by Victor Koman
She used her long, graceful hands to explain, emphasize, illustrate. "New treatments for infertility, whose basic tenet is that an infertile woman is `sick' and must be `healed' at any cost, really do nothing more than reduce women to deperson-alized breeding machines. Billions of dollars are being poured into research that tells a woman, `Look-all that you have done with your life is meaningless if you can't make babies. We'll find a way to make them in spite of your shortcomings. You are superfluous.'
"In vitro fertilization meant that a woman who once could not conceive normally could now be forced to bear an heir for her husband. Surrogate motherhood went one step further by cutting the woman out of the man's plans for fatherhood en-tirely. Now he could hire a woman-usually someone who had no choice but to accept the thousands of dollars offered-to undergo a pregnancy that would shove his chromosomes for-ward one more generation. Thank goodness laws are being made to ban that bit of mercenary bondage." She looked at the women in the jury. "Transoption goes totally beyond anything yet encountered. It allows a man to seize a fetus from one woman and force it into another woman so that he can claim an heir even if that heir has absolutely no relation to him what-soever! It is the ultimate cruelty for the ultimate in hollow vic-tories. For the maintenance of the sham of fatherhood, women are now to become completely interchangeable wombs, to-tally robbed of any say in the use and disposition of their bodily tissues.
"Mr. Decker made a big point about the fetus being geneti-cally different from the woman simply because it contains a little genetic matter from a man. May I point out that it re-ceives everything else from the woman? It wouldn't be able to convert nutrients into its own genetic matter if there weren't a woman eating, breathing, and living to surround and protect it.
"Or does Dr. Fletcher intend to cut out the woman entirely? Why should a man even marry? Is Dr. Fletcher working on ways to remove the entire uterus from a woman, connect it to a machine, and churn out babies on male demand? All for a price?" She stared hatefully at Fletcher. "A price not calcu-lated just in dollars but also in the immeasurable suffering and oppression of the entire female species." Applause erupted in scattered portions of the courtroom. Cameras swung about for reactions. Judge Lyang gaveled for silence.
Czernek let out a breath he had been holding, spellbound. "Thank you, Ms. Burke. Thank you for your insight on this. I have no further questions. You've covered it all." He returned to his seat. Johnson stood, running a hand through his hair. "Ms. Burke," he said with a touch of confusion, "you leave me at a loss for words. I can't understand how someone who battles so val-iantly for women's rights can support something as brutally murderous as abortion. Doesn't abortion deprive an unborn woman of her right to life?"
Burke smiled at the obvious baiting. "There is no such thing as an unborn woman," she said with a touch of condescen-sion. "A fetus is a piece of tissue inside a woman, just as much a part of her as an appendix. It cannot reason, it cannot sur-vive outside her body. It only has the potential of someday being a human being. And that point comes at birth, when it becomes a separate and distinct human being."
"Maybe I'm a little thickheaded," Johnson said. "Doesn't the fact that we are here today arguing over the custody of Baby Renata prove that a fetus can survive outside its mother's body?"
"By planting it in another woman's body, certainly. But that's the same as saying a parasite can survive without its host if one can move it around from host to host." Terry raised a surprised eyebrow. "Fetuses are now para-sites?"
"In a sense, yes. It is an invading organism that takes nour-ishment from its host."
"So now you admit that it is a distinct organism."
"No," she said. "Well, yes, inasmuch as it is a tumorlike growth that swells at a fantastic rate."
"Tumor, parasite." He stared at her for a moment, then back at the jury. "Don't these words describe unnatural invasions of the human body that can happen to both men and women?"
"Of course."
"Isn't pregnancy, though, something that is not only natural but vital to the human race, which can only occur in women?"
"Put that way, yes. But-"
"Parasites stay with their hosts until the host dies. A fetus stays with a woman for nine months max, correct?"
"Yes," Burke replied in a tight voice. She knew where he was leading her. Mild laughter mixed with whispered comments from the spectators.
"It's common knowledge," he continued, "that a tumor can either remain one size indefinitely or grow until it kills the victim but a fetus grows at a specific rate to a specific point at which it signals the woman's body to expel it. Why do you sup-port a woman's right to expel a fetus and let it die but not an-other woman's right to rescue an expelled fetus and implant it in her own body? Shouldn't that also be a reproductive free-dom?"
"The fetus is not another woman's property."
"True. And I'd question whether it is the first woman's prop-erty. Let's assume, though, that it is. If I abandon my property, can't someone come along and claim it?"
"This is the problem, don't you see?" Burke pounded her fist on the chair arm. "Treating human beings like property whose title can be-"
"Excuse me?" Johnson nearly shouted. "What is that con-clusion based on? When did fetuses become human beings to you? How can you object to the buying and selling of tumors and parasites?"
"That's not what I mean. A fetus is like a houseguest of the woman. The uterus is the home, and the woman is the land-lord. She has a perfect right as landlord to evict the tenant at any point. To demand that she care for the tenant against her will is slavery. But that doesn't mean a landlord can sell the tenant to another landlord."
Johnson waved his hand dismissively. "Once again, only human beings can be considered tenants. But let's get back to body tissue. I presume you have your hair and nails done at a salon?"
"Objection!" Czernek said loudly. "What possible bearing does the witness's groom-"
"I am trying to establish a line of questioning, Your Honor." Judge Lyang, intrigued by the left-field nature of the ques-tion, said, "Overruled. Be aware, though, that I may interrupt at any time if I think you are harassing the witness."
"Thanks, Your Honor," Johnson said. Turning back to Burke, he lowered his voice "Well?"
"Yes," she said. "I do."
"And when your hair and nails are trimmed, do you demand that the trimmings be burned in your presence?"
"Hair and nails are composed of already dead cells."
"Just yes or no, Ms. Burke."
"No, of course not."
"Have you had your appendix removed?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any idea what the surgeon did with it after-ward?" Burke smiled wryly. "No."
"I see." He paced around for a moment. "Have you ever had an abortion?" Some spectators frowned at hearing such an intrusive ques-tion.
Burke sat up straight. "Yes, I have," she announced with pride.
"Oh? And what did the surgeon do with the abortus?"
"I don't know. I presume she disposed of it properly."
Johnson slammed his fist on the rail. "You presume?" Did you know that aborted fetuses are the major source of liver cells for transplant research?"
"No."
"Did you know that their pancreatic islets are cut out and used for insulin experiments?"
"No." She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
She wasn't alone. Spectators and members of the jury found images coming to mind that generated a queasy discomfort.
Johnson pressed on. "Did you know that some brands of hair spray contain human placental extract?"
"Yes." She laughed nervously without realizing it.
"Did you know that fetal brain tissue is being used to treat Parkinson's disease? That fetal nerve fibers and astrocytes can be used to treat spinal injuries?"
"I've read something about it."
"And none of this disturbs you?"
"Why should it?"
Johnson turned towar
d the jury to make a helpless gesture with his hands. "You attack the mercenary nature of surrogate mothering and of doctors who charge fees for their services, but you seem unconcerned that there exists an entrenched financial interest involved in the practice of abortion. Research-ers, after all, are getting valuable fetal material for free from women-in fact, charging women for having the material re-moved after the dubious privilege of being incubators. Do you find no ethical conflict in that?"
Burke tried to formulate a reply to the lawyer's question.
"At first glance," she said, "there might seem to be..." Her voice trailed off, her confidence slipping like a worn stocking.
"Why do you support abortion and not transoption? Is it be-cause abortion allows a woman to ensure that her mistakes don't live to haunt her?"
Czernek shot to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. Badgering the witness won't-"
"Sustained."
"-make up for his dearth of-"
"Sustained, Mr. Czernek."
Ron sat down. Terry slipped his hands into his pants pock-ets.
"What, Ms. Burke, makes you think that Valerie Dalton was deprived of control over her body by transoption but that you were not deprived by abortion? Neither of you knew what be-came of your fetal tissue. Would it have been better if Renata had been sent to a lab to have her liver, pancreas, and brain removed? Would it really have been better?"
Burke stammered for a moment, her composure faltering. "I..." She stiffened. "Valerie Dalton expected an abortion, not an embryo transfer."
"What she expected," Johnson said, "is what she contracted for. To be free of her pregnancy." He pointed to the screen. "Exhibit A once again. Does the word àbortion' appear any-where on it?"
"A legalistic, semantic trick," Burke replied.
"Is it? Valerie Dalton went into Bayside Medical pregnant. She came out not pregnant. She contracted for a pregnancy termination, and that's what she received. She explicitly signed away any claim to the tissue removed. She took full responsi-bility for her body, Ms. Burke, when she signed this paper. Her pregnancy was terminated just as surely as your pregnancy was, Ms. Burke. Now what's the difference? Why didn't you sue your abortionist?"
"Because I received an abortion. Her fetus lived!"
"So it's not the right to a terminated pregnancy that you de-fend. It is the right to a dead fetus. Your ethical concern is with the life or death of the child. Is that correct?"
"A fetus is not a child, God damn you!"
Johnson slammed both hands on the rail and stood inches away from her. Sweat beaded on his face. An anger that was not feigned burned in his expression. In a voice that thun-dered, he said, "Everything you say and support screams that a fetus is a child. You have no objection to individual fetal cells living on inside another person's liver or pancreas or brain. The only thing you object to is letting those cells remain intact to become a living, breathing human being!"
"Mr. Johnson!" Lyang slammed her gavel. "You-"
"No more questions, Your Honor."
He turned away from Burke and returned to his seat. Karen Chandler hugged him, tears flowing down her face. Dr. Fletcher patted his arm with approval.
The whispering from the spectators threatened to erupt into loud arguments. Everywhere, opinions polarized. Judge Lyang pounded away to no avail.
"Court is recessed until"-she glanced down at her calen-dar-"November tenth. Jurors are instructed not to discuss this case with anyone. Bailiff, clear everyone out!"
XVI
Czernek made a note to call the doctor to reschedule his testimony. "Let's go," he said to Valerie, standing to extend his arm toward her. "Be prepared for a mob."
Ron became a flying wedge through the crowd of specta-tors. When they reached the double doors at the rear of the courtroom, many of the spectators transmogrified into report-ers, shouting questions and producing microphones from no-where. Lights blazed suddenly, and the black glassy eyes of camera lenses dilated to view the pair.
"Do you think you can win the trial against such a brash young lawyer?" a woman hollered.
"Do you think the expert witnesses harmed your case?" shouted a spectacled man. Ron led with one elbow jutting forward like a ship's prow, cutting through the sea of faces. His other arm twined with one of Valerie's to keep her close.
"I won't comment on the trial," he said loudly. "I have a worthy opponent, but we shall win nonetheless. Valerie is the true mother of Renata. Nothing can change that." He barged through the swirl of reporters that seemed to move with them toward the exit.
"How painful was your bone-marrow transplant?" another woman shouted, jabbing a microphone at Valerie.
"It hurt," she said. "It still hurts."
"Why did you want an abortion?"
"Did you ask your boyfriend's opinion?"
"Do you plan to have other-"
"Hey!" one of them shouted. "There they are!"
The tide suddenly went out on the ocean of newshounds. Lights and equipment bobbed hastily back toward the court-room to surround the defendants. Ron lowered his arm and walked briskly with Valerie toward the exit. He glanced back at the crowd and smiled. Let him get grilled for a while. Johnson welcomed the barrage. With Evelyn on his left arm and Karen on his right-protected on her other side by David-the young man forced a winning grin onto his face. Inwardly, though, being the center of such a crowd made him nervous.
"Of course we can't read the minds of the jurors," he said loudly to the microphones, "but we're certainly putting our point across."
"What point?" shouted a voice from somewhere in the knot of questions.
"That Dr. Fletcher helped Karen and David Chandler res-cue a defenseless baby from the jaws of death and that they would be better parents than the plaintiffs."
"Mrs. Chandler," a blond woman called out. "Do you feel that carrying Renata to term makes you more of a mother than the woman who conceived her?"
"How did you feel when you found out your blood couldn't save her?"
"Dr. Fletcher! Will Renata survive all this?"
"Will she need more transplants?"
Terry increased his pace in an effort to move toward the exit. It was like moving through the tar pits.
"Please," he said. "Let my clients through. Contact me and we'll set up interviews." His clients stared at him in shock. "I'll explain over dinner," he said in low tones. The promise did nothing to abate the storm of interroga-tion. Sighing, he raised his elbow and began his charge.
"
Czernek thought he and Valerie would be safe once past the reporters. Then he saw the crowds outside.
Two lines of picketers, separated by a double line of blue uniforms, shouted at each other and the police. Pro-life to the left, pro-choice to the right. And the police opening a corridor right down the middle.
He was unsure which group would give them worse treat-ment. He read the pro-lifers' signs. If She Hadn't Aborted, This Wouldn't Have Happened
Transoption Is Baby Stealing
Abortion and Transoption: High-Tech Child Abuse
Stop Nazi Experiments! Fletcher = Mengele!
He couldn't tell if they were on his side or not. He scanned the pro-choice side. Transoption Is Not an Option!
Fletcher Steals Our Right to Choose
Women Are Not Cattle
End Reproductive Slavery
Stop Nazi Experiments! Fletcher = Mengele!
Ron stared at the last sign, then back at the pro-life group. Great minds think alike, he mused. Fear rushed through Valerie as she and Ron walked slowly down the courthouse steps toward the crowd. It was a bright, sunny afternoon. A fresh sea breeze blew over the shouting, turbulent crowd. It should have been a beautiful day, but the rival factions turned its loveliness into a mocking counterpoint. She could make out individual voices.
"Hey, hey, AMA-How many babies d'you kill today?"
"Our bodies-our choice!"
"God said thou shalt not kill!"
"Gods and governments en
slave women!"
"Sez you!"
Then the picketers saw Dalton and Czernek enter the blue-bordered no man's land. Valerie didn't know what to expect. The pro-lifers probably hated her for having the abortion in the first place. The pro-choicers probably hated her for wanting the baby back. Both sides merely grew quiet. They watched the pair pass between their warring camps. It was an uneasy truce, with scattered troops on both sides clapping here and there, boo-ing there and here. The ranks were divided, cohesive action impossible.
Valerie and Ron passed unchallenged. Then the rival pro-testers' collective attention shifted to the four people at the top of the steps.
The cries and epithets from both sides erupted with such forceful outrage that no intelligible word or phrase escaped the crowds. Raised fists shook. Angry hands waved signs. The police locked arms and stared over their shoulders in red-faced, strained frustration at the opposite blue shore. Johnson led the quartet into the narrowing chute. The thin lines of police were no match. The people, united, could not be defeated. They overcame from the right. Onward marched the Christian soldiers from the left. They converged on the mutual enemy.
The police closed ranks around the four, the outer shell of officers raising their batons to threaten. The circle moved to-ward the parking lot as if it were a single cell.
"Get back on the sidewalk!" shouted an officious voice on a bullhorn. "Get back or face arrest." The threat worked. The picketers quieted down one by one and returned to a more orderly arrangement on the sidewalk. The police drifted back between them.
"Thanks, Officer," Evelyn said to the last man to leave.
He looked at the doctor with a hateful gaze on his gnarled, tanned face. "Don't thank me. I'd have to protect you if you were Satan's stepdaughter. And I think you are." He turned away and returned to the crowd, stopping for a moment to spit in the gutter.
Johnson shook his head. "I've always wondered why public servants treat their employers so poorly." He put an arm around Dr. Fletcher's shoulder and said, "Let's all go eat and plot our strategy." " They sat in a booth at Doolittle's Raiders, a restaurant hid-den from the Pacific Coast Highway by the Torrance Munici-pal Airport's landing strip. Small planes lifted off and touched down outside the tinted windows. The faint sound of engines augmented the World War II music and decor. Among Hallowe'en decorations and costumed waitresses, Terry laid out his plan.
