Cristopher Stasheff

The Warlock's Companion

Warlock in Spite of Himself - 9

Prologue

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…"