Universe 9 - [Anthology]

by Edited By Terry Carr

  They were quiet for a long time. Cleo thought of a thousand things to say, questions to ask, but could do nothing.

  “You’ve been coming to a decision, haven’t you?” he said, at last. “Are you any closer after tonight?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s not going to solve any problems, you know. It might even create some.”

  She pulled away from him and got up. She shook her hair and wished for a comb.

  “Thank you, Cleopatra,” he said.

  “Oh. Uh, thank you...” She had forgotten his name. She smiled again to cover her embarrassment, and shut the door behind her.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes. This is Cleopatra King. I had a consultation with one of your staff. I believe it was ten days ago.”

  “Yes, Ms. King. I have your file. What can I do for you?”

  She took a deep breath. “I want you to start the clone. I left a tissue sample.”

  “Very well, Ms. King. Did you have any instructions concerning the chromosome donor?”

  “Do you need consent?”

  “Not as long as there’s a sample in the bank.”

  “Use my husband, Jules La Rhin. Security number 4454390.”

  “Very good. We’ll be in contact with you.”

  Cleo hung up the phone and rested her forehead against the cool metal. She should never get this stoned, she realized. What had she done?

  But it was not final. It would be six months before she had to decide if she would ever use the clone. Damn Jules. Why did he have to make such a big thing of it?

  Jules did not make a big thing of it when she told him what she had done. He took it quietly and calmly, as if he had been expecting it.

  “You know I won’t follow you in this?”

  “I know you feel that way. I’m interested to see if you change your mind.”

  “Don’t count on it. I want to see if you change yours.”

  “I haven’t made up my mind. But I’m giving myself the option.”

  “All I ask is that you bear in mind what this could do to our relationship. I love you, Cleo. I don’t think that will ever change. But if you walk into this house as a man, I don’t think I’ll be able to see you as the person I’ve always loved.”

  “You could if you were a woman.”

  “But I won’t be.”

  “And I’ll be the same person I always was.” But would she be? What the hell was wrong? What had Jules ever done that he should deserve this? She made up her mind never to go through with it, and they made love that night and it was very, very good.

  But somehow she never got around to calling the vivarium and telling them to abort the clone. She made the decision not to go through with it a dozen times over the next six months, and never had the clone destroyed.

  Their relationship in bed became uneasy as time passed. At first, it was good. Jules made no objections when she initiated sex, and was willing to do it any way she preferred. Once that was accomplished she no longer cared whether she was on top or underneath. The important thing had been having the option of making love when she wanted to, the way she wanted to.

  “That’s what this is all about,” she told him one night, in a moment of clarity when everything seemed to make sense except his refusal to see things from her side. “It’s the option I want. I’m not unhappy being a female. I don’t like the feeling that there’s anything I can’t be. I want to know how much of me is hormones, how much is genetics, how much is upbringing. I want to know if I feel more secure being aggressive as a man, because I don’t most of the time, as a woman. Or do men feel the same insecurities I feel? Would Cleo the man feel free to cry? I don’t know any of those things.”

  “But you said it yourself. You’ll still be the same person.”

  They began to drift apart in small ways. A few weeks after her outing to Oophyte she returned home one Sunday afternoon to find him in bed with a woman. It was not like him to do it like that; their custom had been to bring lovers home and introduce them, to keep it friendly and open. Cleo was amused, because she saw it as his way of getting back at her for her trip to the encounter bar.

  So she was the perfect hostess, joining them in bed, which seemed to disconcert Jules. The woman’s name was Harriet, and Cleo found herself liking her. She was a changer—something Jules had not known or he certainly would not have chosen her to make Cleo feel bad. Harriet was uncomfortable when she realized why she was there. Cleo managed to put her at ease by making love to her, something that surprised Cleo a little and Jules considerably, since she had never done it before.

  Cleo enjoyed it; she found Harriet’s smooth body to be a whole new world. And she felt she had neatly turned the tables on Jules, making him confront once more the idea of his wife in the man’s role.

  The worst part was the children. They had discussed the possible impending change with Lilli and Paul.

  Lilli could not see what all the fuss was about; it was a part of her life, something that was all around her which she took for granted as something she herself would do when she was old enough. But when she began picking up the concern from her father, she drew subtly closer to her mother. Cleo was tremendously relieved. She didn’t think she could have held to it in the face of Lilli’s displeasure. Lilli was her first born, and though she hated to admit it and did her best not to play favorites, her darling. She had taken a year’s leave from her job at appalling expense to the household budget so she could devote all her time to her infant daughter. She often wished she could somehow return to those simpler days, when motherhood had been her whole life.

  Feather, of course, was not consulted. Jules had assumed the responsibility for her nurture without complaint, and seemed to be enjoying it. It was fine with Cleo, though it maddened her that he was so willing about taking over the mothering role without being willing to try it as a female. Cleo loved Feather as much as the other two, but sometimes had trouble recalling why they had decided to have her. She felt she had gotten the procreative impulse out of her system with Paul, and yet there Feather was.

  Paul was the problem.

  Things could get tense when Paul expressed doubts about how he would feel if his mother were to become a man. Jules’s face would darken and he might not speak for days. When he did speak, often in the middle of the night when neither of them could sleep, it would be in a verbal explosion that was as close to violence as she had ever seen him.

  It frightened her, because she was by no means sure of herself when it came to Paul. Would it hurt him? Jules spoke of gender identity crises, of the need for stable role models, and finally, in naked honesty, of the fear that his son would grow up to be somehow less than a man.

  Cleo didn’t know, but cried herself to sleep over it many nights. They had read articles about it and found that psychologists were divided. Traditionalists made much of the importance of sex roles, while changers felt sex roles were important only to those who were trapped in them; with the breaking of the sexual barrier, the concept of roles vanished.

  The day finally came when the clone was ready. Cleo still did not know what she should do.

  “Are you feeling comfortable now? Just nod if you can’t talk.”

  “Wha...”

  “Relax. It’s all over. You’ll be feeling like walking in a few minutes. We’ll have someone take you home. You may feel drunk for a while, but there’s no drugs in your system.”

  “Wha... happen?”

  “It’s over. Just relax.”

  Cleo did, curling up in a ball. Eventually he began to laugh.

  Drunk was not the word for it. He sprawled on the bed, trying on pronouns for size. It was all so funny. He was on his back with his hands in his lap. He giggled and rolled back and forth, over and over, fell on the floor in hysterics.

  He raised his head.

  “Is that you, Jules?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” He helped Cleo back onto the bed, then sat on the edge, not too near, but not unreac
hably far away. “How do you feel?”

  He snorted. “Drunker ‘n a skunk.” He narrowed his eyes, forced them to focus on Jules. “You must call me Leo now. Cleo is a woman’s name. You shouldn’t have called me Cleo then.”

  “All right, I didn’t call you Cleo, though.”

  “You didn’t? Are you sure?”

  “I’m very sure it’s something I wouldn’t have said.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He lifted his head and looked confused for a moment. “You know what? I’m gonna be sick.”

  Leo felt much better an hour later. He sat in the living room with Jules, both of them on the big pillows that were the only furniture.

  They spoke of inconsequential matters for a time, punctuated by long silences. Leo was no more used to the sound of his new voice than Jules was.

  “Well,” Jules said, finally, slapping his hands on his knees and standing up. “I really don’t know what your plans are from here. Did you want to go out tonight? Find a woman, see what it’s like?”

  Leo shook his head. “I tried that out as soon as I got home,” he said. “The male orgasm, I mean.”

  “What was it like?”

  He laughed. “Certainly you know that by now.”

  “No, I meant, after being a woman—”

  “I know what you mean.” He shrugged. “The erection is interesting. So much larger than what I’m used to. Otherwise...” He frowned for a moment. “A lot the same. Some different. More localized. Messier.”

  “Um.” Jules looked away, studying the electric fireplace as if seeing it for the first time. “Had you planned to move out? It isn’t necessary, you know. We could move people around. I can go in with Paul, or we could move him in with me in... in our old room. You could have his.” He turned away from Leo, and put his hand to his face.

  Leo ached to get up and comfort him, but felt it would be exactly the wrong thing to do. He let Jules get himself under control.

  “If you’ll have me, I’d like to continue sleeping with you.”

  Jules said nothing, and didn’t turn around.

  “Jules, I’m perfectly willing to do whatever will make you most comfortable. There doesn’t have to be any sex. Or I’d be happy to do what I used to do when I was in late pregnancy. You wouldn’t have to do anything at all.”

  “No sex,” he said.

  “Fine, fine. Jules, I’m getting awfully tired. Are you ready to sleep?”

  There was a long pause, then he turned and nodded.

  They lay quietly, side by side, not touching. The lights were out; Leo could barely see the outline of Jules’s body. After a long time, Jules turned on his side.

  “Cleo, are you in there? Do you still love me?”

  “I’m here,” she said. “I love you. I always will.”

  Jules jumped when Leo touched him, but made no objection. He began to cry, and Leo held him close. They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  The Oophyte was as full and noisy as ever. It gave Leo a headache.

  He did not like the place any more than Cleo had, but it was the only place he knew to find sex partners quickly and easily, with no emotional entanglements and no long process of seduction. Everyone there was available; all one needed to do was ask. They used each other for sexual calisthenics just one step removed from masturbation, cheerfully admitted the fact, and took the position that if you didn’t approve, what were you doing there? There were plenty of other places for romance and relationships.

  Leo didn’t normally approve of it—not for himself, though he cared not at all what other people did for amusement. He preferred to know someone he bedded.

  But he was here tonight to learn. He felt he needed the practice. He did not buy the argument that he would know just what to do because he had been a woman and knew what they liked. He needed to know how people reacted to him as a male.

  Things went well. He approached three women and was accepted each time. The first was a mess—so that’s what they meant by too soon!—and she was rather indignant about it until he explained his situation. After that she was helpful and supportive.

  He was about to leave when he was propositioned by a woman who said her name was Lynx. He was tired, but decided to go with her.

  Ten frustrating minutes later she sat up and moved away from him. “What are you here for, if that’s all the interest you can muster? And don’t tell me it’s my fault.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot. I thought I could... well, I didn’t realize I had to be really interested before I could perform.”

  “Perform? That’s a funny way to put it.”

  “I’m sorry.” He told her what the problem was, how many times he had made love in the last two hours. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hands through her hair, frustrated and irritable.

  “Well, it’s not the end of the world. There’s plenty more out there. But you could give a girl a warning. You didn’t have to say yes back there.”

  “I know. It’s my fault. I’ll have to learn to judge my capacity, I guess. It’s just that I’m used to being able to, even if I’m not particularly—”

  Lynx laughed. “What am I saying? Listen to me. Honey. I used to have the same problem myself. Weeks of not getting it up. And I know it hurts.”

  “Well,” Leo said. “I know what you’re feeling like, too. It’s no fun.”

  Lynx shrugged. “In other circumstances, yeah. But like I said, the woods are full of ‘em tonight. I won’t have any problem.” She put her hand on his cheek and pouted at him. “Hey, I didn’t hurt your poor male ego, did I?”

  Leo thought about it, probed around for bruises, and found none.

  “No.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t think so. Because you don’t have one. Enjoy it, Leo. A male ego is something that has to be grown carefully, when you’re young. People have to keep pointing out what you have to do to be a man, so you can recognize failure when you can’t ‘perform’ How come you used that word?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I was just thinking of it that way.”

  “Trying to be a quote man unquote. Leo, you don’t have enough emotional investment in it. And you’re lucky. It took me over a year to shake mine. Don’t be a man. Be a male human, instead. The switchover’s a lot easier that way.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  She patted his knee. “Trust me. Do you see me getting all upset because I wasn’t sexy enough to turn you on, or some such garbage? No. I wasn’t brought up to worry that way. But reverse it. If I’d done to you what you just did to me, wouldn’t something like that have occurred to you?”

  “I think it would. Though I’ve always been pretty secure in that area.”

  “The most secure of us are whimpering children beneath it, at least some of the time. You understand that I got upset because you said yes when you weren’t ready? And that’s all I was upset about? It was impolite, Leo. A male human shouldn’t do that to a female human. With a man and a woman, it’s different. The poor fellow’s got a lot of junk in his head, and so does the woman, so they shouldn’t be held responsible for the tricks their egos play on them.”

  Leo laughed. “I don’t know if you’re making sense at all. But I like the sound of it. ‘Male human.’ Maybe I’ll see the difference one day.”

  Some of the expected problems never developed.

  Paul barely noticed the change. Leo had prepared himself for a traumatic struggle with his son, and it never came. If it changed Paul’s life at all, it was in the fact that he could now refer to his maternal parent as Leo instead of mother.

  Strangely enough, it was Lilli who had the most trouble at first. Leo was hurt by it, tried not to show it, and did everything he could to let her adjust gradually. Finally she came to him one day about a week after the change. She said she had been silly, and wanted to know if she could get a change, too, since one of her best friends was getting one. Leo talked her into remaining female until after the onset of puberty. He told h
er he thought she might enjoy it.

  Leo and Jules circled each other like two tigers in a cage, unsure if a fight was necessary but ready to start clawing out eyes if it came to it. Leo didn’t like the analogy; if he had still been a female tiger, he would have felt sure of the outcome. But he had no wish to engage in a dominance struggle with Jules.

  They shared an apartment, a family, and a bed. They were elaborately polite, but touched each other only rarely, and Leo always felt he should apologize when they did. Jules would not meet his eyes; their gazes would touch, then rebound like two cork balls with identical static charges.