Robert Sawyer - Mindscan

“Well, I…”

“It is possible, isn’t it?” said Deshawn.

Poe let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Yes,” he said at last, “I suppose it is.”

I staggered around for hours after my last meeting with Brian Hades—a bizarre thing to do on the moon, where you already walk like a marionette. Could he be right? Could the robot me have taken up with Rebecca? Christ, oh Christ. I wanted her—I wanted her so badly it actually, physically hurt. I hadn’t been conscious of just how much love I’d been suppressing in order to potentially spare Rebecca any pain, but now that I didn’t have to suppress it, it was overwhelming me. Half my waking thoughts were about her; even dream I remembered involved her. I had to see her again, had to find out if there was a chance for us…

And yet, what if there wasn’t? What if all that flirting, all those lingering touches, all those kisses hello and good-bye, and even that one wonderful night of sex, had only really meant something special to me?

No. No, I couldn’t be that mistaken. There was something there—there had to be. And I had to get back to it, before that fucking—that fucking android —made his move.

How to accomplish that, though, I had no idea. But I would keep my eyes and ears open, looking for an opportunity. Until then—

Until then, Hades was right. I’d barely scratched the surface of what the moon had to offer. And now that I’d made up my mind that I was leaving it, one way or another, I might as well at least try some of the delights he’d mentioned. After all, there was no way in hell I’d ever come back up here.

And so, for starters, I tried one of the hookers. I picked a beautiful, petite Japanese lady, with big brown eyes; I chose her without thinking about it, without being conscious at first that, of course, she was the one who looked the most like Rebecca Chong.

And we did have sex, and she was very daring and very good. And Hades had been right: the low gravity made amazing stunts possible. We did it standing up, we did it pushing up on one hand, we did it in all sorts of ways, and I kept thinking of Rebecca, always Rebecca.

At the end, I was physically satisfied, and I thanked the woman. But it wasn’t lovemaking.

And it wasn’t with the woman I loved.

Maria Lopez looked up. “The defendant calls Professor Alyssa Neruda.”

A tall, slim brunette woman, perhaps sixty, and probably, of mixed Asian and European ancestry, came to the witness stand.

“You do solemnly swear or affirm,” said the clerk, “that the testimony you may give in the cause now pending before this Court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do so swear,” said Neruda.

“Please take a seat in the witness box,” said the clerk, “and state and spell your first and last names for the record.”

Neruda sat down. “My name is Alyssa—A-L-Y-S-S-A—Neruda—N-E-R-U-D-A.”

“Thank you,” said the clerk.

Lopez rose. “Professor Neruda, where are you currently employed?”

“Yale University.”

“In what capacity?”

“I’m professor of bioethics.”

“Tenured?”

“Yes.”

“What advanced degrees do you have?”

“I have a Medicinae Doctor from Harvard.”

“You’re an M.D.? A medical doctor?”

“Correct.”

“Do you have any other advanced degrees?”

“I have a Legum Magister from Yale University.”

“That’s a Master of Laws, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Meaning you are also a lawyer?”

“Yes, I am. Admitted to the bars of Connecticut and New York State.”

“Your honor,” said Lopez, “we submit now Professor Neruda’s curriculum vitae, which runs to forty-six pages.” She handed a hardcopy to the clerk. “Professor Neruda,” continued Lopez, “have you ever been called to present testimony in a lower-court case that ultimately was heard by the United States Supreme Court?”

“I have, yes.”

“Have any of those cases dealt with the definition of personhood?”

“Yes.”

“Which case or cases?”

“The case of Littler v. Carvey .”

“When was that argued before the Supreme Court?”

“August 2028.”

“And please remind us of who the litigants were.”

“Littler, the plaintiff—the one bringing the action—was one Mr. Oren Littler, of Bledsoe County, Tennessee. Carvey, the respondent—the one being sued—was his girlfriend at the time, one Ms. Stella Carvey, also of Bledsoe County.”

“And what, in a nutshell, please, was the gist of the conflict between Mr. Littler and Ms. Carvey?” asked Lopez.

“Littler and Carvey had been dating for approximately two years. Their relationship was an intimate, sexual one. On or about May 1, 2028, Ms. Carvey became pregnant. She became aware of this by May 25, 2028, through the use of a home pregnancy-testing kit. She informed Mr. Littler of the fact, and they agreed to marry, have the baby, and raise it together.”

“Please continue, Professor,” said Lopez.

“Six weeks into her pregnancy, Ms. Carvey and Mr. Littler had a fight. Ms. Carvey called off the wedding and terminated their romantic involvement. She also told Mr. Littler that she was going to terminate the pregnancy. Littler very much disapproved—he wanted the child born, and was willing to assume full custody of it and responsibility for it.

“Ms. Carvey refused his overtures in this direction, and so Mr. Littler got a court order barring Ms. Carvey from having an abortion, on the grounds that the fetus should be treated as a person under the law. Note that the judge issuing the injunction didn’t rule as to whether Mr. Littler’s contention was true. Rather he—and it was a he—felt Mr. Littler’s argument was sufficiently persuasive that the issue should be decided by jury.”

Lopez looked at our own jury box. “And how did the jury decide the case?”

“They ruled that given Roe v. Wade , Ms. Carvey had every right to an abortion on demand.”

“And so that was the end of things?”

Neruda shook her head. “It was not. Mr. Littler appealed; the appeals court overturned the lower court; and the case was fast-tracked to the Supreme Court.”

“Fast-tracked?” said Lopez. “Why?”

“Although none of the same justices were still sitting, the court recalled Roe v. Wade . In that case, the pseudonymous Jane Roe was suing for the right to have a legal abortion. Wade was Henry Wade, the district attorney of Dallas County, Texas, where Roe lived; he was the one who was charged with upholding the then-ban on abortion in his jurisdiction. Roe v. Wade was and is controversial in many ways, but it also stands out as a classic example of justice delayed being justice denied. By the time the Supreme Court got around to hearing Roe v. Wade , Jane Roe’s pregnancy had come to term, and she had delivered her daughter and put her up for adoption. Yes, she won the right to have an abortion, but far too late to do her any good. Because of that, the Supreme Court agreed to hear Littler v. Carvey expeditiously.”

Lopez nodded. “And what did the Supreme Court find in Littler v. Carvey ?”

“In a six-to-three ruling, the court found that Stella Carvey’s unborn child was indeed a person, with the full rights ascribed to persons under the Fifth, Eighth, Thirteenth, and Fourteenth Amendments of the Constitution.”

“And therefore…?”

“Therefore, Ms. Carvey was banned from getting an abortion.”

“In relation to Roe v. Wade , how is Littler v. Carvey normally viewed?” asked Lopez.