Paul Di Filippo - WikiWorld

She did not shake my hand. “Rest assured that I care neither for the man nor the office. But the latter is the obstacle in my way, and I sought to shatter the façade by addressing the human behind it.”

What fire and pluck! I calmly withdrew my proffered hand and said, “And you have done so. Now, if you’ll please take a seat, perhaps both the man and the office can consider the matter that brings you here.”

As if suspecting manacles ready to spring from the armrests, she occupied a chair adjacent to my desk, and I too sat.

“May I know your name, madame?”

“Margali Gueths. I am a widow. My husband was Juvian Gueths.”

“The smilodon-fur magnate. Of course…. Please accept my condolences for his passing.”

Margali Gueths waved away my sentiment. “Save your vicarious sorrow, Mr. Yphantidies. Juvian was a poor excuse for a husband. He had a mistress in every city of the ekumen. Bad enough, but he also kept me on an exceedingly short leash. My social duties were manifold, and my pleasures few and far between. I cherish his death as my chance finally to be free.”

“I regret to learn of this prior discomfort in your life, Mrs. Gueths. But assuredly, with your portion of the estate, you will now be equipped to enjoy yourself.”

“Ah, but that is precisely the rub, Mr. Yphantidies. I am not willing to settle for a portion of the estate. I intend to have it all. Gueths Furs, Traplines and Entrepôts will not pass from my hands. I intend to control my husband’s enterprises, not pass them on to someone chosen by the Great Continuity.”

I sat stunned. My reluctant tongue failed to provide any words that could meet this blunt statement of rebellion. Ultimately, I fell back on a scientific approach.

“Mrs. Gueths. I assume your satchel contains the documents relating to your case….”

“Yes.”

“May I see them, please?”

She extracted a thick sheaf of papers and handed them over. The familiar cream-coloured bond and coloured stamps of official Continuity documents radiated an almost tangible reassurance to me. I swivelled my seat and partially reclined in my high-backed chair to peruse them. Out of the corner of one eye, I saw Margali Gueths continue to seethe.

Here in my hands were summaries of the Templates of both Juvian Gueths and his wife. Columns and columns of figures across dozens of characterological categories. I focused immediately on the codes relevant to business acumen. Acquisitiveness, entrepreneurship, prescience, steadfastness, compromise…. From there, I turned my attention to other graphs, diagrams and family trees. Daguerreotypes and clippings from public records. Test results. Affidavits from friends, family members and acquaintances. And still, only the hundredth part of what Continuity knew about this couple.

The precise data conveyed its meaning swiftly to my trained eyes. But I lingered over the documents rather longer than I needed to, hoping to wear Margali Gueths down further. But I could soon see that my tactic was backfiring, as the fiery woman only grew more exasperated with my dilatory perusal. I turned to face her, and handed back her papers. I stroked my beard meditatively before speaking.

“Mrs. Gueths, I will not insult you by simply reiterating the cold facts that I’m certain you’ve already heard from a dozen of my subordinates. Simply put, there is nothing in your Template which fits you to manage a business. Continuity demands—”

The sharp report of her small fist on the surface of my desk caused me to jump. But it was her words that drained the colour from my face.

“Templates and Continuity be damned! No one knows the operations of my husband’s business better than I! Studying those operations was the only dry and dusty hobby I was ever allowed. I’ll be cursed if I allow myself to let all that torturous study go to waste now, just because your tinpot organization thinks that it can predict my failure! I’m tired of spending my life jammed into one of your little boxes!”

Margali Gueth’s attractive bosom was heaving, her face flushed. I felt some small empathy for her, but the feeling was drowned in my larger indignation at her blasphemy against the Great Continuity.

“Mrs. Gueths, no one is attempting to jam you into a box of our making. The parameters of your daily life are innate and inherent in your own character. They have been forming themselves since your birth, and are by now, at your advanced age, practically immutable.”

Margali Gueth’s scowl informed me that perhaps my choice of the term “advanced age” to describe her current station in life was impolitic and gauche. I sought to recast the argument in more abstruse terms.

“All that the Great Continuity does is quantify and codify the implicit patterns and tendencies of an individual’s life, and attempt to offer some guidance.”

“Guidance! You call issuing demands and orders that interfere in the most intimate portions of a person’s life mere ‘guidance?’”

“The Great Continuity boasts no enforcers, no Continuity Police—”

“No, of course not! All of society is your enforcement tool. Any nail that sticks up gets instantly hammered down.”

“Mrs. Gueths, please. Consider your words. Consider our nation’s history. You are forgetting the inefficiency and dangers that preceded the establishment of the Great Continuity. When any individual could impulsively follow any path, whether he or she was constitutionally fitted for it or not, society was like a machine composed of random, ill-adapted parts. Waste, confusion, frustration, hostility reigned. Since the establishment of the Great Continuity, our ekumen has become a smoothly operating organism that conduces to the maximum happiness for the largest number.”

“And what of those who disagree with their classifications, with your ‘guidance?’ Those who wish to follow their deeper, unchartable impulses?”

“They must correct their behaviour, for the good of all.”

Margali Gueths leaned in closer to me. I could smell her sweat.

“Your system insures the maintenance of the status quo. There is no room for change or innovation or social movement.”

I began to lose my temper. “A ridiculous charge. Was I, for instance, born into an ancient lineage of Grand Consistors? Of course not. My parents were a draper and a seamstress. My own particular talents were identified early on, as is the case with all children, and I worked hard to cultivate them.”

“Ha! You were chosen by the elite and groomed as their pliable tool.”

I began to splutter. But before I could address this absurd accusation, Margali Gueths launched another assault.

“You are just trying to limit me because I am a female! You don’t want a woman running a sizeable business, having all the privileges of a man!”

“Now you’ve reached the heights of illogic. There are numerous women entrepreneurs. What of Velzy Spindler?”

“The milliner? She owns three shops in Hanging Dog. I doubt she grosses in a year what Gueths Furs nets in a day. No, it’s obvious to me now. Your Great Continuity is dedicated to keeping women in a subservient position. That is why I am being stymied in my quest for simple justice.”

She concluded her tirade and slumped back in her chair. Her expression, blended of wrath and despair, challenged me to refute her.

Was Margali Gueths a simple egomaniac, a selfish, mercenary individual looking to justify herself with spurious and superficial logic? Or was she sincerely confused, operating out of a true sense of injustices done to her? After a moment’s reflection, I chose to believe the latter interpretation. That judgement allowed me to put aside any sense of personal affront, and work toward what was best for this woman and society.