Human Sister Read Free Page A

pictures—there were about thirty—then continued, “You get the picture. We’ve done our homework. Now, back to my question. You went to Calgary a couple of weeks ago with this sweet guy, Elio, right? I understand he likes men, too.”
    Following a spike of fear—or was it hatred?—I forced myself to breathe deeply, slowly. Don’t let him rile you, I silently instructed.
    “So, you want to be a smart-ass, do you?” With the suddenness of an explosion, he hurled himself up off his chair. “Do you?” he shouted in my ear.
    I gave a little start but said nothing.
    “Look here, this is no game of hide-and-seek for some spoiled little rich kid. Our country, our species, is in great danger from androids and from those who coddle them. And because of the magnitude of that danger, I really can be your worst nightmare. I’ve made people tougher, a lot tougher, than you or your grandfather or your hotheaded boyfriend whimper and beg and shit themselves.”
    He slammed his palm against the back of his chair. “Doc!” he shouted, and he stormed from the room.
    This man did frighten me. I felt a strong urge to get up, try the door, and, if it opened, run away. But if I do, I thought, these people likely will break into our house and possibly find Michael, or they’ll grab Elio or Grandpa or Grandma and interrogate them—and find Michael. No. I have to stay and fight. I’m the only one of us who has been trained to fight this kind of fight.
    A few minutes later, the walls of the room shuddered as the door quickly opened.
    “We’ve decided you’re not on anything except a notion to be a stubborn smart-ass,” Casey said, entering. “But we’ve got a cure for that, don’t we, Doc?”
    Casey carried a white pail and a jar containing about a half-liter of liquid. The doctor followed him, pulling along what looked like a portable toilet. “Now, you’ve got a choice,” Casey said. “Either you can take your clothes off by yourself so the doctor can examine you for smuggled devices, or he’ll do it for you. Which is it going to be?”
    My first impulse was to recoil from the idea of undressing in front of these men. But I sensed that more difficult challenges lay ahead and any weakness I exhibited here would taint everything to come.
    I unbuttoned my shirt and handed it to the doctor, who passed it on to Casey. Casey stuck two of his thick fingers into the front pocket, pinched along the collar and the seams, dropped the shirt on the floor and, using a side kick, sent it scooting into a corner of the room. “Hurry up,” Casey said. “Off with the rest. The teleband, too. We don’t have all day.”
    After I finished undressing, the doctor said, “All right, Ms. Jensen. Mr. Casey has determined that you may have illegally smuggled microdevices into the United States. What I’ll ask you to do is lie down here”—he patted the top of the white-paper-covered exam table—“on your left side, and I’ll administer a suppository. It’s just a little thing. Won’t hurt a bit.”
    Next, the doctor asked me to sit up on the edge of the table and drink the milky liquid from the jar Casey had brought in. The liquid was both a laxative and an emetic, the doctor said, useful for flushing out anything I was hiding in my digestive tract. As I drank, he secured the portable toilet to the floor using suction cups attached to the toilet’s base. Then he positioned the white pail in front of the toilet, picked up my clothes and shoes, and left.
    Casey gave me a pleased smirk and pointed first to the toilet—“Shit here”—then to the pail—“Puke there. Got it?”
    I nodded. My insides had already begun rumbling.
    “Good. We’ll be back in about twenty minutes. Have fun.”
     
     “How are you feeling?” the doctor asked when he returned.
    I felt ill and weakened by my digestive ordeal, but I didn’t respond to the doctor’s question. After a few seconds he said, “Drink this. It’ll make you feel much