The Year's Best Science Fiction, Vol. 20

“And most voters are women.”

“Back to beginning of argument!” someone shouted. “Reload program and repeat.”

A smattering of laughter greeted the sarcasm. Debrasdaughter smiled. “These are general issues, and to a certain degree I am content to let them be aired. But do they bear directly on the motion? What, if anything, are we to do about Thomas Marysson?”

She looked over at Tyler, who looked back at her coolly, his legs crossed.

A woman in a constable’s uniform rose. “The problem with Thomas Marysson is that he claims the privileges of artistic expression, but he’s not really an artist. He’s a provocateur.”

“Most of the artists in history have been provocateurs,” shot back a small, dark man.

“He makes me laugh,” said another.

“He’s smart. Instead of competing with other men, he wants to organize them. He encourages them to band together.”

The back-and-forth rambled on. Despite Debrasdaughter’s attempt to keep or der, the discussion ran into irrelevant byways, circular arguments, vague calls for comity, and general statements of male and female grievance. Erno had debated all this stuff a million times with the guys at the gym. It annoyed him that Debrasdaughter did not force the speakers to stay on point. But that was typical of a cousins’ meeting-they would talk endlessly, letting every nitwit have her say before actually getting around to deciding anything.

A young woman stood to speak, and Erno saw it was Alicia Keikosdaughter. Alicia and he had shared a tutorial in math, and she had been the second girl he had ever had sex with.

“Of course Durden wants to be seen as an artist,” Alicia said. “There’s no mystique about the guy who works next to you in the factory. Who wants to sleep with him? The truth-”

“I will!” A good-looking woman interrupted Alicia.

The assembly laughed.

“The truth-” Alicia tried to continue.

The woman ignored her. She stood, her hand on the head of the little girl at her side, and addressed Tyler Durden directly. “I think you need to get laid!” She turned to the others. “Send him around to me! I’ll take care of any revolutionary impulses he might have.” More laughter.

Erno could see Alicia’s shoulders slump, and she sat down. It was a typical case of a matron ignoring a young woman. He got up, moved down the aisle, and slid into a spot next to her.

Alicia turned to him. “Erno. Hello.”

“It’s not your fault they won’t listen,” he said. Alicia was wearing a tight satin shirt and Erno could not help but notice her breasts.

She kissed him on the cheek. She turned to the meeting, then back to him. “What do you think they’re going to do?”

“They’re going to ostracize him, I’ll bet.”

“I saw him on link. Have you seen him?”

“I was there last night.”

Alicia leaned closer. “Really?” she said. Her breath was fragrant, and her lips full. There was a tactile quality to Alicia that Erno found deeply sexy-when she talked to you she would touch your shoulder or bump her knee against yours, as if to reassure herself that you were really there. “Did you get in the fight?”

A woman on the other side of Alicia leaned over. “If you two aren’t going to pay attention, at least be quiet so the rest of us can.”

Erno started to say something, but Alicia put her hand on his arm. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Erno was torn. Boring or not, he didn’t want to miss the meeting, but it was hard to ignore Alicia. She was a year younger than Erno yet was already on her own, living with Sharon Yasminsdaughter while studying environmental social work. One time Erno had heard her argue with Sharon whether it was true that women on Earth could not use elevators because if they did they would inevitably be raped.

They left the amphitheater and walked through the park. Erno told Alicia his version of the riot at the club, leaving out his exploring the deserted lava tube with Tyler.

“Even if they don’t make him invisible,” Alicia said, “you know that somebody is going to make sure he gets the message.”

“He hasn’t hurt anyone. Why aren’t we having a meeting about the constable who clubbed Yokiosson?”

“The constable was attacked. A lot of cousins feel threatened. I’m not even sure how I feel.”

“The Unwritten Law,” Erno muttered.

“The what?”

“Tyler does a bit about it. It was an Earth custom, in most of the patriarchies. The ‘unwritten law’ said that, if a wife had sex with anyone other than her husband, the husband had the right to kill her and her lover, and no court would hold him guilty.”

“That’s because men had all the power.”

“But you just said somebody would send Tyler a message. Up here, if a man abuses a woman, even threatens to, then the abused woman’s friends take revenge. When was the last time anyone did anything about that?”

“I get it, Erno. That must seem unfair.”

“Men don’t abuse women here.”

“Maybe that’s why.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“You’re right, Erno. It doesn’t. I’m on your side.”