The doorbell rang. One of the neighbors, thought Eva, checking to see if we know the program’s on—people can be thick—they couldn’t use the commo because we’re on auto. She was moving to tell them Thanks, we’re watching, when Mom said “Wait,” turned the volume down, and switched the shaper to closed circuit. The zone filled with the landing outside the apartment door. Four people stood there, two of them with shaper cameras and the other two jostling to hold up their ID cards to the closed-circuit camera above the lintel. They were calling out something, inaudibly because the volume was off. Behind them the elevator doors opened and more people jostled out, some with cameras.
“I knew this was going to happen,” said Mom. “Jerry swore he wouldn’t let anyone through the main doors, but I just knew.”
“How’d they get here so soon?” said Eva. “I thought . . .”
“SMI did a lot of publicity. They guaranteed no one would be told our name in advance, but somebody at the studios must have sold it to the other companies. Shaper people will do anything.”
The doorbell was ringing now without stopping. People were banging at the door itself. It was supposed to be break-in-proof, but you couldn’t be sure. Mom pressed a couple of keys and spoke into the mouthpiece of her control.
“This is Mrs. Adamson. We are not giving any interviews. Will you please go away? You are trespassing on private property.”
Nothing happened. Perhaps they hadn’t heard through the racket they were making, hammering and calling and swearing at one another and pressing the bell. Even from right inside the apartment the noise was loud enough to feel dangerous. More people came out of the elevator. Mom repeated her message. And again and again. The doorbell stopped. Now they were shouting at one another not to shout at one another, and making shushing gestures. Then silence. You could see they could hear the message because half a dozen microphones poked up toward the speaker to record Mom’s voice. It didn’t do any good. The bell started again at once, and the shouting and knocking.
Now the door on the other side of the landing opened, and little Mr. Koo came out to complain about the racket. The Koos never watched the shaper, so he couldn’t have understood what was happening, but the moment they saw him the reporters closed around him like wasps attacking a caterpillar, yelling questions and thrusting microphones and cameras at him. He retreated, but before he could close the door they surged in around him, leaving room on the landing for the elevator to disgorge another load, and these newcomers, seeing their rivals streaming through an open door, must have thought the Adamsons lived on that side and pressed in after them while the poor old elevator went down for yet another load.
White and shuddering, Mom plugged the commo in. It immediately started to bleep, but after several tries she hit a clear space and got a channel out. She called the police, but whoever she spoke to said they couldn’t help. Then she tried the home number of a man she knew in the police department, because of her job, and he said the same, explaining privately that the police never interfered with shaper people if they could help it, because the shaper people always got their own back by putting on programs that made that department look like crooks’ or idiots.
The moment she put it down the commo began to beep again, till she switched to auto. The doorbell was getting on Eva’s nerves, so she went out into the hallway to see if she could turn it off. The sound came from a box up by the ceiling. She opened the door of the coat closet, jumped, grasped, and swung herself up. Crouching on top of the door, clutching it with her feet, she inspected the box. There wasn’t a switch, but there was a grill in front through which the sound came, so she swung down and got a box of rice from the kitchen. Using the lid of the box as a sort of chute, she eased a stream of rice into the grill until the noise stopped.
She didn’t come down at once. She felt safer crouched up there away from the floor. The voices from beyond the door made her pelt prickle, and her throat and lips worked involuntarily, wanting to shout back. Though she couldn’t hear any words, the voices still had a meaning—they were hunting cries, the calls of a pack baying outside the lair of its prey. Of course, if they’d been let in the people out there wouldn’t have hurt her, only asked stupid questions. That was what her mind told her. But her body told her they were enemy. It was an effort to climb down and go back into the living room.
Mom was still white and shivering.
“Hadn’t we better call Dad?” said Eva, using the tone control on her keyboard to sound calm.
“The program’s still on. He’ll be at the studio.”
“You better warn him. He’ll never get in.”
Again it took several tries to get a channel out, but in the end Mom managed to find someone who said they’d tell Dad as soon as they could.
“I never dreamed it would be as bad as this,” said Mom. “I realized they’d be interested, but honestly! They’re mad!”
No, they’re just people, thought Eva. Time went by. The riot on the landing calmed. The onslaught became a siege. Some of the attackers settled onto the floor and waited; others leaned against walls; a few spoke into pocket commos.
“Let’s watch something else,” said Eva, taking the control and beginning to flick through the channels. The second one she came to was showing an old tape of chimps. She watched for a while until she realized from the voice-over that it was a news program about her, only they didn’t have anything to show the viewers except that tape. Three channels farther on she found another news program, live, with a reporter talking into a camera in the street outside this very apartment house. Almost at once the shot switched to another angle from far higher, this building still, against the evening sky, with the city spreading on beyond it until it was lost in its own man-made dusky mist. The focus zoomed in to a particular window. The lights were on in the room, so you could just make out a woman sitting in a chair, with a large dark something on her lap.
Mom sighed and pressed keys to lower the blind. In the imaged window in the zone the blind came down.
“Someone in one of the other buildings must have let them use their apartment,” said Mom. “Honestly, people will do anything.”
People, people, people—even Mom talked as if they were enemy, and she was people too. She switched the shaper off, just leaving the VCR running so that Dad could watch his big moment tomorrow.
More than an hour later they were halfheartedly playing chess when Eva felt her pelt prickle with wariness. Something had changed. Though she hadn’t been aware of hearing the crowd on the landing, now that she listened for them she knew that they had stopped muttering among themselves and become very quiet. She switched the closed circuit on and saw that they were all standing up, facing the elevator. She could hear the whine of its ascent.
“Dad,” said Mom. “But he’ll . . . how did they know?”
They had friends with commos below, of course, thought Eva, but she didn’t have time to say so before the elevator stopped and the door opened. Two huge men in gray uniforms faced the crowd, which had begun to surge forward. They lowered their shoulders and charged out. Now Eva could see that there were four other people in the elevator, Dad, a woman, and two more huge men in uniform. The crowd gave way before the charge but then surged in from the side as the second two guards tried to hustle Dad and the woman on through the gap. Dad looked terrified, though often you could hardly see him for outthrust microphones. The woman held herself very erect and spoke in a loud voice, clearly saying the same few words over and over. The guards elbow-jabbed the crowd aside. Eva saw at least one bleeding nose, and several people fell right over. When they reached the door the guards regrouped and kept the crowd at bay while Dad bent down to operate the voice lock, but either because of the racket or because he was so scared his voice came out funny and the lock didn’t work at once, so Eva got there first and opened the door.
The crowd could barely have glimpsed her, but they let out a baying roar and surged forward as Dad and the woman slipped through. The
guards just managed to hold them while Eva got the door shut.
Dad stood in the hall, shaking his head while the baying dwindled into shouts of pleading and frustration. He scuffed his toe at some of the rice Eva had spilled while she was silencing the bell.
“I didn’t believe it,” he said. “I just didn’t believe it.”
“It is certainly far worse than anyone had expected,” said the woman, as calm as if she were discussing the weather. She was a bit over thirty, blond, with fluffy hair and neat features. At first glance she looked rather fragile, despite her dark business suit, but she spoke and carried herself as though she weren’t afraid of anyone. She turned to Mom, who had come out into the hallway.
“Good evening, Mrs. Adamson. I am fane Callaway, from the legal and contract department of SMI. Before anything else, I must apologize on behalf of the company for the intolerable disturbance you have suffered tonight.”
“It’s awful,” said Mom.
“Let’s have a drink,” said Dad.
“Just fruit juice for me,” said Ms. Callaway. “I’m working.”
Eva knuckled into the kitchen and got the drinks, making Dad’s a bit stronger than usual. Ms. Callaway said Thank you in a perfectly normal way but then sat looking at Eva with cool, considering pale eyes.
“I wish I’d seen her sooner,” she said. “I think I might have realized. It may all die down in a few days, but in my opinion you are going to have to prepare for quite a long period of very intense media interest. That is why I’m here. My job is to work out the problems that arise in cases like this.”
“There can’t be many cases like this!” said Mom.
“There are always unique features,” said Ms. Callaway. “That’s why the public is interested. But the legal basis remains remarkably constant. In my experience, your most straightforward course would be to assign exclusive rights to Eva’s story to a company such as SMI. Part of the contract would be that we protect you from unwanted intrusion. As a private citizen you can’t sue a reporter who tries to question you, but we can, because the reporter is asking you to break your contract with us. Now obviously you don’t want to embark on a long-term contract without thinking it over, but in view of what has happened it would be a sensible course for you to assign the rights to the story in the next few days . . .”
She had opened her briefcase while she was speaking and pulled out a few sheets of paper. She continued to explain, cool, friendly, helpful. Eva stopped listening. There was something about the three of them—Mom and Dad and Ms. Callaway—that puzzled her. Mom was frowning, Dad leaning forward in his chair, bright-eyed, nodding at each fresh point Ms. Callaway made . . . This wasn’t his sort of thing at all, but Mom though she wasn’t a lawyer knew a lot about things like contracts, because her job often involved trying to help people who’d gotten into some kind of legal mess . . . Why was Dad so anxious? Why wasn’t he trying to get his word in, as usual? Was it just that he was tired after the program and still shocked by what had happened on the landing? Or . . .
Out of nowhere the thought floated into Eva’s mind that Dad was acting. He already knew what Ms. Callaway was going to say. He’d already talked to her about all this. And that meant . . .
No, he couldn’t have known it was going to be like this. He hadn’t been acting when he got home. He’d been really frightened, really shocked . . . But suppose Ms. Callaway’s company had realized what was going to happen. Suppose they just allowed it to happen in cases like this and then sent someone like Ms. Callaway along, cool, friendly, helpful, while you had the reporter-pack actually baying on your doormat and all you could think of was getting rid of them. What they’d do was calm Dad down and get him to sort-of-agree not to worry till the time came, and tell him about the long-term contract and the kind of money that would be coming to the Pool, and he’d have sort-of-agreed to that too, and then sort-of-told them about Mom and how she might react to the idea of assigning exclusive rights to her daughter’s story to a shaper company . . .
Slowly Eva tapped a few words into her keyboard and waited for a pause before she pressed the “Speak” bar.
“Do you know who I belong to?”
The three heads jerked around.
“You don’t belong to anyone, darling,” said Mom.
Dad said nothing but looked at Ms. Callaway. She stared at Eva and nodded, like a teacher when someone’s asked the right question.
“As a matter of fact, that is a very interesting point,” she said. “I have, of course been looking into it.”
“Why?” said Mom, sharply.
“Because I am paid to be sure of our legal ground before we undertake long-term commitments. I believe that when animals from the Chimpanzee Pool are sold for research they are sold outright, and the organization doing the research then buys them. But in Eva’s case, because the experiment was carried out by the Pool itself, in cooperation with the Pradesh Institute, no such arrangement was made—in fact, no arrangement was made at all.”
“I suppose I ought . . .” said Dad.
“There might therefore be an argument that Eva’s body, at least, still belongs to the Pool.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Mom. “Anyway, we could pay for her now—we’d have to find the money somehow.”
“The difficulty, Mrs. Adamson, is that Eva is now an extremely valuable piece of property. The trustees of the Pool might well argue ...”
“She isn’t property!”
“Well, I would agree that if the case were to go to court, Eva could eventually be confirmed as a human being—that is to say not belonging to anyone, but with her parents having the usual rights and responsibilities while she remains a minor. Even a point like that raises problems. How old is she? The human Eva is thirteen, but the body she is using is less than six. All I can tell you is that however the courts decide these points, the legal costs in coming to a decision might well prove very considerable indeed. That is why I have drafted a special clause into this contract under which my company accepts that Eva is fully human, with all that that implies, and furthermore, the company undertakes, in the event of your signing a long-term contract with us, to bear all legal costs in arguing the case.”
“You got this all ready beforehand?” said Mom.
Ms. Callaway smiled, unruffled.
“It’s my job to think of difficulties before they happen. The short-term preliminary contract I suggest is only one option. If you would like to discuss ...”
“No. Let’s have a look at it.”
Ms. Callaway passed the papers across. Mom put on her glasses and started to read. Dad beckoned to Eva. She knuckled across, climbed onto his lap, and started to finger through his beard.
“How did it go?” he muttered.
“Didn’t have time to watch much. Joan had just started. Then they turned up.”
She shrugged a shoulder toward the doorway.
“But you’ve got it on tape?”
“Uh.”
They waited. Dad finished his drink. Ms. Callaway sat still, patient as a hunter. At last Mom looked up.
“I suppose that’s the best course,” she said. “You really think you can get rid of them?”
“It has usually worked in the past,” said Ms. Callaway, calm as ever—but then for the first time she gave a small jerk of surprise as Mom turned to Eva.
“Listen, darling. If Dad and I sign this, it means that for the next week we agree not to talk about you to anyone except Ms. Callaway’s company. We don’t have to talk to them either if we don’t want to during that week. But it means that they will have the legal right to shoo everyone else away, and that will give us all time to think. Are you happy about that?”
They had to wait while Eva thought and then, more slowly than usual, set her message up. She made the words come slowly too.
“All right. Only provided you don’t sign anything saying ordinary chimps belong to people either.”
She felt Dad’s body jerk. Then he laughed
his infuriating little laugh that meant that what you’d just said was too silly to argue about.
“I don’t think there’s anything . . .” murmured Mom.
“No,” said Ms. Callaway, “and I will make a note to avoid phrases to that effect in future contracts. Now, if you will just sign here . . . and here, Dr. Adamson . . . excellent. And now I will see what I can do about driving the wolves from your door.”
She stood up, patted her hair smooth, and left. The racket from the landing rose as the door opened, then faded. Mom switched on the closed circuit to watch but kept the volume off. Ms. Callaway, flanked by security men, was reading a statement—she must have had that ready too. The camera showed only the back of her head. Microphones jutted toward her. The crowd was listening. Their faces signaled weariness, frustration, defeat. Some at the back were talking into commos. The elevator doors were opening, and several of the crowd were already waiting to board it. When Ms. Callaway stopped reading, some questions were shouted, but she answered with a shake of her head. The elevator went down, crammed. Ms. Callaway came back into the apartment and talked to Mom and Dad about an appointment to which they could bring their own lawyer. By the time she left, the landing was almost empty, and the guards were shoving the last few reporters into the elevator by force. Two of the guards stayed on in case anyone tried to come back.
Eva awoke several times in the night. She was oddly restless in her own bed. In the old days she used to sleep on her stomach, stretched right out, but now she felt more comfortable curled up. I’d really like a basket, she thought, a big dog-basket, like a nest. I wonder if Mom would mind. Perhaps if I told her I wanted a round patchwork, to cover it with . . .
Later she woke again and heard voices, Mom and Dad, Mom angry and hurt, Dad trying to talk his way out. They both hated fights, didn’t even like arguments, Dad especially. It was typical he hadn’t ever figured out who owned Kelly, because that would have meant hassle. I’m going to have to watch Dad, Eva thought. Whatever he says, I’m going to see that I own me . . .
Eva Page 6
