by J. S. Morin
Charlie7 chuckled. “He’s used to losing. Don’t want him thinking he can do no wrong. I never go easy on him; I just tell him how I beat him so he can do better next time.”
Dr. Nora looked from Eve to Plato and back. “Do the two of you let Abby win at games?”
“No,” they said in unison.
“Abby doesn’t like playing against Eve,” Plato explained. “And I can’t beat her at anything that doesn’t involve being twice her height and fifty times as strong.”
Charlie7 cast a sly glance at Eve. “By the time he’s six, I bet Alex will give even you a run for your money.”
Chapter Six
On her fourteenth birthday, Abbigail Fourteen stood in front of the Emancipation Board. Last year, she had convinced them that another year of adult supervision wouldn’t stunt her professional career. This year, she’d taken more drastic measures.
Her mother wasn’t present, as usual, having recused herself from the board’s decision. The rest of the board was familiar to Abby and not just because she was seeing them for the fourth consecutive year. These were Eve’s colleagues. Some were even friends.
“As usual, Abbigail, your academic credentials are spotless,” Nora109 stated. The head of the Earth school system took on the leadership role in Eve’s absence. “This is your third year in independent curriculum, and I’m happy to see that you’ve broadened your interests outside of the sciences.”
Abby shrugged, slouching in her chair opposite the semi-circle of experts on human development, education, and psychology. “What can I say? It’s like jogging up a down escalator. Science advances as fast as I learn it. Plus, it’s not like the planet needs another paleontologist or metallurgist. And genetics creeps me right the fuck out.”
Nora109 frowned and cocked her head but didn’t comment on Abby’s cursing.
Go on. Let her say something. Let her scold Abby on the record during her emancipation hearing.
Before the silence in the hearing room could grow uncomfortable, Phoebe stepped in. “Life skills testing is a mere formality at this point, despite my suspicion that this year’s burnt teriyaki tofu was an intentional miscue. I submitted a report on last August’s lobster bisque as evidence that you can cook for yourself.”
This time, Abby kept her cursing to herself. She should never have let Mom talk her into helping cook for the reunion. Aunt Phoebe had stabbed her right between the braised ribs.
Ashley390 took a turn as well. “You are physically and emotionally sound. Your parents did not consent to brain scanning for you, but you show all evidence of superior intellect and emotional stability. There is no medical case for your continued dependency.”
Earth had little in the way of a legal system. Nothing like the Human Era films and historical records. Any appeal of the Emancipation Committee’s decision would revert to the Human Welfare Committee, where Eve would again recuse herself, and Abby’s appeal would fall to largely the same group she sat before now.
If she were to make a stand, it would be on her own two feet.
“Does anyone even care that I don’t want emancipation?” Abby asked the room at large. “Society at large doesn’t need me. Humans are superfluous. Any career I pick, I’m at the back of a system with no retirement queue. A Human Era scientist might start out in the shadow of a luminary of the previous generation, but eventually she’ll take over the mantle of preeminent expert in the field. But if I went into polymer science, my great-grandchildren could die of old age before Arthur35 stepped down as foremost expert. Robots. Don’t. Retire.” She omitted Charlie7 from her argument since no mention of him was liable to earn her points with the board. “Training and retirement are two sides of a coin. Human Era society relied on both.”
Nora109 laced her fingers together and fixed Abby with a disapproving glare. “You don’t get to opt out of adulthood simply because the current system doesn’t meet your expectations. It’s unfair to your parents to remain responsible for you now that you’re clearly capable of looking after yourself.”
But Mom had always said it was no burden at all. Abby had been a wonderful child, she’d said.
That nagging worry returned like a boomerang she couldn’t throw away. If Abby had been such a joy to raise, why hadn’t Mom and Dad ever adopted another baby? Robots had done it. Theresa and Pisces had three, and they were humans. Eve and Plato, heroes and icons of the Second Human Era, could have had as many as they liked.
And yet, they’d opted to raise Abby as an only child.
“They don’t mind,” Abby said lamely.
Phoebe leaned across the table to draw just a little bit closer to Abby’s seat. “They’d be horrible people to say otherwise.”
Nora109 looked up and down the arc of seated Emancipation Board members. “I trust that we’ve all heard enough here. All in favor of approving emancipation for Abbigail Fourteen?”
The word “aye” rang like a gong in Abby’s mind. The vote was unanimous. 11-0, with a lone abstention by the absent chairwoman.
“Congratulations, Abby,” Nora109 said formally. “You are no longer a child. You are now entitled to all the rights and responsibilities of a citizen of Earth.”
Hooray…
Chapter Seven
Lazy clouds floated overhead. As Abby walked beneath them in a daze, they remained merely water vapor, as if the whimsy required to conjure them into turtles and sea monsters had been snatched from her imagination along with her childhood. Walking alone from the Emancipation Board meeting was a rite of passage. There would be a ceremony next week for a public coming out, but the immediate aftermath was a demonstration of freedom.
No one was going to tell Abby what she had to do, where to go, or what to do with her life.
It was terrifying.
A gleaming, Kanto-new skyroamer waited for Abby on the concrete pad just off London Commons. It was hers—Earth’s gift to the newly emancipated. All her life, the world had been a roving bubble that surrounded her parents or teachers. Now, she had the means to get anywhere on Earth, and the only place she wanted to go was home.
Not that she technically had a home at the moment. That afternoon, Abby had an appointment before the Housing Committee to pick a place to live. She’d get a temporary apartment in Paris that she could either turn into a permanent residence or simply bide her time until one could be built to her specification.
Circling her new skyroamer, Abby pondered what to do with it. Dad had made her learn to pilot one, so it wasn’t as if she was unsure how to operate the craft. She just hated being the one to do the flying. With the autopilot disengaged, the controls were perfectly happy to let her slam straight into a mountain or building. Abby didn’t enjoy the power of the machine for its own sake the way Dad did or appreciate globe-hopping like Mom. The responsibility for her own safekeeping was a burden she’d have preferred someone else bear.
Still, as she ran her fingers down the sleek contours of the vehicle’s exterior, it was kind of cool to have one all to herself.
The interior still smelled of chemical cleansers and outgassing plastics. Sitting with the canopy open, Abby fired up the air circulator full blast.
Beside her, the passenger’s seat was empty. If it weren’t for the fact that all skyroamers were at least two-seaters, she’d have taken that for another symbol of emancipation. She wondered if Eve and Nora109 realized the irony of providing a passenger seat to a girl—a woman now, she supposed—whom they’d just cut adrift.
More likely, it was simply a disconnect in messaging between the Emancipation Board and the skyroamer production line at Kanto.
As the circulator continued to churn air and filter chemical residue, Abby ran a hand along the steering yoke. “I am a bird cast out of the nest and asked to fly.”
Somewhere deep down, she knew that Eve and Plato weren’t the sort to let their little bird lie broken on the forest floor to become a meal. That didn’t make the fall any less terrifying.
Resigned that the fa
ctory odors would die away with time, Abby closed the canopy. It locked shut with an air of finality. With five hours to kill before her appointment with the Housing Committee, she fired up the thrusters and took to the skies with no destination in mind.
Chapter Eight
Two years later, a different applicant stood before the Emancipation Board. Reed thin and with a mop of unruly hair plastered into submission by petrochemical adhesives, Alex Truman wore a suit styled after his father’s preference in evening wear.
Eve presided over the hearing. “Alexander, we are gathered today to consider your application for emancipation. Thus far, you are the youngest applicant we’ve agreed to interview. Please understand that we have some concerns about emancipating someone as young as yourself.”
“I understand,” Alex replied in a high, prepubescent voice that did nothing to lend credence to his case for adulthood. He’d have used a voice modulator, but no one would have been fooled by it. It would have just made him look more insecure than he already was about his lack of physiological age. “Were the situation reversed, I might not have found it worth my time to hear the case of a ten-year-old. I appreciate the board’s time and consideration.”
Flattery. Anticipate their objections. Meet them head on. Gratitude.
“Of course,” Eve said, gesturing to Nora109 beside her. “Your academic ratings are impeccable. No one here would question your ability to understand your circumstances, plan a career, maintain a schedule.”
Alex raised a reassuring hand. “I can do all that, easy.”
Self-assurance. Confidence. Calmness. Affability.
“I would like to mention a pattern I’ve noticed,” Nora109 said. “Your affinity for science and history has shown a systemic interest in war and weaponry.”
The flavor of the room soured. Alex could pick up on robotic emotions as well as any human could imagine. Mom was an open book, a control in his every experiment, but puzzling out Dad’s feelings had honed his sense of the clandestine and duplicitous to a scalpel’s edge. He needed to tread carefully lest he snap the line he’d played out for this school of fish.
“My father was a hero,” Alex said. “And war holds a certain dread fascination. It showed off mankind at its best and worst. It removed complacency as an excuse to stifle creative scientific inquiry. It gave mankind something worse to fear than the ‘what if’ of a failed experiment or wasted resources. And for all the horrors of the wars themselves, the benefit to the species is clear. Flight, space travel, satellites, plastics, gunpowder, computer networking, synthetic rubber. War got mankind off its collective backsides and thinking. Nowadays, war is obsolete, but I can’t help admiring the people who got us this far.”
Rational. Thorough. Civic-minded. Touchstones.
Ashley390 smiled. Forced. Expected. Polite. “Physically, you’re in perfect health. None of the chronic issues that plagued Dr. Charles Truman have re-emerged since the cleansing of your DNA prior to cloning. However, you have shown certain predilections toward anti-social behavior that are cause for concern to the board.”
“I have plenty of friends,” Alex replied instantly. Thoughtless. Unplanned. “And I know what you mean. It was a childish lapse in judgment that I don’t expect to repeat. I know how to learn from my mistakes.”
Contrite. Self-aware.
“It was two weeks ago,” Nora109 pointed out.
That bastard Bart was going to cost Alex his emancipation? Like hell he was. “No one else was hurt. While I admit that physical violence was an inappropriate response to the situation, my founding objection was born out. Bartholomew was using a computer to help him win the junior chess championship. If I had it to do over again, I’d have let the judges adjudicate and removed myself from the proceedings.”
Contrite. Self-aware. Need something else. Humor?
Alex smiled and spread his arms. He wished the bruises from Bart’s fists hadn’t healed already. “And if I don’t learn that lesson, it’s a self-regulating problem. I’ll get my butt kicked every time. I’m not exactly Plato.”
Chuckles. He’d gotten through. Eve wasn’t laughing. Sore point. Bad move. Should have drawn the contrast to Charlie7 instead. Phoebe wasn’t laughing either. A miss. Gear shift. Unanimity not the only acceptable outcome. Cut losses.
Alex bowed. “However, it’s not my place to say whether I’m ready for emancipation or not. The decision rests with this esteemed panel.” He bowed and sat back in his seat to await a verdict.
Uneven. Sloppy. Redeemable? Remained to be seen.
Alex had prepared for months for this hearing. History books would be written about his life, and he wanted them filled with firsts and bests. All the Madison clones had been emancipated young but none before puberty. Alex was riding a wave of new clones coming of age. There was a competition among them as to who would be first.
Much as he played along with the juvenile contest, Alex’s only competition was posterity.
He waited in studious silence, forcibly controlling the pent-up energy that threatened to bubble forth at any moment. Part of him wondered how much of the board’s deliberation was taking place on their little private corner of the Social versus how much was idle chitchat waiting to see if he’d have an outburst to disprove his worthiness as he awaited their decision.
By their shifting into more formal positions in their chairs, Alex knew that a verdict was at hand. The robots and humans of the Emancipation Board bore down their gazes upon him, and Alex withstood their weight like Atlas himself. They would not cow him with their fixed attention.
“We will vote on the emancipation of Alexander Truman,” Eve said evenly. “All in favor?”
Silence.
Conspiracy. Incorrect result. Mistake? Trick?
“All opposed?” Eve followed up.
“Nay,” the committee spoke in discord like a crowd of gallows hecklers.
“I regret to inform you, Alex,” Eve said formally. “You will remain a dependent of your parents until such time as this board convenes again to review your next application.”
Alex knocked his chair over. “What’s wrong with you people? Did my father—? Never mind. Forget it. Thank you all for your time.”
Shame. Rage. Injustice. Victim.
He stormed out of the hearing chamber.
Chapter Nine
Alex steamed across the manicured lawn of London Commons, glaring over at the vacant landing pad where his new skyroamer ought to have been waiting for him. Couldn’t they at least have parked one there to hint that he’d been given a fair hearing? Common decency would have dictated they put at least a modicum of effort into maintaining the ruse.
Reaching into his pocket, Alex pulled out his pocket computer and hailed a transport. Being that this was London and not some backwater stretch of wilderness, it arrived in seconds.
“Oxford,” he told the six-passenger flying box.
If he’d been emancipated, he could have told the drone to deliver him anywhere on Earth. It was far slower than a skyroamer, but it could have taken him to Australia or Siberia if he’d wanted. The Emancipation Board would have made a quick update on the Earthwide, and every system on the planet would have treated him as a person.
For children, Oxford was one of the few places they were allowed to travel without prior authorization. The transport didn’t care that he wasn’t a student there. Oxford was the epitome of adult supervision. Normally, Alex avoided the place like it was infectious, but he had friends there.
The transport left him at the student dormitory before Alex had even registered the trip. All his vast mental faculties were devoted to unscrambling the nature of the conspiracy against him.
Up a flight of shallow stone steps and to a faux-ancient brick wall he stormed, slamming open the swinging door that was too primitive to get out of his way on its own.
He checked his pocket computer again, having neglected to notice the time while hailing the transport. 10:38. Too early for lunch. They’d be in class
.
The rec hall was a well-worn locale in a student dormitory. He racked up a set of billiard balls. When he failed to find a stick to his liking, he ducked out to the maintenance room and Protofabbed one.
Alex enjoyed the crack of the balls impacting. He enjoyed watching them ricochet around the table. Conservation of momentum, elastic collision, angle of incidence, friction, spin, and every once in a while, gravity sucked one of the balls downward. The game itself, he hated. Perfect eyesight allowed him to size up each shot. He could do the calculations in his head for exactly how he wanted the balls to move—could see the result in his head before the shot.
His body always betrayed him. No matter how perfectly he prepared, he couldn’t execute. As a growing boy, the complex matrix mathematics of biological kinematics was always shifting. Unstable variables required constant updating. The numbers always came out wrong.
“Hey, Alex,” Tiffany called out from the doorway as she entered. He hadn’t seen her in months. She’d been on holiday with Brent68 and Jocelyn111 at the time. In that span, she’d changed. Taller. Signs of puberty beneath her school sweater. It only served to remind Alex that she was two years older and still not emancipated.
That gave him a shred of solace.
Tiffany came at the head of a pack of students fresh from class. Half a dozen of them rioted into the rec hall, calling out greetings and asking how his emancipation hearing had gone.
Fools. If he had a skyroamer, Alex would have either been outside the building powering the thrusters as loud as he could without taking off or—more likely—a thousand kilometers away by now.
“Denied,” Alex said, slamming the cue ball into the thickest grouping of colored balls he could find just for the satisfaction of the sound. “All because of that stupid fight with Bart—or so they claim.”
