Charles Maine - World Without Men

As the child grew and reached the stage of imminent independence, she experienced something akin to pride, and presently, to love.

On the day they removed the male child from the incubator and slapped it into a lusty bawling, the Senior Mistress of Applied Cytology visited the underground laboratory. Her square jaw was firm and unsympathetic, and her eyes cold. Cordelia sensed, in subdued alarm, a certain critical quality in her attitude.

The Mistress inspected the child, but betrayed no reaction.

“Weight?” she enquired.

“Eight pounds, four ounces,” Cordelia announced proudly, as if she personally had given birth to the baby.

The Mistress’s eyes travelled the length of the tiny male in the enclosed plastic crib.

“There’s no denying the maleness.”

Cordelia said nothing; there was an acrid quality in her superior’s voice that she did not like. Two or three of the other scientists had gathered round to hear the Mistress’s comments. They were impassive in their attitude: the baby might have been a stained) specimen on a microscope slide for all the human interest that was apparent in their eyes. Cordelia began to feel angry, and, more surprisingly, protective towards the infant under scrutiny.

“During the past weeks,” said the Mistress, “test four-six-five has been discussed at high level throughout the world. A very high level, if I may say so. Needless to say our executive scientists and politicians have acted in close liaison with the world electronic brain network, so you will appreciate that any decision they have reached is the result of long and careful consideration.”

Cordelia found herself resenting the label that had been attached to her baby-test four-six-five — and, fearing the sombre implication of the word “decision,” she said nothing; but waited for the Mistress to continue.

“You will understand that for a long, long time the principal object of scientific research in our world of today has been" — she waved a hand idly towards the crib — “this. What you see before you, alive and unbelievably active, is the end product of millions of experiments over hundreds of years — secret experiments. The outside world knows nothing of what we have attempted to do. Womankind as a whole has adapted herself to life as we know it, and in the course of time a very stable and efficient form of society has been developed. We live, and live very well indeed, without a male sex; so much so that it is questionable whether society would be any the better off if a reversion to bisexual conditions were to occur.”

A murmur of agreement rippled round her audience. The Mistress was merely echoing opinions that had been inbred since birth in all of them.

“Nevertheless, it has always been the policy of the government to control every factor that might influence the structure of our society, and it has always been realized that a species without a male sex might, in some way, be lacking in some fundamental psychological component that… well, to put it simply, would maintain overall human sanity.”

“Nonsense,” said one of the cytologists, smiling. “As a race we are saner than ever before in history.”

“Why,” said another, echoing the smug good humour of her colleague, “we all know that the age of insanity was the age of men. Every child is taught that in the State school” The Mistress smiled grimly. “Governmental policy is rather different from what is taught in State schools. Racial sanity is more than a question of racial behaviour. It involves deep psychology on a mass basis, a racial neurosis, if you like. There are very good reasons for believing that the stable form of society in which we live is essentially neurotic.” She scanned her audience like a radar antenna. “A neurosis can be extremely stable, particularly when it is based on a long established perversion. That is the condition of our society today.”

Murmurs of doubtful assent and disguised bewilderment.

“All this is not merely a personal opinion. It is fact. Behind it is the authority of the sociological data bank of the world brain. Human society is cast in the form of a perversion neurosis. But it has achieved equilibrium. The perversion is exactly balanced by a seat of artificial ethics: law, behaviour, relationships, moralities designed to channel the perversion into useful and productive streams of human energy. And designed to make the women of the world happy.”

“What is all this leading up to, Mistress?” asked Cordelia. The other women seemed to withdraw a little at her temerity. But the Mistress simply made a pleasant face, as if she had been expecting the question and regarded it as an enthusiastic invitation to continue.

“I will come to that presently,” said the Mistress in a not-to-be-hurried tone of voice. “First I want to stress the fundamentals of the problem which has confronted us. It is both simple and complex. We have to deal with a stable perversion-neurosis in which the operation conditions are a strict, impersonal totalitarianism of government, coupled, strangely enough, with an almost universal happiness. You see, the unhappy ones, those who have not adapted themselves readily to the parthenogentic syndrome, are steadily weeded out. Our mortic revenue laws see to that, and what is more, they see to it in a manner apparently unconnected with parthenogenesis. The mortic laws are a subtle form of eugenic breeding, and in the course of time all women will conform to the pattern of the syndrome and must therefore be perfectly happy and contented.”

There was a general atmosphere of uneasiness among the audience. Other cytologists had joined the group, and they stood listening restlessly, avoiding the direct gaze of the Mistress’s eyes, listening closely, but in a manner which suggested that they should not be listening to all.

The Mistress’s voice became more sombre in tone. “I am telling you things which some of you, perhaps most of you, have only vaguely suspected. As trusted government servants you already know more than the rest of womankind. You know the true secret of induced parthenogenesis, and you probably realize why we propagate the belief that parthenogenesis is largely of natural origin. It is all part of the syndrome, part of the mechanism which ensures a stable society. But I have hinted at a greater control, a firmer grasp on human affairs. Don’t let it surprise you. Human affairs are no longer human; they are predicted and conducted by efficient electronic brains. The world brain network is always right. It is immensely wise and it never makes a mistake.”

Cordelia ventured to speak again. It was the only way of relieving the anxiety that was building up in her mind. “All this is most interesting, Mistress, but what has it to do with test four-six-five.” She felt ashamed of herself for referring to her baby by the official label, but the words were uttered and could not be recalled. She glanced towards the crib. The child was awake, and kicking with small wrinkled legs, and possibly crying, but no sound could penetrate the sealed plastic walls of the enclosure. At all events test four-six-five was a reality, and there was little anyone could do about it, even an electronic brain.

“Test four-six-five must be destroyed,” said the Mistress crisply.

A multiple gasp quivered momentarily in the air as the audience reacted to the edict. Cordelia found herself suddenly chilled and shaking, but the feeling passed quickly, and anger took its place.

“Did you say destroyed?” she enquired icily.

The Mistress’s eyes noted with a slight flicker the defiant note in Cordelia’s voice. She smiled and her lips curved into benevolent charm.

“That is the final decision of the world brain. Believe me, it was made only after many weeks of the most careful computation and research into sociological science.”