The Margarets by Sheri S. Tepper Read Free Book Online Page B

suppose if you were somebody with lots of children, it would be terrible to lose them.”
    Mother and Father exchanged a long look, and when Mother turned to look at me again, her face was gray. “It would be terrible, yes, even to lose one.”

I Am Margaret/on Earth
     
    As Mother pointed out, I was twelve years old, a grown-up young woman who would behave herself, who would not blush at the proctor’s title when he arrived, for we needed the proctor’s approval to get our permanent water ration cards.
    “If the Omnionts are bringing water, and we’re shipping out the over-fours, why do we need rations?” I wanted to know.
    Father looked up from his desk. “Because until the sterilization laws were passed and enforced, every time we shipped someone away, we had two new ones popping up. That didn’t stop until the Mercan Combine started buying toilet-trained toddlers as pets for the K’Famir.”
    Mother turned pale and left the room quickly.
    In due time the proctor arrived, a narrow, sharp-edged sort of man who didn’t even give us his name. He merely nodded once at each of us as he put his access-and-data console on the table. It clicked and flipped open in several directions, spreading itself across the entire surface before uttering an imperative beep. When the proctor hit a key, its purple screen fetched up a lengthy form.
    “Now,” the proctor said, drawing a chair up to the table and seating himself at the console. “Let’s start with the simple things. Your names. Dates of birth. Identity numbers. Names of all siblings, living and dead. Parents’ namesand their dates of birth, and their identity numbers, and the names of all their siblings, living and dead. Places of birth, if known.”
    Mother took a deep breath and started out, “We are Louise and Harry Bain…”
    Between them they came up with all the names and most of the dates, either from memory or from the family record book.
    “Good,” said the proctor. “Now, to your knowledge have you or have any of your siblings ever used a name other than the one they were given on their birth registry?”
    “Mama’s brother Hy,” I offered, when no one said anything.
    There was a pause. The proctor looked up, as did I. Mother’s face was very still, as though she had been paralyzed.
    Father said, “Hy wasn’t her brother, though he was young enough to have been her sibling. He’s Louise’s uncle. Margaret’s great-uncle.”
    Mother found her voice. “Hy was named for his father, Hyram, a name he hated. He…he doesn’t live on Earth, however. Hy has always lived in the Lunar Colony.”
    The proctor, turning to Father, “And you, sir? Any aliases? Pseudonyms? Noms de guerre?” He winked, making a face, and for no discernible reason, a shiver ran up my back.
    “Not that I know of, no,” said Father with a frozen smile.
    There were other questions, where people had lived, how long they had lived there. Mother and Father weren’t always sure about the details, but the database filled in most of the gaps once it had people’s identity numbers.
    “Now your daughter,” said the proctor. “Name, date of birth, identity number? Fine. Now we’ll do your DNA.”
    He took sterile scrapers from a tube, scraped the insides of our cheeks, and dropped the samples into an analysis slot on the console. “All three of your DNA codes will be checked for familial consistency, that is assuming pregnancies were normal and unassisted?”
    Father looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know, sir?”
    “Twenty years ago my former partner had twins that died at birth. We were separated at the time, and I had no knowledge of them until later. I don’t know the particulars.”
    The proctor said, “If you’ll give me the woman’s identity number.”
    Father shrugged. “I don’t know. When I learned the children hadn’t survived, I didn’t even ask for genetic verification. It was a long time ago…”
    The proctor nodded.