Robert Sawyer - Mindscan

“Oh, but I do. I do. Ms. Bessarian, why did you have this abortion?”

Deshawn was getting angry; his face was still calm, but his voice wasn’t. “Objection!

Relevance.”

“Ms. Lopez, please get to the point,” said Herrington, a hand supporting his shoehorn jaw.

“Just a few more minutes, your honor. Ms. Bessarian, why did you have this abortion?”

“I did not wish to have a child at that time.”

“So the abortion was indeed a matter of personal convenience?”

“It was a matter of economic necessity. My husband and I were just starting out.”

“Ah, you did this for the good of the child, then.”

Deshawn spread his arms. “Objection! Your honor, please!”

“Withdrawn,” said Lopez. “Ms. Bessarian, when you had this abortion, you didn’t think you were committing murder, did you?”

“Of course not. It was a fully legal procedure back then.”

“Indeed, indeed. The period sometimes referred to as the Dark Ages.”

“Not by me.”

“No, I’m sure. Tell us, please: why was it not murder to terminate your pregnancy?”

“Because … because it wasn’t . Because the Supreme Court of the United States had ruled that it was a legal procedure.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I understand what the law said back then. What I’m asking about is your own personal moral code. Why was it not murder to terminate that pregnancy?”

“Because it wasn’t a person —not in my eyes, or the eyes of the law.”

“Today, of course, the law would disagree.”

“But I would not.”

I cringed. Karen was being too feisty for her own good. And Lopez seized upon it.

“Are you saying your standards are higher than those of the law?”

“My standards aren’t subject to pressure groups or political whim, if that’s what you mean.”

“And so you still maintain that that fetus was not a person?”

Karen said nothing.

“An answer, please, Ms. Bessarian.”

“Yes.”

More chatter; another tap of the gavel.

“You’re saying, yes, that fetus was not a person?” asked Lopez.

“Yes.”

“That fetus, which was created by the physical expression of love between you and your late first husband, may God rest his soul. That fetus, which had forty-six chromosomes, mixing uniquely your husband’s traits and yours.”

Karen said nothing.

“That fetus was not a person, correct?”

Karen was quiet a moment, then: “Correct.”

“How far into your pregnancy were you when you terminated it?”

“Nine … no, ten weeks.”

“You’re not sure?”

“It was an awfully long time ago,” said Karen.

“Indeed. Why did you wait that long? Had you been unaware up to that point that you were pregnant?”

“I became aware within four weeks of conception.”

“Then why the delay?”

“I wanted time to think.” Karen couldn’t resist the soap-box, damn it all. “Something the fifteen-day stricture of Letter v. Carvey doesn’t give women, does it? Has it ever occurred to you, Ms. Lopez, that by placing the limit when abortions can legally be performed so early in pregnancy that women are forced to hastily make a decision that, if given more time to come to terms with their feelings, they might not have made?”

“I’ll ask the questions, Ms. Bessarian, if you don’t mind. And, indeed, suppose you had again become pregnant at an inconvenient time, and that this pregnancy had occurred after Littler v. Carvey . Would you have allowed the date specified in the law to force you to make a decision that early?”

“It is the law.”

“Yes. But you are a woman of means, Ms. Bessarian. You could have found a way to have a safe—for you—abortion after the fifteen-day limit had passed. Ferry ’cross the Mersey, and all that.”

“I suppose.”

“And would you have been comfortable with your decision? Gerrymandering the line between person and nonperson in whatever way was most convenient for you?”

Karen said nothing.

“Answer the question, please. Would you have the line between personhood and nonpersonhood moved for your own personal convenience?”

Karen was still silent.

“Your honor, would you kindly direct the witness to answer?”

“Ms. Bessarian?” said Judge Herrington. Karen nodded, then tilted her head to one side. She looked at Deshawn, then out at me, then over at the jury box, then back at Lopez.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I suppose I would.”

“I see,” said Lopez. She, too, looked at the jury box. “We see.” Whatever discomfort Lopez had felt earlier was long since gone. “Now, Ms. Bessarian, again, what was it that that poor fetus, conceived of man and woman, lacked, making it not a person, which you, an artificial construct, possess, thus making you a person?”

“I … ah…”

“Come now, Ms. Bessarian! At a loss for words? And, you, a professional writer!”

“It’s … ah…”

“The question is simple: there must be something that your terminated fetus lacked that you yourself possess. Otherwise, both would be persons—in your own moral code, if not in the eyes of the law, no?”

“I possess experience.”

“Not of your own, though. I mean, not experience that this … this contraption in front of us has directly had. What experience you have was copied from the late, real Karen Bessarian, no?”

“It was transferred from that earlier version of me, with that version’s full, expressed consent and desire.”

“We’ll have to take your word for that, won’t we? I mean—forgive me—but the real Karen Bessarian is dead, isn’t she?’

“I knew that my body was wearing out; that’s why I arranged to transfer into this more durable one.”

“But not everything was transferred, was it?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, Ms. Bessarian’s memories were transferred, but trivial things, like, say, the contents of her stomach at at time of transference, were not duplicated in the copy.”

“Well, no.”

“Of course not That’s inconsequential, after all. As say, the wrinkles on the original’s face.”

“I have opted for a younger visage,” said Karen, defiantly.

“Your honor, defendant’s twelve—a photo of Karen Bessarian taken last year.”

Karen’s face appeared on the wall screen. I’d forgotten just how incredibly old she’d looked before: white hair, deeply lined face, translucent skin, eyes that seemed too small for their sockets, that lopsided stroke-victim’s smile. I found myself looking away.

“That is you, isn’t?” asked Lopez. “The original you?”

Karen nodded. “Yes.”

“The real you, the you that was—”

“Objection!” called Deshawn. “Asked and answered.”

“Sustained,” said Herrington.

Lopez bowed her head briefly. “Very well. Forgive me for being blunt, Ms. Bessarian, but you obviously chose not to have cosmetic procedures performed.”

“I am not a particularly vain person.”

“Admirable. Still, clearly you only identify some parts of you as being the real you, no? So, again, which part of the real you do you think you possessed and your terminated fetus lacked?”

“A mind,” said Karen. “If it were a copy of a fetus’s neural connections sitting here in front of you, I’d not expect you to accord it any special status.”

“So it’s the intellect that makes one a person?” Lopez, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, yes.”

“And therefore a fetus is not a person.”

“Yes.” That’s my Karen: in for a penny, in for a pound. There was a sharp intake of breath from some of those in the courtroom. “I mean,” continued Karen, “they are n ow , under the current law, but…”