
"When do you think you'll have to report?" Russell asked. He seemed bewildered by the whole thing, naturally. If it didn't pertain to sex or physics, he usually wasn't interested.
I shrugged, or tried to; Rita was still clasping me too close to make it very obvious. "As soon as the captains get their orders. Maybe today, almost certainly by tomorrow. I guess we had better start packing a kit." Being in the militia reserves required a person to keep a few standard items on hand, like medicines, a basic minimum of ammunition for the firearms you were licensed for, and a few other items I couldn't bring to mind immediately, but they would be listed in my computer files.
Seyla got up and began scrambling eggs and making toast. She broke eggs into a pan, set them on the range and turned to ask, "What's that going to do to our move?"
Oh, chips! I had forgotten all about Edie's call. "Thanks for reminding me," I said. "The folks called just a little while ago. Dad-Edie-has just been called back to active duty. He wanted us to come on up and keep the house open while they're gone."
"Gone? Where are they going?" Seyla had about as much knowledge of military affairs as a cricket did of toaster ovens.
"El Paso," I said.
"El Paso? Is Mexico really going to try to succeed?" Rita had a personal interest in the question. Her folks had retired there.
"I think the government is just doing some troop movements to discourage the idea. A state can't succeed once it's in the union." I didn't think it could, anyway. The Civil War had settled that, but strange things were happening all over since the gates were placed on earth. "Anyway, we still need to take care of the house."
"I'm not going to leave you," Rita said immediately.
"I'm not going to run off and leave Seyla, either," Russell declared.
Donna looked thoughtful and didn't speak up one way or another. I wondered what she was thinking. She had gotten her license while still a man. The idea had appealed to her then, even the possibility of perhaps one day serving in the militia. The old male territorial instinct again, along with a young man's hormones.
I disentangled myself from Donna and tried to think. I certainly didn't want to be called up. The idea was just beginning to hit home. Would I have to fight again, like at that time by the gate? My stomach turned over at the thought, as if I were being asked to attend an execution. That had happened to me once; I had declined. Anyway, it was a moot point. I would be getting my orders very shortly.
I spoke, trying to sound sensible. "Hey, look, guys, we were planning on moving anyway, weren't we? This just hurries it up. You don't have to stay here."
"How can this hurry it up when we're in the militia and can't go anywhere?" Seyla asked as she brought eggs and a plate of toast to the table.
"Well, there's no reason Russell and Rita can't go on up," I said, looking at Russell and avoiding Rita's eyes. "The rest of us can follow just as soon as things calm down."
"Calm down? When there are riots going on all over the country?" Rita flung a hand out toward the screen. It was muted, but a map was being displayed, with little flickering flames winking beside half a dozen large cities.
"You know it won't last all that long. Riots never do." I think I was trying to reassure myself as much as her. I was getting scared already.
"These may be different."
I took her back in my arms. "Sweetheart, you know the fourth worlders don't have a chance. They never do. Besides, look at it this way: You can't come along with us, and regardless, I would feel a heck of a lot better knowing you're safe in Ruston than this close to Old Houston."
Russell rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Lee, I hate to admit it, but I think you're probably right. We could be getting the home office set up and have it ready as soon as you're all released." He sat down by Seyla at the table and clasped her hand. Seyla brought it to her cheek and rubbed it back and forth. If I didn't want to go, Seyla must be even more reluctant. Soon after we had met, she told me that she had gotten her license only reluctantly, after being almost raped in Old Houston where she had lived until she got her scholarship. She wasn't really militia material.
I shut up after that and gradually let Russell convince Rita to leave with him. I was glad he thought so logically; in his position, I doubt if I could have done the same.
By the time we finished eating, the decision had finally been agreed upon. Russell and Rita would leave as soon as they could after the rest of us got our call.
Russell left to round us up a rental truck if he could find one while Donna, Seyla and I got our kits, spare clothing and other necessities ready. Rita followed me around the house like a two year old hanging onto her mother's skirts. I didn't mind a bit. I dreaded the thought of being separated from her almost as much as I dreaded the prospect of possible fighting, and it was almost as bad with Russell. He was turning into as good a friend as Don had been, or actually, more like a brother. You can't share the same woman with another man without caring a whole lot for him, I thought. For the first time since I had gotten up, I probed the memories of the previous night. If anything, Russell was now my cohort in an expanded family, even if it couldn't have any legal basis. Not yet, anyway. The Supreme court had overturned the bigamy laws, but the question of multiple partners for both sexes in a marriage had yet to be settled.
It took Russell until almost noon to find something to rent, an old gas-powered moving van, larger than we really needed since there was no furniture to haul. With him and I carrying while the women packed, we had everything except what we might need that night loaded and ready to go by evening. Periodically, we caught snatches of news as we passed back and forth from the bedrooms and through the den and kitchen to the outside.
The regular army, with what troops could be spared, was already on duty in many places, and federalized guard units were beginning to arrive in others, but so far, neither had made an appearance in Old Houston. Here, the outnumbered police, augmented by Messilinda's Gaters, were still on their own and having a hard time of it. Many of the Gaters were erstwhile pacifists and not very well armed. Later, we learned President Forbes and cohorts of his party had made a cold-blooded political decision to let the Gaters and Fourthers fight it out in Texas (excluding El Paso), and in Oklahoma and Arkansas, where the Gaters had rapidly become a political force to contend with in the upcoming elections.
I didn't know that then, though, and just thought the Army had temporarily dropped the ball.
I sent out for Vietnamese food from McDonald's once the loading was finished. While we were waiting for it to arrive, we all hit the showers to wash off the sweat.
The hot water felt good as it steamed away the sweat and grime. The massage Rita gave me while washing my back was pleasant, too. I had been neglecting my workouts lately and my back hurt. I pulled on an old pair of cutoffs after toweling down and left it at that. Rita put on one of my old soft long-tailed shirts and rolled up the sleeves. Before leaving the room, I pulled her to me for a kiss. She knew I liked to see her in that old shirt. Somehow, it enhanced her femininity, just as a male pilot wearing a silk scarf looks more masculine than ever.
One of Seyla's parents had been Vietnamese. She had introduced the group to that kind of cuisine after McDonald's added it to their menu at college outlets. They were making a
bundle, I'll bet. Orientals have made up a disproportionally high percentage of students ever since they began arriving in substantial numbers the century before.
We still hadn't gotten our militia call-up, but I was expecting it at any time. The situation in Old Houston was deteriorating rapidly. The police and Gaters were badly outmatched and outnumbered by the fourth worlders. I wondered what the mayor was waiting on.
***
My comphone and Donna's beeped almost in tangent, waking me from a dream where I was being smothered by feather pillows. The receiver didn't hear me the first time and I had to speak up again before light brightened the room. No wonder. I was sandwiched between Rita and Donna like the filling between the bread of a grilled cheese, and felt just about as toasty.
I reached over Donna's recumbent form and plucked the comphone from the caddy, knowing even before I answered who it was. The North Houston Militia was calling. I sat up and handed Donna's comphone to her so she could stifle its noise.
We were both ordered to report to a marshaling area. For us, that meant the Geostadium grounds of North Houston College, contingency headquarters for student carriers (I had never gotten around to notifying anyone that I had dropped out of school. There hadn't seemed to be any hurry about it and there was always the possibility I might decide to re-enroll).
Donna and I dressed hurriedly in our improvised uniforms and boots and carried our kits out into the living room. Seyla was already there. She looked small and lost wearing undecorated green jeans and matching blouse with the outline of the liberty bell stitched fore and aft. There was a barely perceptible tremble to her lower lip.
Rita and Russell followed us outside, only they were dressed more casually. I tossed our gear into the trunk of my car and shut the lid.
Rita hugged me fiercely. "Please let us know what you're doing as soon as you can. Please," she whispered. I could barely hear her.
"I will," I promised, though I had no idea when that would be. I knew that as soon as we reported, a military suppressor program would be placed in our comphones, requiring a code before communication outside the militia channels was possible. We parted and a minute later, I drove away, feeling as if I had just been orphaned.
