by Darrell Bain
"I hope it's a girl," I said. "If it is, I want her to look just like you."
If the implant hadn't been working, we surely would have conceived that night, if numbers mean anything.
Chapter Sixteen
Three days later, the story about the third-passer broke. The tabwebs had a fit with it. So did the regular webworks and news networks. There was such a groundswell of interest and enthusiasm over the prospects of immortality that Congress, paying attention to the polls, passed a bill appropriating even more money for gate study, along with a "Sense of Congress" resolution urging all Seconders and third passers (also beginning to be called by the generic term "Seconder") to cooperate with scientists in the studies. The bill was hardly opposed at all in Congress, and not much opposition could be generated by the dwindling number of oldsters who were determined to die naturally. General public opinion held that if enough money and scientists were hurled into the research seeking to find out why so few individuals were able to make a second passage through the gates, the problem was certain to be solved. With all the hoorah about possible immortality, I don't remember a soul bothering to ask whether the gates would always be around. It seemed to me that if they appeared suddenly, they could all disappear just as quickly. I wrote a story about the possibility, but it didn't sell. No one likes to have their daydreams punctured by reality.
The scientists, of course, weren't certain what it all meant. We got their opinions from Russell through the clandestine web most serious scientists were party to.
It was a great story and held the public interest for weeks. I wasn't in on the first of it, still being under Horst's injunction not to print or write anything about Seconders without first getting his permission. I got really annoyed and spent some credit on a good lawyer. He had a federal judge in his pocket, but even so, it took three days before Horst capitulated. It shouldn't have taken him that long; after all, it seemed like every reporter in the world was doing the stories Mary was crying for me to produce. Bureaucracy can sometimes be as mindless and stupid as a flatworm.
Once I got my final and total release from the NSA, I used Russell's source (without naming names, of course) to get in on the action. Fortunately, Mary had been building me up enough so my pieces had no trouble selling, other than the one I mentioned.
By this time, I was really beginning to enjoy being a webporter, and seemed to have found my niche in offbeat stories about the sex gates. After the carnival atmosphere about the Seconders began to die down (which was quickly, once it was pointed out how very few of them there were), I started using my time to search out sociological and psychological trends resulting from the presence of the gates on earth. Those pieces took Rita and I on several trips together. She was back in school, but not taking a heavy load and rarely had to go into North Houston for classes; most of them she could do anywhere, at home or while we were on the road.
I still didn't like traveling and positively hated to fly. I presented this problem to Mary. She cussed and pulled her hair, but set me up with some stringers in other parts of the country, and gave me access to a truly wizard graphics technician. He could piece out an interview from a thousand miles away and make it look as if it were taking place in the next room. I had trouble telling his graphies from real people, even when I knew who was what.
One of the major stories I did (with Rita's invaluable help) was the sudden drop in the birthrate. I was ahead of everyone else on this story and it made me a bundle. I didn't even have to pay a commission to a stringer.
The gates had been around for less than ten months when I broke the story. I already had it on file, and had for weeks, for the simple reason that I trusted Rita's intuition.
"The birth rate is about due to start dropping," she said to me one day as we were driving back from Dallas, not one of my favorite trips. There was no good way from there to Ruston without taking a few secondary roads.
"Why do you say that?" I asked, glancing over at her. She was doing the driving.
"Can't you guess?"
I thought about it. Nothing obvious came to mind. "No."
"Simple. First, most of the individuals who have gone through the gates have been oldsters, but there's a substantial minority of younger ones who have gone through, too. Homosexual men and women. Young people with debilitating diseases or who have been crippled in accidents. Those forced through during the riots. And others of one ilk or another. Half of them made the change from male to female."
"So?" I still didn't get it.
"So how many of those men-turned-into-women are going to want to get pregnant and have a baby? How about you? Suppose you had been forced through a gate? How quick would you be to consider the idea?" She turned her head and gave me a know-it-all smile.
"Not very," I said. "If ever."
"See? Let's face it; all those new women still retain most of their male outlook. They've all either heard or seen the pain women go through during childbirth. Most of them will be scared chipless to even think about it."
I didn't comment until I had thought it over. My conclusions weren't very complimentary toward the male sex. "I think you're probably right," I said slowly. "That doesn't speak very well of men, does it?"
She reached over and patted me on the thigh. "Don't let it bother you. Men can't help being what they are. What really concerns me is what it's going to mean down the road a bit after our generation starts aging and going through the gates. If they're still around then, that is."
"Maybe they'll get used to the idea," I offered.
"Maybe. I have my doubts, though. The mothering and nurturing instinct isn't exactly a straight-line genetic thing in humans. The way it's expressed depends a lot on environment, in this case, on the cultural stimuli girls receive almost from birth. Without that, the genetic influence won't be very dominant, regardless of the males becoming females.
"Hmm," I said. "This bears some thinking about. In the meantime, are you confident enough with your reasoning for us to do an article in advance?"
"Sure. We can be impartial, too. We'll be having ours next year sometime."
"Has your implant expired yet?"
"I think so. It feels smaller to me now, like it's beginning to be absorbed. I may already be vulnerable."
I put my arm around her and nuzzled the side of her neck. "Good," I said.
"Hey! Don't make me wreck the car!" She grabbed my knee and shook it, laughing.
I didn't mind the rest of the drive at all, country roads or not.
***
We made the announcement of our intentions to the rest of the family that night while Russell was there. We had been waiting the last couple days on him.
We both got enough hugs and kisses and congratulations to last for the next ten years.
"Hey, I wondered why y'all have been so exclusive lately. No wonder!" Russell was all smiles now, using the happy face to replace the slightly puzzled look he had been carrying around the last week or two when he was home. I had wondered about it, but only vaguely, and certainly hadn't associated it with him feeling left out of anything. Donna and Seyla had been giving him plenty of attention, so I hadn't worried much. Now I got it. Rita had been way ahead of me, as usual.
We really had a celebration that night. No one bothered to cook and eventually, we sent out for loads of pizza to soak up some of the Rum Whatnot. It was cold for our part of the country and I built a fire in the big fireplace that dominated the expanded den. We threw thick comforters and blankets and rugs in front of the flames and laughed and talked and drank most of the night. We even all managed to agree on an entertainment program, a modern remake of an old film called The Pet Plague, about genetically enhanced pets and the havoc they wreaked on earth. It seemed rather tame now in comparison to what the sex gates were doing, but there were some good rousing sex scenes, including one really good, sensuous lesbian interlude which revived Russell and I just when we thought we were finished for the night. It may even have done something for the g
irls. They giggled and tried to reproduce it for our benefit (though Black Spot and Black Dot, the resident cats, didn't think highly of being in the show like the kittens in the movie did), but then got carried away for a while and ignored us almost as if we weren't there. Finally, we parted company, Rita and I to our room, the other three to another.
We both took Nohang pills and showered together while the pills worked overtime neutralizing all the alcohol we had absorbed. Afterward, we lay side by side and made slow, easy love for what seemed like hours.
"I love you so much, Lee. I wish this could go on forever," Rita murmured, stroking my back in time to my short, easy thrusts into her body.
"Mmm, me too." I leaned up away from her far enough to bring my hand to her breast. She pulled me back to her, leaving my hand where it was.
I think we went to sleep in that same position. That was the last night Rita allowed herself any alcohol.
***
I remember the following weeks as one of the happiest periods of my life, especially after Rita told me that she had conceived. I like to think it was the night of the celebration, but it could have been a day or two later. No matter, I was as pleased and proud as a politician coming from behind to win his first election, and the others shared my feelings wholeheartedly. We had agreed long ago that when the time came, we wouldn't select the sex of our first progeny, but just take what came. As soon as Rita told the others, good-natured speculation began, as well as a friendly pool which included the possibility of twins or triplets, with avoidance of yard or garden work as prizes.
We even began talking about names. I favored Junior if it was a boy, even though I disliked my first name, much preferring to be called Lee. Rita wanted to name her Rikki if it was a girl. She always thought ahead. If the gates were still around when the child got old, there wouldn't be any problem about names when and if she changed sex. She could become Ricky and still have her name pronounced the same.
While the friendly bantering was going on, Mary called again. Now she wanted me to try some more humor. She already had a contract ready for me, a series which would reenact amusing anecdotes and pratfalls concerning the sex gates. It appealed to me and I okayed the contract and promised her to get started on it in a few more days, just as soon as the opening day festivities of the Ruston shelter and food center were finished.
***
"You will all be seated right down in front with the mayor and police chief and county commissioner," Seyla announced early that morning. She was all bubbles and excitement with anticipation. She had a right to be. She had put in a lot of hours during the construction of the center and added even more of a helping hand to organize the opening, which was going to be one of the first in the country to be completed.
"How big of a crowd are you expecting?" I asked, not really caring but wanting to give her something to talk about to help ease her nervousness.
"Oh, well, all the fourth worlders in the county will be there, of course, along with the school board and the Chamber of Commerce and oh, lots more. All our neighbors, and the ranchers and farmers are all coming in to see; they like the idea of providing commodities to the indigent rather than money. And of course, the churches and their congregations will be there. It's going to be wonderful!" She twirled in a circle, sending her skirt flying up around her thighs and giving us a glimpse of her panties.
"Don't do that at the ceremony," Russell said. "You'll stop them in their tracks." He was joking, of course. If it was wonderful for her, it would be for us, too. She was such a sweetheart. She hadn't had a down day since getting involved with the project.
I was kind of proud of our little city, too. Businessmen and laborers alike had volunteered their time and money to make sure it was a success, and the churches had contributed even more. Of course, the churches had a vested interest; in the last decade or two, it had fallen mostly to their charity work to keep the destitute fed and sheltered and provided with emergency medical care. It would be a load off their shoulders. Nevertheless, I couldn't fault the effort they contributed. According to Seyla, they had done more than their share.
"When should we head out?" I asked. I wanted us to get there a little early. Mary had told me she could probably sell a piece on the opening since it was one of the first.
"I have to leave now. You guys can come along in about an hour. Don't be late, now." She gave us each a quick kiss and ran quickly out the door, like a young doe at her first mating call.
"I wish I could tell her now, but I'm afraid she's already excited enough," Russell said, watching the dwindling figure through the still open door.
"Tell her what?" I asked.
Rita answered, "Russell thinks he may have made a breakthrough with some of the work he's been doing. It may turn out to help the fourth worlders as much as anything the government is doing."
"What? Have you found out something about the gates?" After all this time!
He quickly disillusioned me. "No, the gates themselves are just as enigmatic as ever. But you remember me telling you how studying them was inciting some really wild thinking? Well, we may have one of our first payoffs, if everything goes like we think it will in the lab next week."
"Great. Can you tell us what it is?"
"Not the theory; that involves too much math, and I don't want to get into trying to tell you in English until the experiments are over. It's looking good, though." He glanced at his watch. "Shucks, I can't stand waiting around here on pins and needles. Why don't we go on?"
"Suits me." I raised my brows at Rita and Donna.
"Give us a minute or two," Rita said. They disappeared into one of the bedrooms.
A few minutes later, they returned, both wearing dress togas with shoulder wraps. The ceremony was going to be held outside. The shelter was actually a grouping of many small family units, not like the old high rise apartments built for the poor, or "the disadvantaged" as they were called then. It had been built at the edge of one side of the sports field, only a few hundred feet from where the Ruston gate still stood and maintained its secrets. A local businessman had donated the land, even though the government would have bought it from him. His reward was having the facility named after himself.
Ruston didn't have near as many fourth worlders in proportion to population as the larger cities, but we had our share, mostly legal day laborers up from Central America, and it looked as if they were all on hand. A few of their number had been picked as representatives to sit with the other dignitaries on the small raised platform from which the speeches and announcements would be made. The rest were scattered through the crowd, clustering together in little groups.
We four mingled with our neighbors for half an hour or so, then began working our way forward to the reserved seats in front of the stand. Seyla spotted us and came down.
"Hi, guys! Isn't this great? I think nearly the whole county is here." She was dressed in a simple conservative white suit with bright pink piping along the seams and looked as pretty as a spring flower.
The band struck a chord. "Oh, we're getting ready to start. You sit down and I'll join you as soon as my part is finished."
"Don't you want to stay up there with all the nabobs?" I teased.
"Of course, but there's too many of us. We have to rotate. 'Bye for now." She was right. Some of the dignitaries were sitting in the first row, right in front of us. The empty seats presumably belonged to individuals already seated on the platform. They should have built it bigger, I thought.
The high school band struck up a tune. It wasn't all that good, but it was enthusiastic. Most of the band members were fourth worlders, as were most of the students. Parents who could afford it had their kids educated through the web and with private instructors when necessary. Public schooling was pretty much a joke anymore, but it was all the third and fourth worlders had. Taxpayers had long ago gotten fed up with the lack of results and quit voting for anything other than minimal funding for public schooling at the undergraduate level.<
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The mayor made a speech, mercifully short, followed by the commissioner, the police chief, the high school principal, a dignitary from Washington and a host of others, most of which were as forgettable as a dull Sunday sermon. Then came an interlude where the volunteers were introduced. At last Seyla's turn to speak came.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you all. I hope and pray that what we have begun here today will be only the beginning of a new era in our beloved country, an era where everyone will have a chance to participate in society to the full extent of their abilities. Please, all of you, hold in your minds the memories of how we have worked so hard together these last few months." A tear trickled slowly down her cheek. A hard knot of emotion grew in my throat until I thought it would choke me. I felt tears began to gather in my eyelashes, blurring my vision. From beside me, I heard Rita sob happily.
She couldn't go on. "Thank you. May God bless you all." She wiped her eyes and hurried off the stand and began working her way down the second row of seats where we were waiting. She looked down at a scruffy white male with braided hair, one of the fourth world representatives. I remembered him vaguely as a groundskeeper who had recently been laid off.
"Excuse me," I heard her say. The man moved his legs to let her pass. Just as she stepped past him, he rose quickly to his feet. I saw something glinting in his hand as he brought back his arm, then swung it forward.
"Bitch! Traitor! Motherfucking uppity cunt!" He buried the knife up to the hilt just under her left shoulder blade.
"Seyla!" Russell screamed. He swung both fists and trampled intervening bodies indiscriminately in his rush to get to her side. I followed in his wake, feeling as if my body had been invaded by an ugly, vicious monster. Blood was already gushing from Seyla's mouth by the time we got to her. Someone bent over her, blocking Russell's vision. He turned and kicked him in the side, sending him sprawling.
