Robert Heinlein - I Will Fear No Evil

"Mmm... maybe we can make a deal. Will you promise me always to lower the bed once you get into it? Even if you don't intend to sleep."

She smiled. "Signed and witnessed and with posted performance bond."

"I don't think we need to go that far. Miss Smith, we no longer need to monitor you the forty-'leven ways we've been doing. But I want a continuous check on heart action and respiration until you are living a normal life. That's the main reason I need this life-support bed. But if you will let me fasten to your skin, anywhere on your ribs, a little pickup-transmitter weighing a half ounce and no bigger than an alloy dollar, we don't need this fancy bed. It's comfortable, you'll forget it's on you. You can bathe with it in place—waterproof and sticks like a poor relation."

She smiled. "Start sticking!"

"I'll fetch it. And have the nurses swap beds."

"Oh, the nurses can't move my bed. It takes big huskies and a power dolly. Tell Cunningham. But no rush. Speaking of nurses—Winnie, don't you need to wash your hands or something? I want to talk to my doctor."

The redhead smiled at her. "Dear, I've heard everything. Don't mind me."

"Look, Winnie, you did a lovely job on my face when I did not know how. But that's the point, dear. Outside I'm a woman. But up here back of my eyes is still a crabby old man who is far too shy—chicken, I mean—too chicken to discuss intimate matters with a pretty girl present And I

must."

"Miss Gersten, go to the watch station and take a break. I'll call you."

"Yes, Doctor."

One she was gone Johann said, "You're durn sure all the mikes are dead?"

"We're private, Miss Smith."

"Call me ‘Johann,' Doc; this has got to be a man-to-man—and embarrasses me even discussing it with a man. All right, first question: Did I come sick—menstruate—in the last few days?"

Garcia looked surprised. "You twigged? Yes, you are just over your period; we removed a tampon while we were working on you and it was not necessary to replace it. But where did I miss? I thought I had anticipated it and bad bolshoi painkiller in you in time. You felt cramps?"

"Not a twinge. But things didn't feel right...and that's when I started getting suspicious about my sex." She looked thoughtful. "Perhaps it was the tampons—I felt something odd down there—and now the feeling is no longer there."

"Might have been that. I would have used napkin pads, usual hospital practice. But there were just too many bells and whistles—plumbing I mean—in the way. I didn't think you would notice a tampon placed while you were sedated. Contrary to popular belief there is almost no sensation inside a vagina."

"So? There damn well is in mine! I just didn't know what the sensation was."

"Well, the matter has never come up before; your case is unique. Was that all that was troubling you, Miss—sorry! ‘Johann.'"

"No. This new body of mine— Has it had a whatchamacallit, a female examination?"

"Oh, certainly. Dr. Kystra, best G-Y-N man in town. Done while you were paralyzed, checked again after your spinal cord fused but done while you were in deep sedation. All okay."

"I want a full report. Damn it, Doc, I'm in charge of this body now...and I know as little about how to be female as my Grossmutter knew about aircraft Nothing, that is."

"I can get the report out of file if you want it—"

"I do!"

"—but I can tell it in terms you are more likely to understand. Shall I?"

"Go ahead."

"You have a normal female body, physiological age circa twenty-five—-calendar age somewhat older, I understand. Breasts normal virginal--which doesn't mean your body is virgo intacta; it isn't. Just means you haven't suckled a child. No trace of abdominal surgery, from which I conclude that your appendix is in place and your tubes are intact—"

"Meaning I could get pregnant."

"—the latter opinion having been confirmed by insufflation while you were paralyzed. You not only could get pregnant; you will. Unless you live an absolutely chaste life—and even if you plan to, I would still recommend precautionary contraception—say six-month implants in one buttock. The best-laid plans of mice and men, you know. And women. Especially women. Since you are Rh-negative, about six-sevenths of the male population could give you a damaged or stillborn child. We can prevent that if we know it in time, but an unexpected pregnancy can turn out tragically. So don't let it be unexpected. Plan it. In the meantime use contraception."

"Doe, what makes you so damn sure I'll get pregnant? Even if I get married—which I do not plan on—hell, I've had only hours to get used to the notion of being female; I certainly haven't had time to consider being actively female. But even so, as the old gal said, ‘Shucks, honey, hundreds and hundreds of times ain't nothing happen a—tall.'"

"If you adjust normally to being a young female, you will be active about it, that's why. Or you will eventually wind up on Dr. Rosenthal's confession couch or some emotional equivalent such as joining a nunnery. Johann, your new body has a normal female hormonal balance; you had better plan accordingly. Even getting your tubes cut is no answer; you might come down with the emotional never-get-overs through regretting it. As for what the old gal said, it doesn't apply. Because of that child you've already had."

"What?" (Boss, why didn't you mind your own business? I could have told you all of this you need to know.) (Shut up, Eunice.)

Garcia looked surprised. "You didn't know? I had assumed that, since this body was that of your secretary, you knew that she had had a child. Or children."

"Not only didn't know it, I don't believe it." Surely the security investigation would have turned up such an obvious fact... and God knows Eunice had never been out of his sight since then long enough to bear a child.

"I'm afraid you will have to believe it, uh, Johann. Striations called stretch marks on belly and but­tocks—hardly noticeable unless your skin is tanned and then easily concealed by cosmetics. But present. Not definitive, as a woman, or even a male, can get stretch marks from obesity. But characteristic. But the thing that nails it down is that the cervix of the virgin womb does not look like that of a woman who has borne a child. The difference is so marked that a layman can spot it. I have seen yours. Q.E.D. Could be photographed if you doubt me."

(Drop it, Boss!)

"Oh, I believe you, now that you've explained it."

"A comparison photo might be a good idea. Make you more careful. I was not implying any criticism of Mrs. Branca; I was simply warning you that the baby-baking apparatus you inherited from her is in prime shape and ready to be triggered each lunar month. Say about ten days from now."

"I'll be careful."

"Want a lecture on contraception?"

"No." Johann smiled wryly. "Apparently I have at least a week before I need a chastity girdle."

"Approximately, by statistics. But, uh, Johann. No, ‘Miss' Smith—do you know the technical term we physicians use to describe girls who depend on rhythm?"

"No. What?"

"We call them ‘mothers.'"

"Oh. Oh!"

"So don't wait too long. Next question?"

"Uh... no more today, Doctor; I need to digest what you've told me. Thank you."

"Not at all, Miss Smith. Shall I have them switch beds now?"

"I'll send for Cunningham later; I'd like to rest. Doctor? Could you stick that dingus on my ribs? Then have the nurses stay out a couple of hours?"

"Certainly. If you'll let me raise the safety rails, as this bed is not only ten inches from the floor."

"Oh, of course."

(Well, Eunice?) (So you want to hear about my little bastard? Boss, you're a dirty old man.) (Sweetheart, I don't want to hear anything you don't want to tell. You could have quintuplets by a Barbary ape and it wouldn't affect how I feel about you.) (Mealymouthed old hypocrite. You're dying of curiosity.) (I am like hell ‘dying of curiosity.' It's your business and yours alone.) (Oh, don't be so mean, Boss. My business is your business. How else? Seeing the close relationship we have...and which I like, if there is any doubt in your dirty old mind. You brought me back to life... when I was as dead as folk songs. And now I'm happy. So coax me a little, I'll give.) (All right, dearest—how in the world did you manage to have a baby? When did you find time? Your snoop sheet traced you clear back through high school.)