The Warlock's Companion

Jose frowned at the screen and typed, "RUN COPY BRAIN." The screen went blank, then rippled into a display of cues and standard responses. "LOAD BRAINPAN."

Jose squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a shake. Time enough to think about Marcia later. Right now, he was on the job. He was being paid for this, and he wouldn't get any money if he didn't do the job right. In fact, he wouldn't have a job. He hit the keystroke that opened the window to the production lab below and typed, "CHECK BRAINPAN."

The words "BRAINPAN LOADED" rippled across the screen.

Jose nodded, feeling satisfied to know that, in the sterilized white room below, a technician had clamped a stainless steel basketball into the padded hemisphere that would hold it while the program was copied into it. The sphere held a brand-new robot brain, a giant crystal, a three-dimensional lattice that could hold a pattern of electrical charges forever, but was so far just a carefully-grown rock. The technician had connected the leads from Jose's computer to the brain's read-only memory bank. It was ready to receive its basic operating program.

The cue and response disappeared from the screen, leaving the next one in line: SPECIFY ROUTE.

Jose typed in, "A = B =…"

"Equals." Those two little parallel lines made something twist inside him. He was stunned by the intensity of his own reaction, by how much the idea of equality, to which he had always been dedicated, could bother him, and all because Marcia had started in on him again this morning, started in on him about whether or not the two of them were really equal in their relationship, as they were supposed to be. And, of course, once she had started, she wouldn't let go.

It had all begun when he had announced, "Breakfast is ready," as she came out of the shower.

Marcia paused in the hallway, holding the towel tight around her, and gave him her haughtiest look. "I can punch the right code into the autochef as well as you can, Jose."

Jose looked up in surprise. "Of course you can. I just thought it would be nice to…"

"To make me feel as though I'm not doing my job? Women don't have to be the cooks any more, you know."

"Of
course
I know! You're not my servant."

"But men aren't servants either, right?" Marcia said, with sarcasm.

Jose frowned. "Hey. Nobody's supposed to be anybody's servant, right?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped. "If the men don't do it, who will?"

"We'll each do it for ourselves. Right?"

"Not right at all." She retorted. "How could it be?"

"Because if we each cook our own food, no one's serving anybody."

"Oh, so the high-and-mighty man can't stoop to doing the servile jobs?''

Jose was puzzled. "Does that mean I can't make breakfast for you now and then?"

Marcia reddened, snapped, "Don't be an ass!" and whirled away into the bedroom.

With a feeling of dread, Jose glanced at the calendar. "Beware the Ides," indeed…

He sighed and took a bite of toast. Somehow, it didn't taste very good.

He had just finished watching the quick-scan of the news on the screen, and was punching in the stories he wanted in detail, when Marcia came storming out of the bedroom, immaculately clad and coifed, calling, "The Declaration of Independence says we're supposed to be equal, right?"

Jose spun to face her, totally taken aback. "What… How…"

"The Declaration! And we can't
really
be equal as long as we're dependent on each other. To be really equal, you have to be totally
in
-dependent. That's what the Declaration is all about!"

Jose paled. "You don't really mean that!"

"Of course I do! You can let me make my
own
breakfast!" She bit into an English muffin and made a face. "Besides, it's cold."

"All right, so I shouldn't have punched the autochef for you!" Jose stamped over to the counter, jaw set, rolled up her breakfast and turned to stuff it into the disposal.

"Hey!" Marcia squawked. "
Now
what am I supposed to eat?"

Jose looked up in surprise. "Punch up a new one, of course! So it'll at least be hot!"

"I don't have
time
for that now! All because your silly masculine ego was wounded!"

"My silly masculine ego didn't have a damn thing to do with your not liking cold muffins!"

"Did I
say
I didn't like it?"

"You said it was cold…"

"But I was eating it! The
least
you could do would be to make me a new one!"

"I don't know where I'll find the energy." Jose turned to punch buttons on the autochef.

"Oh, so now it's sarcasm, is it?" Marcia was standing straight, chin lifted, eyes sparkling. "Well, tell me, Mister Big Egalitarian, how you're going to be sarcastic about your sacred Declaration!"

Jose whirled, staring. "I wouldn't dream of it!"

"But you'll break every principle in it, won't you?"

"I'm not breaking a single phrase!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, how about where it says that 'the Creator has endowed all people with certain unalienable rights'?"

"I never…"

She overrode him. "And Jefferson shows how that means that 'these persons ought to be free and independent entities'!''

Jose frowned. "I don't think that's quite…"

"Oh, sure, nitpick about words! But let me tell
you
, Mister Know-It-All—if 'these persons ought to be free and independent entities,' then wives ought to be free and independent of their husbands!"

"But he was talking about
states
!" Jose wailed.

"He was talking about
principles
!" Marcia whirled away to the door. "Come on, we'll be late!"

She settled into one corner of the wraparound sofa and told the computer, "Eight-Mile and Adams." She told Jose, "Close the door."

Jose frowned at her as the door closed behind him, but he schooled himself to patience.

But not today. She was already saying, "If the principle applies to states, it applies to people. If New Jersey was supposed to be independent of England, a wife should be independent of her husband!"

"But you
are
!" The aircar moved, and Jose lurched into a seat.

"Then why do you still expect me to make breakfast?"

"Breakfast!" Jose hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Your muffins are sitting in the autochef!"

"Oh, don't worry, I won't starve!" She certainly didn't look as though she would; her whole form seemed almost radiant. "After all, I can stop and pick up a munch at the Bite-tique. And all because you had to start this silly argument!"

Jose bit back the retort about who had started what and took a deep breath. Breakfast? What did she want breakfast for? She thrived on arguments!

"Oh, that's right, do the martyred patience act!" Marcia snapped. "Can't you stand up for yourself at all?"

"The question is,
should
I?" Jose said carefully. "After all, if the Declaration really does say…"

"Oh, leave the Declaration out of this! Can't you think for yourself?"

Jose looked up, hurt.

"And now it's the wounded puppy," Marcia said contemptuously. "Honestly, Jose, sometimes you cling to me so much that it's smothering! I mean, if your precious Declaration says to be a free and independent entity, you can at least let
me
be one, can't you?"

Jose's face crumpled. "All
right
! If that's what you want, you can
have
it! I'll give you a divorce!"

"Divorce?" Marcia bleated, horrified. "Jose! How could you even
think
of such a thing?''

Jose just stared at her.

"Just because I'm a little snappish… Jose! You don't
mean
it!"

"But… but I thought… You said you wanted to be…"

"Don't you
dare
!"

"A free and independent entity!" Jose bawled.

"That's the
Declaration
, not
me
.' How could you possibly think
I
would want a divorce?"

"But that's what it means, to be independent…"

"Oh, that's just a word!" Marcia leaned forward to squeeze his hand. "I mean, can't I even have a little light conversation with you in the mornings?"

The aircar grounded, and its grille announced, "Eight-Mile and Adams."

"Don't you even
think
about a divorce!" Marcia commanded, darting a quick kiss at him. "Have a good day, darling."

Well, that was something of a tall order. How could Jose "have a good day" when it had started with such turmoil? He sighed philosophically, then sighed again to try to get his emotions under control, and wondered whether he'd ever be able to tell when Marcia was serious, and when she was just talking.

But he couldn't help thinking about it. Every time he tried to do something else, the argument came back to him. He heaved a sigh and took his hands off the keyboard, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair, trying to think the experience through so he could put it to rest.

The Declaration. That was it. That had been the keystone of Marcia's argument, the phrases "that all people are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights" and "these colonies ought to be free and independent states." He knew she'd been misquoting, twisting Jefferson's words to suit her argument. Not that it mattered; when she was in one of
those
moods, she'd use any ammunition that was handy. Still, it might help him to get the argument out of his mind if he could see the phrases the way Jefferson had written them, and reassure himself that he wasn't really violating the Declaration's principles by the way he was living.

So he cleared his screen and punched in the code for the central library's database, feeling like an idiot—he knew very well that he was living according to his own ideals, and knew he was letting his weakness show by having to prove it to himself.

The screen lit up with the library's logo and a request for a request. Jose punched in "The Declaration of Independence" with a feeling of relief; at least
something
was being reasonable.

The political entity that the Declaration had founded still existed, though it had become so completely involved in the complex of nations that it was one part of a united Gestalt, as were all the other nations of Terra. But the words that had begun that union still rang down the corridors of human history, firing youthful minds with zeal and exalting older spirits—and, through them, had in turn become the basis of the Terran Union.

Then it jumped at him from the screen, a full facsimile of the document itself, but he knew that each letter was also in binary. Not that he would dream of moving sentences around in it.

But he could scroll through it, of course, and he did. He read it word by word, feeling a measure of calmness returning to him as the clarion phrases rang out through his mind.

There they were, right at the beginning, the truths Jefferson had held to be self-evident—that all men were created equal, that they were endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights…

His mind came to a screeching halt. "All
men
are created equal?" Yes, Marcia had been misquoting. Only one word changed, though—right?

He dismissed the notion as unworthy. The distinction wasn't significant; Jefferson had probably had all people in mind, men
and
women; and if he hadn't in 1776, he surely would have in 3035.

But it
did
rather undercut Marcia's argument, didn't it? And since all she was using it for was argument…

Sexist document
. He could almost hear her voice dismissing it angrily. And she might have a point there—but then, she shouldn't have cited the Declaration.

That wasn't germane, either, though. What mattered was knowing that he, Jose, hadn't tried to treat her as inferior—and he knew damned well that he hadn't. He'd been showing her a bit of consideration, not being condescending.

He scrolled on through the document, feeling a little better, reading as he went, until he came to the phrase, "These United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be, FREE AND INDEPENDENT STATES." He held the phrase centered on the screen, nodding with satisfaction—he'd remembered the quotation almost accurately. And Marcia had been wrong as well as right—there was a difference between a colony's having a right to govern itself, and a woman's right to not have to take orders any more than a man did.