Conditionally Human

They were such adorable synthetic creatures, it
was impossible not to love them. Of course,
that was exactly why they were dangerous!

There was no point in sticking around after breakfast. His wife was in a bad mood, and he couldn't stand the tension or fix it. He put on his coat in the kitchen and stood for a moment holding his hat. His wife was still at the table, absentmindedly tracing the handle of her cup and staring blankly out the window at the kennels behind the house. He quietly approached her and touched her shoulder, which was covered in silk. She flinched away from him, and her dark hair shimmered as she recoiled. He pulled his hand back, and his confused face fell into an expression of misery.

"Honeymoon phase is over, huh?"

She didn't say anything, just shrugged a little.

"You knew I worked for the F.B.A.," he said. "You knew I'd be in charge of a district pound. You knew that before we got married."

"I didn't know you killed them," she said harshly.

"I won't have to kill many. Besides, they're just animals."

"Smart animals!"

"Smart like a human idiot, perhaps."

"A small child is clueless. Would you kill a small child?"

"You're using intelligence as the only measure of what it means to be human," he said in frustration, aware that arguing logically was pointless against emotional reasoning. "Baby—"

"Don't call me baby! Call them babe!"

Norris took a few steps back toward the door. Against his better judgment, he spoke again. "Anne, listen! Think about the good things about the job. Sure, everything has its downsides. But think—we get this house for free; I have my own area with no one to boss me around; I set my own hours; you'll meet a lot of people who come by the pound. It's a great job, babe!"

She took a sip of her coffee and seemed to be paying attention, so he continued.

"And what can I do? You know how the Federation deals with jobs. They reviewed my aptitude tests and assigned me to Bio-Administration. If I don’t want to pursue what I’m suited for, my only option is manual labor. That’s the law."

"I guess you have a talent for killing babies?" she said sweetly.

Norris fell apart. His voice grew frantic. "They put me in this position because I liked babies. And because I have a degree in biology and I'm good with people. Can't you see? Destroying unclaimed units is the least of it. Look, before the evolvotron, before Anthropos got into the mutant-animal game, people used to vote for dogcatchers. Think of it like that—I'm just a dogcatcher."

Her cool green eyes slowly met his gaze. Her face was delicately shaped like cold marble. She was a petite woman, slender and fragile, but her quiet contempt made her presence feel larger.

He moved closer to the door.

"Well, I need to get to work." He put on his hat and picked at a splinter on the door. He frowned intently at the splinter. "I—I’ll see you tonight." He pulled the splinter free when it was clear she didn’t want to be kissed.

He mumbled a nervous goodbye and tripped down the hallway and out of the house. The honeymoon was definitely over.

He got into the kennel-truck and drove east toward the highway. The suburban street twisted through the colorful plastic cottages that were about two per acre on the lightly wooded land. With its population legally capped at three hundred million, most of the country had turned into one giant suburb, filled with community centers and bordered by strips of industrial development. Norris wished there was a place where he could be completely alone.

As he got closer to an intersection, he noticed a small animal sitting on the curb, wrapped up in its own fluffy tail. Its big head was bald on top, but the rest of its body was covered in blue-gray fur. Its tiny pink tongue was delicately licking its small forepaws, which had thumbs that could grasp. It was a cat-Q-5. It looked curiously at the truck as Norris stopped.

He smiled at it from the window and called, "What’s your name, kitty?"

The cat-Q-5 looked at him blankly for a moment, let out a shaky, high-pitched wail, and then said: "Kiyi Rorry."

"Who are your parents, Rorry?" he asked. "Where do you live?"

The cat-Q-5 took its time answering. There weren’t any houses nearby, and Norris worried that the animal might be lost. It blinked at him, looking sleepily bored, and went back to washing its paw. He repeated the questions.

"Mama kiyi," said the cat-Q-5 with disgust.

"That's right, Mama's kitty. But where is Mama? Do you think she ran away?"

The cat-Q-5 looked shocked. It hesitated for a moment, and its fur stood on end. It quickly glanced around, then took off down the street in a hurry. He followed it in the truck until it dashed onto a porch and started crying through the screen, "Mama don't run away! Mama don't run away!"

Norris smiled and kept driving. A class-C couple, not allowed to have their own children, could become quite attached to a cat-Q-5. The cats were emotionally safer than the nearly-human chimp-K series called "neutroids." When a pet neutroid died, families experienced deep grief; but most couples could handle the loss of a cat-Q or a dog-F more easily. Class-C couples were allowed two lesser units or one neutroid.

His grin disappeared as he thought about which Anne she would pick. The Norrises were class-C—genetically defective.

He found himself at the Sherman III Community Center—eight blocks of shops and services for the nearby suburbs. He stopped by the message office to get his mail. There was a memo from Chief Franklin. He opened it nervously and read it in the truck. It was something he had been expecting for a few days.

Norris frowned at the last sentence. His district covered about two hundred square miles. Its replacement-quota of new neutroids was around three hundred animals a month. He tried to estimate how many of July's influx had been K-99s from Bermuda Factory. At least forty. Could he do it in a week? And there were only eleven empty neutroid cages in his kennel. The other forty-nine were occupied by the previous inspector's "unclaimed" inventory—waiting for destruction.

He crumpled the memo and stuffed it in his pocket, then drove the truck onto the highway and headed toward Wylo City and the district wholesale offices of Anthropos, Inc. They should have a list of all the Bermuda K-99 serial numbers from July that had come into his territory, along with the retailers who sold the animals. He had a week to find and test forty neutroids, which was going to put him under a lot of pressure.

He was halfway to Wylo City when the radio buzzed on his dashboard. He moved into the slow lane and answered quickly, hoping to hear Anne's voice. Instead, a polite, professional tone came through.

"Inspector Norris? This is Doctor Georges. We haven't met yet, but I bet we will. Are you super busy right now?"

Norris hesitated. "Very," he said.

"Well, this won't take long. One of my patients—a Mrs. Sarah Glubbes—called a while ago and said her baby was sick. I must be getting forgetful, because I forgot she was class C until I got there." He paused. "The baby turned out to be a neutroid. It’s dying. Eighteenth order virus."

"So?"

"Well, she's—uh—pretty much a peculiar woman, Inspector. She keeps going on about how much trouble she had during childbirth, and how she can never have another one. It's sad. She thinks it's her own. Do you get it?"

"I think so," Norris replied slowly. "But what do you want me to do? Can't you take the neutroid to a vet?"

"She insists it's going to a hospital. The worst part is that she's heard of the disease. She knows it can be cured with the right treatment—in humans. Of course, no hospital would entertain her fantasy and take a neutroid, especially since she couldn't afford its treatment."

"I still don't get it—"

"I thought maybe you could help me fake a substitution. It's a K-48 series, five years old, three-year set. Do you have one in the pound that hasn't been claimed?"

Norris paused for a moment. "I think I have one. You can have it, Doctor, but you can't fake a serial number. She'll catch on. And even though they look identical, the new one won't know her. It'll be creepy."

There was a long pause, followed by a sigh. "I'll give it a shot anyway. Can I come get the animal now?"

"I'm on the freeway—"

"Please, Norris! This is urgent. That woman will totally lose her mind if—"

"Okay, I'll call my wife and ask her to open the pound for you. Choose the K-48 and sign for it. And hey—"

"What's up?"

"Don't let me catch you making up a serial number."

Doctor Georges chuckled softly. "I won't, Norris. Thanks a ton." He ended the call abruptly.

Norris instantly regretted agreeing to it. It was almost illegal. But he viewed it as a fast way to get rid of an animal that might have to be killed later.

He called Anne. Her voice was flat. She sounded down, but not angry. When he finished talking, she said, "Okay, Terry," and hung up.

By noon, he had wrapped up checking the shipping lists at the wholesale house in Wylo City. Only thirty-five of July's Bermuda-K-99s had come into his territory, and they were about evenly split among five pet shops, three of which were in Wylo City.

After lunch, he called each of the retail dealers, read them the serial numbers, and asked them to check the sales records for names and addresses of individual buyers. By three o'clock, he had the whole list filled out, and the task started to seem more manageable. All that was left was to pick up the thirty-five animals.

And that, he thought, was like trying to take a one-year-old baby away from its loving mother. He sighed and drove to the Wylo suburbs to start his rounds.

Anne met him at the door when he got home at six. He stood on the porch for a moment, smiling at her faintly. She didn't smile back.

"Doctor Georges came," she told him. "He signed for the—" She paused to look at him. "Babe, your face! What happened?"

Gingerly, he touched the angry welts along the side of his cheek. "Just scratched a little," he muttered. He pushed past her and walked to the phone in the hallway. He sat there, looking at it with disdain for a moment, not liking what he had to do. Anne came to stand next to him and looked at the scratches.

Finally, he picked up the phone and dialed the Wylo exchange. A harsh mechanical voice replied, "Locator center. Who are you trying to reach?"

"Sheriff Yates," Norris said.

The robot operator, which had recorded the work habits of every Wylo City resident, started dialing numbers. It reached the off-duty sheriff on its third attempt, at a Wylo pool hall.

"I'm getting to the point where I hate that annoying gadget," Yates complained. "I think it's messing with my head. What do you want, Norris?"

"Cooperation. I'm sending you three letters accusing three Wylo citizens of resisting a Federal official—specifically me—and charging one of them with assault. I attempted to collect their neutroids for a pound inspection—"

Yates erupted into hearty laughter on the phone.

"It's not a joke. I need to get those neutroids. It's related to the Delmont case."

Yates stopped laughing. "Oh. Alright, I'll handle it."

"It's an urgent request, Sheriff. Can you get the warrants tonight and pick up the animals in the morning?"

"Take it easy with those warrants, kid. Judge Charleman can't be bothered at just any time. I can get the newts to you by noon, I suppose, as long as we don’t have to organize a helicopter crew to track down the mothers."

"That will be fine. And hey, Yates—make sure the charges get dropped if they cooperate. Don’t show those warrants unless they refuse to listen to reason. But get those neutroids."

"Alright, buddy. Got it."

Norris gave him the names and addresses of the three reluctant mothers. As soon as he hung up, Anne placed her hands on his shoulders and said, "Stay still." She started applying a cold ointment to his burning cheek.

"Rough day?" she asked.

"Not too tough. Those were just three out of fifteen. I have the other twelve. They're in the truck."

"That’s great," she said. "You’ve only got twelve empty cages."

He left out the fact that he had stopped at twelve for exactly this reason. "I guess I should get them unloaded," he said, getting up.

"How can I help you?"

He stared at her for a moment, saying nothing. She smiled a little and looked away. "Terry, I’m sorry—about this morning. I—I know you have a job that needs to be—" Her lip quivered slightly.

Norris smiled, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her in close.

"Honeymoon phase is back, huh?" she whispered against his neck.

"Come on," he huffed. "Let’s unload some neutroids before I forget all about work."

They walked out to the kennels together. The cages were located inside a large concrete barn that was divided into three spacious rooms—one for the delicate neutered humanoid creatures, another for the lesser mutants like cat-Qs, dog-Fs, dwarf bears, and tiny lambs that never grew into sheep. The third room had a small gas chamber with a conveyor belt connected to a crematory incinerator.

Norris kept the third locked so his wife wouldn't see what was inside.

The doll-like neutroids started their mindless chatter as soon as their keepers walked into the building. Dozens of bright blonde heads began bouncing around in their cages. Their bodies thumped against the wire mesh as they jumped around their spaces with monkey-like agility.

Their human look was only disrupted by two distinct features: short beaver-like tails adorned with fluffy curls of fur, and a standing tuft of hair on their heads that resembled a bright candle flame. Other than that, they looked completely human, with baby-pink skin, quick smiles, and cherubic faces. They were sexually neutral and never aged beyond a specific age-set that differed for each series. Age-sets ranged from one to ten years, in human terms. Once a neutroid reached its age-set, it stayed at that developmental stage until death.

"They must be getting to know you pretty well," Anne said, looking around at the cages.

Norris had a slight frown as he looked around the room. "They've never been this excited before."

He walked along a line of cages and then stopped by a K-76 to look.

"Apple cores!" He turned to look at his wife. "How did apples end up in there?"

She blushed. "I felt bad for them, eating that mush from the machine. I drove down to Sherman III and bought six dozen cooking apples."

"That was an error."

She frowned with annoyance. "We can afford it."

"That's not the issue. There’s a reason for the mechanical feeders." He paused, contemplating how to share the truth with her. He continued awkwardly: "They get to love whoever feeds them."

"I can't see—"

"How would you feel about getting rid of something that cared about you?"

Anne crossed her arms and glared at him. "Planning to get rid of anything soon?" she asked sharply.

"Honeymoon's off again, huh?"

She turned away. "I'm sorry, Terry. I'll do my best not to bring it up again."

He started unloading the truck, pulling out the scared and wriggling doll-like creatures one by one with a snare pole. They were single-person pets, always afraid of strangers.

"What's the Delmont case, Terry?" Anne asked as he was working.

"Huh?"

"I heard you bring it up on the phone. Is it related to why your face is scratched?"

He nodded with a frown. "Indirectly, yeah. It's a long story."

"Tell me."

"Well, Delmont was a rookie evolvotron operator at the Bermuda plant. His job was to take the unfertilized chimpanzee eggs out of the egg-multiplier, set them up in his machine, and hit the gene structure with sub-atomic particles. It’s a tricky task. He displays a massive enlargement of the ovum on the electron microscope screen—big enough for him to see the individual protein molecules. He has an artificial gene pattern to compare it with. It’s like playing sub-atomic pool. He has to shoot alpha particles into the gene structure and shift certain links by just the right amount. And he has to be quick about it before the ovum dies from too much radiation from the enlarger. A skilled operator can achieve one success out of seven attempts."

"Well, Delmont worked for a week and ruined over a hundred eggs without a single success. They threatened to fire him. I guess he freaked out. Anyway, he reported one success the next day. It was fake. The egg had a couple of flaws—something wrong with the central nervous system's components, and in the glandular structure. Not a standard neutroid egg. He sent it to the incubators to get credit, knowing it wouldn't be discovered until after birth."

"It wasn't caught at all?" Anne asked.

"Funny enough, he was worried it wouldn't be. He started to stress about it, thought maybe a mentally unstable person would slip through, and that it could be dangerous. So he went back to its incubator and cut off the hormone supply to its compartment."

"Why is that?"

"So it would develop sexuality. A neutroid would be born a female if they didn't give it suppressive doses of male hormone before birth. That prevents the development of ovaries and results in a neuter. But Delmont thought a female would be caught and stopped before the final inspection. They'd get rid of her without even checking for other defects. Then he could blame the sexuality on a glitch in the equipment. He thought it was pretty clever. The problem was they didn't catch the female. She made it through; they all look female."

"How did they find out about it now?"

"He got caught last month trying it again. And he admitted to doing it once before. No telling how many times he really did it."

Norris lifted the last kicking, squealing, tassel-haired doll from the back of the kennel truck. He smiled at his wife. "This little guy, for example. It could be a potential girl. It could also be a potential killer. All these kids came from the machines in the area where Delmont worked."

Anne snorted and caught the baby creature in her arms. It struggled and tried to bite, but calmed down a bit when she freed it from the trap. "Kkr-r-reee," it cooed nervously. "Kkr-r-reee!"

"You tell him you're not a murderer," Anne purred to it.

Norris watched disapprovingly as she played with it. One thing he had learned was to avoid getting emotionally attached. It was eight months old but looked like a two-year-old—one year short of its expected age. And it was meant to be as loving as a human child.

"Put it in the cage, Anne," he said softly.

She looked up and shook her head.

"It belongs to someone else. If it creates a strong emotional attachment to you, you're essentially stealing it from its owner. They can't love multiple people at the same time."

She scoffed but placed the thing in its cage.

"Anne—" Norris paused, reluctant to bring it up. "Do you—want one—for yourself? I can transfer an unclaimed one to you to keep at home. It won't cost us anything."

Slowly, she shook her head, and her pale eyes became both moody and bright. "I'm going to have one of my own," she said.

He stood in the back of the truck, looking down at her. "Do you understand what—"

"I know what I’m talking about. We're class-C because of heart issues in both our families. Well, I don’t care, Terry. I'm not going to waste my heart on one of these pathetic little fake animals. We're going to have a baby."

"You know what they'd do to us?"

"If they find out, yeah—mandatory divorce, sterilization. But they won’t find us. I’ll take care of it at home, Terry. Not even a doctor. We’ll keep it a secret."

"I won't let you do that."

She confronted him, furious. "Oh, this entire awful world!" she said, struggling to get the words out. Then she turned and ran out of the building, tears streaming down her face.

Norris slowly climbed down from the truck and walked into the house. She wasn't in the kitchen or the living room. The bedroom door was locked. He shrugged and sat down on the sofa. The TV was on, and a newscast was playing from a local station.

"... we couldn't get any shots of the body," the announcer was saying. "But here’s a view of the Georges residence. I’ll switch you to our mobile unit in Sherman II, James Duncan reporting."

Norris frowned in confusion as the scene changed to a two-story plastic house among the elm trees. It was after dark, but the mobile unit's powerful floodlights lit up the house and its yard, along with the police helicopters parked in a side lot. An ambulance was parked in the street. A new voice came on the audio.

"This is James Duncan, everyone, coming to you from our mobile unit outside the home of the late Doctor Hiram Georges, just west of Sherman II. We’re waiting for the stretcher to be brought out, and Police Chief Erskine Miler is here with me to share some details about the case. Doctor Georges' death has deeply shocked the community. Many of you local listeners have known him for years—some of you have relied on his services as your family doctor. He was a respected and loved man. Now, let’s hear from Chief Miler."

Norris sat there, breathing fast. There could hardly be two Doctor Georges in the community, but just this morning...

A growling voice came from the speaker. "This is Chief Miler speaking, everyone. I just want to say that if any of you know where Mrs. Sarah Glubbes is, call me right away. She's wanted for questioning."

"Thanks, Chief. It’s James Duncan again. I’ll quickly go over the details for you, everyone. At seven o'clock, less than an hour ago, a woman—supposedly Mrs. Glubbes—burst into Doctor Georges' dining room while the family was having dinner. She was waving a gun and shouting, 'You stole my baby! You gave me the wrong baby! Where's my baby?'

"When the doctor confirmed that there was no other baby, she shot, shattering his salad plate. The bullet ricocheted off it and struck his heart. The woman ran away. An odd detail about the case is that Mrs. Glubbes, the supposed intruder, has no baby. Just a moment—just a moment—here comes the stretcher now."

Norris switched off the TV and called the police. He shared all the information he had and said he would be available for questioning if needed. When he hung up, Anne was standing in the bedroom doorway. She might have been crying a bit, but she hid it well.

"What was all that about?" she asked.

"Woman killed a guy. I happened to know why."

"What was that?"

"Neutroid issues."

"You run into a lot of negativity in this business, right?"

"There's a lot of unpleasant emotions mixed up in it," he admitted.

"I know. Well, dinner's been warm for two hours. Should we eat?"

They went to bed at midnight, but it was after one when he was sure his wife was asleep. He lay in the dark for a while, listening to her steady breathing. Then he carefully got out of bed and quietly tiptoed through the door, carrying his shoes and trousers. He put them on in the kitchen and silently slipped out to the kennels. A half moon was hanging low in a misty sky, and the wind felt chilly coming from the north.

He walked into the neutroid room and flipped a switch. A few drowsy sounds responded to the light.

One by one, he woke up twenty-three of the older doll-like beings and took them to a large glass-walled room. These were the long-time residents; they knew him well and followed him willingly—like children after the Pied Piper. Once he had them in the glass chamber, he sealed the door and turned on the gas. The conveyor would automatically transport them to the incinerator.

Now he had enough cages for the Bermuda-K-99s.

He quickly left the kennels and went to sit on the back steps. His eyes were burning, but the idea of crying made him feel worse. It was like a hitman crying while he attacked his target. It felt more genuine to just throw up.

When he quietly returned inside, he made it to the hall. Then he saw Anne's tiny figure outlined in the bedroom window, backlit by the moonlit yard. She had put on her negligee and was sitting on the narrow window sill, silently watching the dull red plume of exhaust gases from the crematory's chimney.

Norris stepped back. He went to the living room and lay down on the couch.

After a bit, he heard her enter the room. She stopped in the middle of the rug, a delicate presence in the dark. He turned his face away, bracing for the harsh accusation. But soon she sat down at the edge of the sofa. She didn't say anything. Her hand reached out and gently touched his cheek. He felt her cool fingertips glide softly along his temple.

"You're good, Terry," she whispered.

He kept his face turned away. Her fingers made one last touch. Then she quietly went back to the bedroom. He lay awake until dawn, knowing that it would never be okay, neither the creating nor the destroying, until he—and the whole world—completely lost their minds. And then everything would be okay, but it still wouldn't make sense.

Anne was asleep when he left the house. The night mist had thickened into clouds that created a gloomy morning. He drove off in the kennel truck, planning to pick up the rest of the Bermuda-K-99s so he could start his testing.

Still, he felt the guilt of the night, like a sticky dew that wouldn’t go away with the morning. Why should he have to kill these beings? The answer was clear. Society created them because it was acceptable to kill them. Human babies couldn’t be thrown away when there were too many. The neutroids provided comfort to women who couldn’t have children, keeping them content with a limited birth rate. And why a limited birth rate? Because by keeping the population at five billion, the Federation could ensure a decent standard of living for everyone.

Where there was giving, Norris thought sadly, there was also taking away. Humanity has always tricked itself into believing it "created," but it created nothing. People believed that through medical advancements and the end of wars, they had given individuals a longer life. But they realized that they had only taken the lives of the unborn and added those years to the elderly. Now, people had a life expectancy of eighty, but very few had a real chance of being born to enjoy it.

A neutroid filled the crib in his place. A neutroid that never ate as much or grew up to be jobless. A neutroid could be disposed of if times got tough, but could still fulfill a woman's desire to nurture something small.

Norris stopped thinking about it. Eventually, he'd have to get used to it. He was already used to a world that adored the artificial mutants like kids. He had been raised in that environment. His feelings clashed with the harsh realities of his job. Somehow, he'd have to care for them in the living room and put them down in the kennel. It was just a matter of getting adjusted.

At noon, he returned with another dozen K-99s and set them up in his cages. There were two mothers who were very unwilling, but he passed on them and let the local authorities handle it. Yates had already delivered the three from yesterday.

"No more scratches?" Anne asked him as they ate lunch. They didn’t talk about the huge cleanup from the night before.

Norris smiled stiffly. "I learned my lesson yesterday. If they show their teeth, I just leave without saying anything. It's funny though—I have a feeling one of them tricked me."

"What's going on?"

"Well, I told her what I wanted and why. She didn’t like it, but she let me in. I started with her newt, but she wanted a receipt. So I gave her one; took the serial number off my checklist. She looked at it and said, 'That’s not Chichi’s number!' I looked at the newt’s foot, and sure enough it wasn’t. I had to leave it. It was a K-99, but not even from Bermuda."

"I thought they were all signed up," Anne said.

"They are. I told her she had the wrong neutroid, but she got angry. She went and got the sales receipt. It matched her newt, and it was from O'Reilley's pet shop—right place, wrong number. I just don’t understand."

"There's nothing to worry about, right Terry?"

He looked at her oddly. "Have you ever thought about what could happen if someone started a black market for neutroids?"

They finished the meal in silence. After lunch, he went out again to gather the rest of the group. By four o'clock, he had collected everyone he could without the risk of a warrant. The screams, pleas, and tears of the owners made him feel gloomily ashamed of himself.

If Delmont's deceit had been common, he might have to send several of the thirty-five to the central lab for analysis and eventual disposal. That would unleash the furious anger of their owners on him. He started to realize why bio-inspectors were often moved from one area to another.

On his way home, he stopped in Sherman II to look for the missing number. It was the biggest of the Sherman neighborhoods, spanning fifty blocks of commercial buildings. He parked on the outskirts and took a sidewalk escalator toward O'Reilley's address.

It was on a rundown sidestreet, that felt like it was stuck in past centuries, filled with small bars, bowling alleys, and cigar shops. There was even a store with three golden balls above the entrance, but it had turned into an antique shop. A light mist was falling when he stepped off the escalator and stopped in front of the pet shop. A sign hung out over the sidewalk, announcing:

J. "DOGGY" O'REILLEY
PETS FOR SALE
DUMB BLONDES AND GOLDFISH
MUTANTS FOR THE CHILDLESS
BUY A BUNDLE OF JOY

Norris frowned at the sign and walked inside. The place was warm and dreary. He scrunched his nose at the strong smell of animal odors. O'Reilley's was not a great example of cleanliness.

Somewhere, a puppy was barking, and a parrot squawked the lyrics of A Chimp to Call My Own, which Norris recognized as the theme song of a popular soap opera about a woman who operated an evolvotron.

He stopped for a moment by a tank of goldfish covered in silk. The shop had a customer. An elderly woman was bargaining with an old manager over the price of a slightly used half-grown dog. She was waving her last dog's death certificate in front of him and insisting on a guarantee of the dog's supposed intelligence. The old man offered to swear on a Bible, but he hesitated when it came to swearing on a ledger.

The dog was saying, "Don't sell me, Dad. Don't sell me."

Norris smirked sarcastically to himself. The non-human pets were smarter than the neutroids. A K-108 could say a dozen words, while a K-99 barely got past "mama," "papa," and "cookie." Anthropos was worried about making the quasi-humans too intelligent, fearing that sentimentalists would claim they were truly human.

He walked towards the back of the building, stopping momentarily by the cash register to look at O'Reilley's license, which was hanging in a dusty frame on the wall behind the counter. "James Fallon O'Reilley ... authorized dealer in mutant animals ... all non-predatory mammals including chimpanzee-K series ... license expires June 1, 2235."

It seemed appropriate, even though the expiration date was nearing. He headed towards a row of neutroid cages along the other wall, but O'Reilley was delicately crossing the floor to greet him. The customer had left. The little manager had a friendly professional smile, and his bald head bobbed in a welcoming nod.

"Good day, sir, good day! Can I show you a dwarf kangaroo, or a—" He stopped and adjusted his glasses. He blinked and squinted as Norris displayed his badge. His smile faded.

"I'm Agent Norris, Mr. O'Reilley. I called you yesterday for that update on K-99 sales."

O'Reilley suddenly looked anxious. "Oh, yeah. Did you find them all?"

Norris shook his head. "No. That's why I dropped by. There's some mistake on—" he glanced at his list—"on K-99-LJZ-351. Let's take another look."

O'Reilley seemed to flinch. "No mistake. I gave you the buyer's name."

"She has a new number."

"Can I help it if she made a trade with someone?"

"She didn’t. She got it here. I saw the receipt."

"Then she made a deal with one of my other customers!" the old man snapped.

"Two of your customers have the same name—Adelia Schultz? Seems unlikely. Let’s check your duplicate receipt book."

O'Reilley's wrinkled face turned into a stubborn expression. "I doubt it’s still around."

Norris frowned. "Look, Dad, I've had a rough day. I could start naming some things around here that need fixing—sanitary violations and all that. Not to mention that sign—'dumb blondes.' They banned that one after they executed that shady doctor for pumping K-108s full of growth hormones, trying to raise a harem to sell. Plus, you're supposed to keep sales records until they've been microfilmed. There hasn't been any microfilming since July."

The wrinkled face twitched with frustrated anger. O'Reilley shuffled to the counter while Norris followed. He grabbed a thick binder from under the register and headed toward a wooden staircase.

"Where are you going?" Norris called.

"Get my old glasses," the manager complained. "I can't see through these new ones."

"Leave the book here and I'll take a look at it," Norris offered.

But O'Reilley was already limping quickly up the stairs. He seemed not to hear. He shut the door behind him, and Norris heard the lock click. The bio-agent waited. Again the thought of a black market troubled him. Unauthorized neutroids could mean lots of trouble.

Five minutes went by before the old man came down the stairs. He didn't say anything as he set the book on the counter. Norris saw that his hands were shaking as he flipped through the pages.

"Let me take a look," said the bio-agent.

O'Reilley stepped back hesitantly. Norris had remembered the owner’s receipt number, and he located the duplicate quickly. He looked at it in silence. "Mrs. Adele Schultz ... chimpanzee-K-99-LJZ-351." It was the number of the animal he was after, but it didn't match the number on Mrs. Schultz's neutroid or on her original receipt.

He held the book up to his eye and aimed it at the light across the page. O'Reilley's breathing became noticeable. Norris put the book down, folded two layers of a handkerchief over the blade of his pocketknife, and ran it along the seam between the pages. He took the sheet he needed, folded it, and tucked it into his vest pocket. O'Reilley was stuttering in anger.

Norris turned to him with a cold stare. "Great job erasing that, for a copy."

The old man got ready to explode. Norris quietly put on his hat.

"See you in court, O'Reilly."

"Wait!"

Norris turned. "Alright, I'm waiting."

The old man slumped into a limp bag of wrinkles. "Let's sit down first," he said quietly.

Norris followed him up the stairs and into a shabby living room. The small apartment smelled of boiled cabbage and sweat. An orange-haired person lay asleep on a small rug in the corner. Norris knelt beside them and read the tattooed numbers on the bottom of their left foot—K-99-LJZ-351. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised.

When he got up, the old man slumped in an old armchair, his head resting on a hand that covered his eyes.

"Are there a lot of good explanations, I guess?" Norris asked softly.

"Not great ones."

"Let's hear them, anyway."

O'Reilley sighed and sat up straight. He looked at the inspector and spoke in a flat tone. "My wife passed away five years ago. We were class-B—allowed to have one child of our own—if we could manage to have one. We couldn't. But since we were class-B, we couldn't have a neutroid either. We kind of got around that by running a pet shop. Mary—she always cried when we sold a neut. I felt a bit bad about it too. But we never did steal one. Last year, a shipment from Bermuda came in. I sold most of them pretty quickly, but Peony here—she was kind of small. It seemed like nobody wanted her. I kept her around so long that I got attached to her. I was afraid someone would buy her. So I faked the receipt and moved her up here."

"Is that all?"

The elderly man nodded.

"Have you done this before?"

He nodded disapprovingly.

Norris let a long silence go by as he wrestled with his thoughts. Finally, he said, "You know, your license could be taken away."

"I get it."

Norris balled his fist thoughtfully in his palm and gazed at the sleeping doll. "I'm taking your books home with me tonight," he said. "I want to do a full check for similar changes. Any objections?"

"None. That's the only trick I’ve done, I swear."

"If that's true, I won't report you. We'll just add a correction to that page, and you'll restock the newt." He hesitated. "As long as it's not a deviant. I'll need to examine it first."

A choking sound came from the armchair. Norris stared curiously at the old man. Moisture was gathering in the wrinkles around his eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

O'Reilley nodded. "She's problematic."

"How do you know that?"

The dealer straightened up and limped over to the sleeping neutroid. He knelt beside it and gently stroked a small bare shoulder.

"Peony," he said softly. "Peony, wake up, girl."

Its fluffy tail twitched for a moment. Then it sat up, rubbing its eyes and yawning. It looked normal, like a two-year-old girl with soft brown eyes. It pouted at O'Reilley for waking it up. It saw Norris and ignored him, apparently too sleepy to be scared.

"How's my Peony-girl?" the dealer said softly.

It licked its lips. "Can I get a glass of water, Dad?" it said sleepily.

Norris took a moment to catch his breath. No K-99 should be able to give a speech that long, even at its developmental limit. He looked over at O'Reilley. The old man nodded slowly, then headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. She drank it eagerly and watched her foster parent.

"Dad is crying."

O'Reilley glared at her and blew his nose seriously. "Don't be silly, kid. Now put on your coat and go with Mister Norris. He's taking you for a ride in his truck. Won't that be great?"

"I don't want to. I want to stay here."

"Peeony! Go on!"

She grabbed her coat and glared at Norris with a childish disdain. "Can Dad come, too?"

"Get out of here!" O'Reilley snapped. "I have things to take care of."

"Are we coming back?"

"Of course you're coming back! Get over here now—or should I grab my spanking stick?"

Peony walked out the door ahead of Norris.

"Oh, inspector, could you please hit the night latch for me as you leave the shop? I think I'm closing for the day."

Norris stopped at the top of the stairs, looking back at the old man. But O'Reilley shut himself inside and the lock clicked. The agent sighed and looked down at the little figure beside him.

"Do you want me to carry you, Peony?"

She sniffed with disdain. She jumped on the banister and slid down in front of him. Her movements were usually a mix of monkey and squirrel. But there was no doubt about it; she was one of Delmont's outcasts. He wondered what they would do with her in the central lab. He couldn't remember any instance of an intelligent mutant making it to the market.

Somehow, he couldn’t put her in a cage in the back of the truck. He drove home while she sat next to him in the front seat. She looked at the scenery and kept her distance, occasionally glancing around to ask, "Can we go back now?"

Norris couldn’t bring himself to respond.

When he got home, he brought her inside and paused in the hallway to call Chief Franklin. The operator said, "His office isn't picking up, sir. Should I give you the robot locator?"

Norris hesitated. His wife came into the hall. She leaned down to smile at Peony, and Peony asked, "Do you live here, too?" Anne gasped and sat on the floor to stare.

Norris said, "Cancel the call. It can wait until tomorrow." He quickly hung up the phone.

"What show is it?" Anne asked excitedly. "I've never seen one that could talk."

"It's a she," he said. "And she's a whole series on her own. Some of Delmont's work."

Peony was looking between them with a confused expression. "Can we head back now?"

Norris shook his head. "You're going to stay the night with us, Peony," he said gently. "Your dad wants you to."

His wife was watching him intently. Norris glanced away and nervously picked at a corner of the phone book. Suddenly, she grabbed Peony's hand and guided her toward the kitchen.

"Come on, babe, let's go find a cookie or something."

Norris started out the front door, but in a moment Anne was back. She grabbed his collar and pulled. "Not so fast!"

He turned to frown. Her face blamed him from just six inches away.

"Just what do you think you're going to do with that kid?"

He was quiet for a long time. "You know what I'm meant to do."

Her steady gaze made it clear that she wouldn't accept any excuses. "I heard you trying to call your boss."

"I canceled it, right?"

"See you tomorrow."

He fidgeted with his hands. "I don't know, babe—I really have no idea."

"They would kill her at the central lab, wouldn't they?"

"Well, they'd need her as a witness in Delmont's trial."

"They would kill her, right?"

"When it was over—it’s hard to tell. The law says that deviants must be eliminated, but—"

"What's up?"

He paused sadly. "We have a few days to think it over, babe. I don't have to submit my report for another week."

He slipped out the door. Looking back, he saw the intense determination in her eyes as she watched him. He somehow knew that he was going to lose either his job or his wife. Maybe both. He walked grumpily out to the kennels to take care of his responsibilities.

A deep silence settled over the house in the evening. Dinner was a somber affair. Only Peony spoke; she was leaned back on two cushions at the table, skillfully using her silverware.

Norris was curious about her intelligence. She was ten months old chronologically, about two years old physically, but her mental age appeared to be at least comparable to that of a three-year-old.

Once he reached across the table to touch her forehead. She looked at him curiously for a moment and went back to eating. Her temperature was warmer than a human's, but not too warm for the usually high neutroid metabolism—around 101°. The fast rate of maturation made it impossible to determine I.Q.

"You have a good appetite, Peony," Anne said.

"I like Dad's cooking more," she said honestly. "When can I go home?"

Anne looked at Norris and waited for a response. He smiled at the fiery-haired kid. "How about this? I'll call your dad and let you say hi. Sound good?"

She giggled and nodded. "Uh-huh! When can we do it?"

"Talk later."

Anne tapped her fork thoughtfully against the edge of her plate. "I think we should have a nice long talk tonight, Terry," she said.

"Is there anything to discuss?" He pushed the plate away. "I'm not hungry."

He got up from the table and sat in the dark by the living room window, while his wife washed the dishes and Peony played with a bunch of walnuts on the kitchen floor.

He looked at the scattered lights of the suburbs and tried to clear his mind. The lights were calming, sparkling through the trees.

Once, there were no lights, just the flickering campfires of hunters shivering in the forest, in a time when the world was young and only lightly touched by humanity. Now, the world was filled with his lights, the sounds of his engines, and the roar of his rockets. He had taken over the Earth and had filled it—too much.

There was no way out. His rockets had landed on two of the planets, but even those new worlds provided no refuge for the unborn. Humans could have babies—if they were permitted—faster than they could construct ships to transport them. He could only choose between a higher death rate and a lower birth rate.

And unborn children weren't allowed to vote when Man made his choice.

His choice had taken away a biological need from his wife, so he made a disposable baby to comfort her. He gave it a tail and only half a mind, so it couldn't be mistaken for his own occasional children.

But Peony only had the tail. Still, she wasn’t born from human seed. Strange seed, from the jungle, twisted towards the human side, but still not human.

Norris heard a car coming down the street. Its headlights swept along the curb and it slowed to a stop in front of the house. A tall, slender guy in a dark suit got out and stood for a moment, looking at the house. He was just a silhouette in the dim streetlight. Norris couldn’t recognize him. Suddenly, the man turned on a flashlight and shined it over the porch. Norris gasped and rushed toward the kitchen. Anne looked at him with questions in her eyes, while Peony glanced up from her play.

He bent down next to her. "Hey, kid!" he said quickly. "Do you know what a neutroid is?"

She nodded slowly. "They live in cages. They don’t speak."

"Can you act like you're a neutroid?"

"I can play neutroid. I play neutroid with Dad sometimes, when people come to see him. He gives me candy when I play it. When can I go home?"

"Not right now. There's a guy coming to see us. Can you play dead for me? We'll give you a ton of candy. Just don't say anything. Act like you're asleep."

"Now?"

"Now." He heard the doorbell ringing.

"Who's there?" Anne asked.

"I’m not sure. He might have the wrong house. Take Peony into the bedroom. I’ll get it."

His wife scooped up the kid and hurried off. The chimes rang again. Norris walked down the hall and turned on the porch light. The visitor was an older man, standing tall in his black suit and exuding dignity. As he smiled and nodded, Norris noticed his collar. A clergyman. Must have the wrong house, Norris thought.

"Are you Detective Norris?"

The agent nodded, hesitant to say anything.

"I'm Father Paulson. I'm calling for a guy named James O'Reilley. I think you know him. Can I come in?"

Grudgingly, Norris swung open the door. "If you can handle the smell of paganism, come on in."

The priest chuckled politely. Norris guided him to the living room and switched on the light. He gestured toward a chair.

"What's going on here? Does O'Reilley want something?"

Paulson smiled at the inspector's blunt tone and sat down in the chair. "O'Reilley is a sick man," he said.

The inspector frowned. "He didn’t seem that way to me."

"Sick at heart, Inspector. He came to me for advice. I couldn’t help him. He shared his story—about this Peony. I’d like to take a look at her, if that’s okay."

Norris was silent for a moment. O'Reilley had better keep quiet, he thought, especially around clergymen. Most of them looked down on the whole mutant situation.

"I didn't think you'd hang out with O'Reilley," he said. "I figured you guys excommunicated anyone who owns a neutroid. O'Reilley has an entire shop full of them."

"That's true. But who knows? He might close his shop. Can I see this neutroid?"

"Why?"

"O'Reilley said it could talk. Is that true, or is O'Reilley having delusions? That's what I came to find out."

"Neutroids don't communicate."

The priest looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly, as if he was agreeing with something. "You can be sure," he said softly, "that I won't mention this visit, that I won't talk to anyone about this being."

Norris looked up to see his wife watching them from the door.

"Get the Peony," he said.

"Is it true then?" Paulson asked.

"I'll let you see for yourself."

Anne came into the room with the little child and placed her on the floor. Peony noticed the visitor, squeaked in fear, and jumped onto the back of the sofa to sit and scold. She was really getting into her game, Norris thought.

The priest observed her with quiet curiosity. "Hey there, kiddo."

Peony was rambling nonsense. Paulson focused on her every move. Then he said, "I just saw your dad, Peony. He asked me to talk to you."

Her chatter stopped. The magic of the game was over. Her expression turned serious. Then she glanced at Norris and frowned. "I don't want any candy. I want to go home."

Norris exhaled deeply. "I didn't say she couldn't talk," he remarked gloomily.

"I didn't say you did," Paulson replied. "You asked me to see for myself."

Anne confronted the clergyman. "What do you want?" she demanded. "The child's death? Did you come to make sure she'd be turned over to the lab? I know your type! You'd do anything to get rid of neutroids!"

"I just came to make sure O'Reilley is sane," Paulson told her.

"I don't believe you," she said sharply.

He looked at her in hurt surprise, then he laughed. "People used to trust the fabric. Oh well. Listen, my child, you’ve got us wrong. We say it’s wrong to create the creatures. We also say it’s wrong to destroy them once they exist. Not exactly murder, but maybe—mockery of life. It’s the whole system that’s wrong. Do you get it? As for this small creature of O'Reilley's—well, I’m not sure what to make of her, but I definitely wouldn’t want her—uh—d-e-a-d."

Peony was listening quietly to the conversation. Somehow, Norris felt that the priest was an indifferent friend, if not a potential ally. He glanced at his wife. Her eyes were still filled with suspicion.

"Tell me, Dad," Norris asked, "if you were in my shoes, what would you do?"

Paulson fumbled with a button on his coat and looked at the floor while he thought. "I wouldn’t want to be in your position, young man. But if I were, I think I’d keep her from my bosses. I’d also quit my job and leave."

It wasn't what Norris wanted to hear. But his wife's expression suddenly changed; she looked at the priest with a new interest. "And give Peony back to O'Reilley," she added.

"I shouldn't be giving you advice," he said, frustrated. "I have to ask O'Reilley to give up his business and have nothing more to do with neutroids."

"But Peony's human," Anne argued. "She's different."

"I disagree."

"What!" Anne challenged him again. "What makes you human?"

"A soul, my dear."

Anne put her hands on her hips and leaned forward to glare at him like something unpleasant. "Can you stick a voltmeter between your ears and measure it?"

The priest looked helplessly at Norris.

"No!" she said. "And you can't do that to Peony either!"

"Maybe I should head out," Paulson said to his host.

Norris sighed. "Maybe you should, Padre. You found out what you needed to know."

Anne stormed out of the room, her dark hair swaying like a battle flag with every step. After the priest left, Norris picked up the child and sat her on his lap. She was trembling with fear, as if she understood what had been said. Love them in the living room, he thought, and kill them in the kennels.

"Can I go home? Doesn't Dad want me anymore?"

"Of course he does, babe. Just be good and everything will be fine."

Norris felt a bad taste in his mouth as he laid her sleeping body on the sofa half an hour later. Everything was all wrong, and it looked like it would stay that way. He couldn't give her back to O'Reilley because she'd get caught again when the auditor came to microfilm the records. And he definitely couldn't keep her himself—not with other Bio-agents coming and going every few days. There was no way to hide her in a world where there were no longer any sparsely populated areas. He had no choice but to遵循 the law and hand her over to Franklin's lab.

He closed his eyes and shuddered. If he did that, he could handle anything—endure anything—adapt to any harsh demands society placed on him. If he sent the child away to die, he would feel that he had achieved an "objective" perspective. And what more could he want from life than adaptation and objectivity?

Well—his wife, for starters.

He left the child on the sofa, turned off the light, and walked into the bedroom. Anne was in bed, reading. She didn’t look up when she said, "Terry, if you let that baby be destroyed, I'll...."

"Don't say it," he interrupted. "Whenever you want to leave, just go. But don’t use that as a threat."

She watched him quietly for a moment. Then she handed him the newspaper she had been reading. It was folded around an ad.

BIOLOGISTS WANTED
by
ANTHROPOS INCORPORATED
for
Evolvotron Operators
Incubator Tenders
Nursery Supervisors
Laboratory Personnel
in
NEW ATLANTA PLANT
Call or write: HR Manager.
ANTHROPOS INC.
Atlanta, GA.
Note: Make sure to get Work Department
release from your current job
before applying.

He looked at Anne with curiosity. "So?"

She shrugged. "So there's a job if you want to quit this one."

"What's this have to do with Peony, if anything?"

"We can take her with us."

"Not a chance," he replied. "Do you think a talking neutroid would be any safer there?"

She angrily asked, "Why would they want to destroy her?"

Norris sat on the edge of the bed and thought about it. "No specific individual wants to, babe. It's the law."

"But why?"

"Generally, because deviants are unpredictable. They can be dangerous."

"That kid—dangerous?"

"Dangerous to the idea that humans are something special, a closed group. And on a practical level, she's dangerous because she's not neutered. The Federation demands that all mutants be neutered and infertile to control the mutant population. If mutants began reproducing, that could pose a serious threat in a world where the economy is so delicately balanced."

"Well, you're not going to let them take her, do you hear me?"

"I got you," he grumbled.

On the next day, he went to the police station to sign a statement about the motive behind Doctor Georges' murder. As a result, Mrs. Glubbes was admitted to the psychiatric ward.

"It's funny, Norris," Chief Miler said, "what people will do over a neutroid. Like Mrs. Glubbes thinking that newt was hers. I really don’t envy your job. It’s a miracle you don’t get your head blown off. You must have a strong stomach."

Norris signed the document and glanced up quickly. "Of course, Chief. It's just a matter of adapting."

"Guess so." Miler patted his stomach and yawned. "How's it going with this Delmont situation? Have you found any troublemakers yet?"

Norris suddenly dropped the pen. "No! Of course not! What made you think I did?"

Miler paused mid-yawn and looked at Norris with curiosity. "Sensitive, aren't you?" he said thoughtfully. "When I get that kind of response from a prisoner, I immediately start thinking—"

"Save it for your interrogation room," Norris growled. He quickly walked out of the office while Chief Miler tapped his pencil absentmindedly and watched him leave.

He was frustrated with himself for being indecisive. He needed to make a choice and do it quickly. He was getting into his car when a voice called out to him from the building. He turned back to see Chief Miler hurrying down the steps, his chubby face shining in the morning sun.

"Hey, Norris! Your wife is on the phone. She says it's urgent."

Norris returned reluctantly. A sense of trouble weighed on him.

"Phone's right there," the chief said, pointing with a thick thumb.

The phone lay on the desk, and he could hear it saying, "Hello—hello—" before he picked it up.

"Anne? What's wrong?"

Her voice was quiet and tense, attempting to sound happy. "Nothing's wrong, honey. We have a guest. Come home right away, okay? Chief Franklin's here."

It knocked the wind out of him. He felt himself going pale. He glanced at Chief Miler, who was sitting nearby, completely calm.

"Can you tell me about it now?" he asked her.

"Not doing great. Please get home quickly. He wants to talk to you about the K-99s."

"Have the two of them met?"

"Yeah, they have." She paused, as if she was listening to him talk, then said, "Oh, that! The game, babe—remember the game?"

"Okay," he said. "I'll be there soon." He ended the call and headed out.

"Problems?" the chief shouted after him.

"Just a sick newt," he said, "if it’s any of your business."

Chief Franklin's helicopter was parked in the empty lot next door when Norris drove up in front of the house. The official heard the truck and came out on the porch to watch his agent walk up the path. His tall, thin body was loosely draped in gray tweeds, and his sharp, gaunt face was a dark and serious mask. He was middle-aged, his skin lined with wrinkles, but his hair was still unusually black. He greeted Norris with a slow, almost sarcastic nod.

"I see you haven't checked your mail. If you had, you would have known I was coming. I wrote to you yesterday."

"Sorry, Chief, I didn't get a chance to drop by the message office this morning."

Franklin grunted. "So, you don’t know why I’m here?"

"Nope."

"Let's sit out on the porch," Franklin said, settling his thin frame on the railing. "We need to get to work on these Bermuda-K-99s, Norris. How many do you have?"

"Thirty-four, I guess."

"I counted 35."

"Maybe you're right. I—I'm not sure."

"Found any offenders yet?"

"Uh—I haven't done any tests yet, sir."

Franklin's voice became sharp. "Do you really need a test to tell when a neutroid is rambling on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just this. We've found at least a dozen of Delmont's units that have mental ages matching their physical age. Plus, they're functioning females, and their pituitaries are normal. Know what that means?"

"They won't take an age-set then," Norris said. "They'll grow up."

"Start a family."

Norris frowned. "How can they have kids? There aren't any males."

"No? You won't believe what we found in one of Delmont's incubators."

"Not a—"

"Yeah. And it's probably not the first time. This thing about padding his quota is nonsense! Seriously, he was planning to start his own black market! He finally admitted it after twenty hours of non-stop questioning. He was going to raise them, Norris. He was stealing them straight out of the incubators before an inspector ever laid eyes on them. The K-99s—the numbered ones—are just the ones he couldn't retrieve. God knows how many males he's got stashed away somewhere!"

"What are you going to do?"

"Do! What do you think we're going to do? Crush the entire plan, that's what! Hunt down the deviants and eliminate them. We have enough now for lab work."

Norris felt nauseous. He turned away. "I guess you'll want me to take care of the destruction, then."

Franklin shot him a wary look. "Yeah, but why do you want to know? You have found one, right?"

"Yes, sir," he acknowledged.

A moan came from the doorway. Norris looked up to see his wife's pale face staring at him in horror, just before she turned and ran into the house. Franklin's skinny head lifted.

"I see," he said. "We're really focused on our troublemaker. Alright, Norris, I'll handle it myself. Where is it?"

"In the house, sir. My wife's room."

"Got it."

Norris walked sadly into the house. The bedroom door was locked.

"Honey," he called softly. There was no response. He knocked lightly.

A key turned in the lock, and his wife stood in front of him. Her eyes were filled with icy tears.

"Stay back!" she said. He could see Peony behind her, sitting in the middle of the floor and looking confused.

Then he saw his service revolver in her shaking hand.

"Look, babe—it's me."

She shook her head. "No, it's not you. It's a guy who wants to kill a little girl. Stay back."

"You'd shoot, right?" he asked quietly.

"Come in and see for yourself," she invited.

"Let me have Peony."

She laughed, her eyes shining with hatred. "I wonder what happened to Terry. I guess he died. Or he changed. I guess I'm a widow now. Stay back, Mister, or I'll kill you."

Norris smiled. "Alright, I'll hang back. But the gun isn't loaded."

She tried to slam the door; he stopped it with his foot. She swung the pistol at him, but he yanked it out of her hand. He pushed her aside and pinned her against the wall while she scratched at his arm.

"Stop it!" he said. "Nothing is going to happen to Peony, I promise!" He looked back at the child, who had started to cry.

Anne calmed down a bit, glaring at him.

"There's no other way out, babe. Just trust me. She'll be fine."

Breathing quickly, Anne stepped aside and watched him. "Okay, Terry. But if you’re lying—tell me, is it wrong to kill a man to protect a child?"

Norris picked up Peony. She stopped crying, but her tail moved back and forth anxiously.

"In whose law book?" he asked his wife. "I was wondering the same thing." Norris headed toward the door. "By the way—can you find my instruments while I'm outside?"

"The dissecting instruments?" she gasped. "If you plan—"

"Let's refer to them as surgical instruments, okay? And let's get them sterilized."

He stepped outside, holding the child. Franklin was waiting for him in the kennel doorway.

"Was that Mrs. Norris I just heard screaming?"

Norris nodded. "Let's just get this done. I can't handle it too well." He let his eyes rest unhappily on the top of Peony's head.

Franklin smiled at her and pulled a piece of candy from his pocket. She declined it and snuggled closer to Norris.

"When can I go home?" she said. "I want Daddy."

Franklin stood up straight, watching her with a smirk. "You're heading home in a few minutes, little newt. Just a few more minutes."

They walked into the kennels together, and Franklin went straight to the third room. He looked like he was enjoying himself. Norris silently hated him, stopped at a workbench, and put on a pair of gloves. Then he called out to Franklin.

"Chief, since you're in there, can you check the outlet pressure while I turn on the main line?"

Franklin nodded in agreement. He stood outside the gas chamber, watching the dials on the door. Norris could see his back as he twisted the main valve.

"Pressure's high!" Franklin called.

"Alright. Keep the hatch slightly open so it doesn't lock, and open the intake valves a bit. Read it again."

"Do you have a mask?"

Norris laughed. "If you're scared, there's one on the shelf. Just open the hatch, take a reading, and close it. There's no danger."

Franklin frowned at him and opened the intakes. Norris quietly closed the main valve again.

"Drops to zero!" Franklin yelled.

"Leave it open, then. Do you smell anything?"

"No. I'm shutting it off, Norris." He twisted the intakes.

Simultaneously, Norris opened the main line.

"Pressure is up again!"

Norris dropped his wrench and walked back to the room, leaving Peony sitting on the workbench.

"Problems with the intakes," he said gruffly. "It's happened before. Mind getting your hands dirty with me, Chief?"

Franklin frowned in annoyance. "Let's speed this up, Norris. I've got five areas to cover."

"Okay, but we should definitely put on our masks." He climbed a metal ladder to the top of the chamber and leaned over to check the intakes. On his way down, he knocked a light bulb over the door, breaking it. Franklin cursed and stepped back, brushing glass shards from his head and shoulders.

"Good thing the light was off," he said sharply.

Norris gave him the gas mask and put on his own. "The main switch is off," he said. He opened the intakes again. This time, the dials dropped to normal open-line pressure. "Well, look—it's fine," he shouted through the mask. "Are you sure it was zero before?"

"Of course I'm sure!" came the muffled response.

"Leave it on for a minute. We'll see. I'll go get the newt. Don't let the door close, sir. It'll trigger the automatics, and we won't be able to open it for half an hour."

"I know, Norris. Let's go."

Norris left him standing just outside the room, holding the door open with his foot. A slight breeze was coming through the gap. It should quickly create an explosive mixture with the hatch open.

He walked into the next room, paused for a moment, and flipped the switch. The noise was deafening as the exposed tungsten filament lit up and ignited the escaping anesthetic vapor. Norris rushed to turn off the main line. Peony was crying softly. He approached the door and looked at the smoldering remains of Franklin.

Feeling no emotion at all, Norris left the kennels, holding the crying child under one arm. His wife looked at him, confused.

"Here, hold Peony while I call the cops," he said.

"Hey, is this the police? What happened?"

He dialed quickly. "Chief Miler? This is Norris. Get over here fast. My gas chamber exploded—killed Chief Agent Franklin. It's terrible! Hurry."

He hung up and went back to the kennels. He picked a regular Bermuda-K-99 and coldly smashed it with a wrench. "You’ll do for a deviant," he said, and left it lying in the middle of the floor.

Then he went back to the house, mixed a sleeping pill in a glass of water, and made Peony drink it.

"So she'll be gone by the time the cops arrive," he explained to Anne.

She stomped her foot. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"You heard me on the phone. Franklin accidentally died. That’s all you need to know."

He carried Peony outside and locked her in a cage. She was too tired to protest and was dozing when the police arrived.

Chief Miler walked around the three rooms like someone searching for a burglar at midnight. He kicked the body of the neutroid with his foot. "What's this, Norris?"

"The outcast we were about to eliminate. I finished her off with a wrench."

"I thought you said there weren't any troublemakers."

"As far as the public is concerned, there aren't. I couldn't see that it was any of your business. It still isn't."

"I get it. It could become my concern, though. How did the explosion happen?"

Norris told him the story up to the moment of the explosion. "The light over the door was wobbly. Kept flickering on and off. Franklin reached up to tighten it. There must have been some gas in the socket. As soon as he touched it—bang!"

"Why was the door open and the gas on?"

"I told you—we were checking the intakes. If you close the door, it activates the automatics. Then you can't get it open until the cycle's done."

"Where were you at?"

"I went to turn off the gas again."

"Alright, stay inside the house until we're done out here."

When Norris walked back into the house, his wife's pale face gradually shifted to look at him.

She sat rigidly by the living room window, looking pale. Her voice was softly fearful.

"Terry, I'm sorry for everything."

"Forget it."

"What did you do?"

He smiled cynically. "I adjusted to the times. Did you locate the instruments?"

She nodded. "What are they for?"

"To remove a tail and take off a tattooed foot. Go to the store and buy some brown hair dye and a pair of boys' pants, size two. Peony's getting a crew cut. From now on, she's Mike."

"We're class C, Terry! We can't pretend she's ours."

"We're first-class, babe. I'm going to create a hereditary certificate."

Anne buried her face in her hands and rocked back and forth slowly.

"Don't feel bad, babe. It was Franklin or a little girl. And from now on, it's society or the Norrises."

"What should we do?"

"Go to Atlanta and work for Anthropos. I'll continue from where Delmont stopped."

"Terry!"

"Peony will need a husband. They might check out all the guys in Delmont. I'll create one for her. Then we'll see if a couple of chimp-Ks can outdo their creators."

Wearily, he sprawled out on the couch.

"What about that priest? What if he talks about Peony? What if he figures out something about Franklin and informs the police?"

"The police," he said, "would then catch on to a motive. They'd piece it together, and I'd be done for. We'll wait and see. Let's not talk; I'm tired. We'll just wait for Miler to show up."

She started to rub his temples softly, and he smiled.

"So we wait," she said. "Do you want me to read to you, Terry?"

"That would be nice," he said softly, closing his eyes.

She slipped away but came back soon. He heard the sound of crinkly pages and smelled old leather. Then her voice spoke softly, using ancient words. He thought of the little child lying peacefully in her cage while angry men moved around her. A tiny life with a mind; she entered the world as quietly as a thief, a burglar in the busy house of humanity.

"I will send my fears ahead of you, and I will eliminate the nations you will encounter, sending hornets to drive out the Hivites, Canaanites, and Hittites before you enter the land. Little by little, I will drive them out for you until you grow and take possession of the land. Then you will be my new people, and I will be your God...."

And on that quiet afternoon in May, while he waited for the police to wrap up their investigation in the kennels, Terrell Norris felt that an end to all the scheming, pushing, and arrogance was not too far off. It seemed like it could be a pretty good world then.

He hoped that humanity could find a place in it somehow.