Nancy Kress - Nothing Human

Sajelle married DeWayne in July. She was fifteen, he was fifty-four. Senni thought it was “obscene,” but Theresa only shrugged. Things were different now. Statutory rape laws belonged to another life. DeWayne was good to Sajelle, she made him happy, and her children’s future was assured. Within two months Sajelle was pregnant again.

The babies turned eight months old. With Senni’s nine-month Clari, there were fifteen babies crawling around the great room, pulling themselves up on furniture, throwing around food, babbling at each other. Without the three Mexican girls, caring for them would have been impossible. All of the children were beautiful. None had ever had as much as a cold. Scott could find nothing abnormal in any of their physiology.

That summer Carlo married Rosalita. Theresa, who was afraid that Carlo would someday announce he wanted to be a priest, was relieved. Everyone pitched in to expand housing, and eventually there was a compound of four houses, one large and three smaller, and everyone had more room.

Another group of refugees attacked, but they were ill-equipped and easily driven off with guns. Only one was killed. Theresa didn’t ask where Jody, Bonnie, and Sam buried him.

The Chinese threat abated, presumably due to some mysterious cycle of political fluctuation. Maybe the Chinese were also becoming more prosperous, less desperate. Maybe not. Theresa didn’t care just so long as the word “war” disappeared from farm conversations.

That summer, the horrendous storms leveled off. Net news said the global warming seemed to have stabilized, perhaps due to the drastic cutback of greenhouse gases since the war. Theresa’s land remained fertile, and the range was better watered than ever before. She allowed herself to be hopeful, then grateful, then happy. They were going to make it.

Just after she’d decided this, the delegation from Wenton arrived.

“Come in,” Theresa said, because she couldn’t keep them standing on the porch. There were six of them, arriving in the early afternoon, an indication of how far the weather had softened. The wind still blew till sundown, but it had less force, less grit, less unrelenting howl. The delegation came in a car, as new as DeWayne’s but larger and very simple, a closed metal box on a slow-moving, fuel-cell-driven base. Still, the fact that new, non-luxury cars were available in a place like Wenton felt significant to Theresa.

She studied them as they filed into the great room. Three of the babies crawled around under Carolina’s watchful eye. The rest were either in the smaller houses or napping. Everyone else who could be was out harvesting.

Old Tom Carter, who used to run the storage building that was no longer needed. Rachel Monaghan, a woman Theresa’s age, who kept a cloth and clothing store. Lucy Tetrino from the train station. Bill Walewski, the grain buyer. Two hard-faced men she didn’t recognize. She saw Rachel’s lips purse at the sight of Carolina.

“Carolina,” Theresa said pleasantly, “take the babies down to Senni’s, please. Everyone, sit down anywhere you like.”

Carolina cast one frightened look at the Wenton delegation, then piled all three babies into a huge basket and hoisted it to her hip. She was much stronger than she looked. The children gurgled delightedly. Carolina hurried outside.

“My daughter-in-law, Jody’s wife,” Theresa said. A pre-emptive strike.

“So we heard,” Lucy Tetrino said, and from her tone Theresa knew that Wenton didn’t like having the Mexican girls and Juan here but that they weren’t the reason for this visit. The delegation scanned the great room, with its litter of baby clothes, leftover beans and rice on the table, guns high on the wall where the children couldn’t reach. The room smelled of candles and diapers and food and the vase of wild roses Sajelle had picked by the creek.

“Theresa,” Bill Walewski said, “I guess I better start, since I’m the new mayor of Wenton.”

“Congratulations,” Theresa said. She hadn’t even known there’d been an election.

“Thanks. The reason we’re here is that there’ve been some pretty strange rumors going around town about you this last year.”

“Really.” Bill didn’t meet her eyes. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t fully behind it.

“Yes. People are saying… people are wondering how you could have got all these teenage girls, all pregnant at the same time, all having twins or triplets or even quads. Pretty peculiar.”

“There are no quads,” Theresa said.

“But there are twins and triplets,” Lucy put in.

“Yes.” She didn’t explain that there would have been only triplets if one of Julie’s infants hadn’t died.

“Well, don’t you think that’s a little weird?” Lucy said.

“More than ‘weird,’” said one of the strangers. “It’s obscene,” and Theresa knew the source of the delegation.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get your name, sir.” Courtesy just this side of insolence.

“Matt Campion. I represent America Restored.” He didn’t smile.

Theresa said, “Restored to what?”

“To livability. To respect for the natural ecology of this great country. To decent acknowledgment of human limitations, so that we don’t destroy ourselves by mucking around with forces beyond our ability to understand or control.”

An anti-science league. Well, Wenton had escaped longer than many places. “I see.”

“I doubt it,” Campion said.

Old Tom said hastily, “We’ve all known you a long time, Theresa, and—”

“Yes, you have, Tom. Rachel, I’ve been buying cloth from you for sixteen years now. Bill, you’ve been buying grain from me for… how long?”

“Nine years,” Bill said unhappily.

“Right. And Lucy, we’ve ridden the train and shipped supplies on it since my husband and I came to this state.”

“None of that is relevant,” Campion said harshly. “We’re here to find out what’s going on at this farm, Ms. Romero. How come you have all these girls simultaneously giving birth to triplets?”

“That’s not hard to explain,” Theresa said. The explanation had been ready for a year. “You know that Dr. Wilkins boards here. We’re old friends, from before the war. After his wife died, he came here to practice because I told him there was no doctor anywhere around and he was both needed and could build a good practice here.”

“That’s true,” Tom put in, nodding vigorously. “Dr. Wilkins came about a year and a half ago.”

“Yes,” Theresa continued. “Before that, he practiced in Illinois. He did pro bono work there, too. One of his projects was a home for unwed mothers.” Briefly Theresa remembered the flamboyant, loose sexual atmosphere of her youth. All that had been swept away; homes for unwed mothers were plausible again. “The home was going to close. No credit. Five of the girls had no place to go. I said Scott could bring them here.”

“Why?” Campion demanded.

Theresa opened her eyes wide. “Humanitarian reasons, Mr. Campion. I’m sure any organization that, like yours, values decency and respect can understand humanitarian purposes.”

Rachel Monaghan narrowed her eyes, and Theresa told herself to watch it. Ruffling Campion wasn’t worth losing any lurking support from her long-time neighbors.

“So that explains why the girls came here,” said the other stranger. Quieter, milder, his expression gave away nothing. “But it doesn’t explain the multiple births.”

“No,” Theresa said.

“Well, what about that? Isn’t it a little unusual? I’m the Reverend James Beslor, incidentally.”

“How do you do. Yes, it is unusual. We were all surprised at so many babies.”

Campion said in exasperation, “Well, what caused it?”