the misbehavior of others?
“The real mistake was sending constables,” Rosamund continued. “Whether or not the grievances Tyler gives vent to are real or only perceived, we must allow any cousins to speak their mind. The founders understood that men and women are different. By sending armed officers into that club, we threatened the right of those men who came to see Tyler Durden to be different.”
“It was stupid strategy!” someone interrupted. “They could have arrested Durden easily after the show.”
“Arrested him? On what grounds?” another woman asked.
Rosamund continued. “Adil Al-Hafez said it when he helped Nora Sobieski raise the money for this colony: ‘The cousins are a new start for men as much as women. We do not seek to change men, but to offer them the opportunity to be other than they have been.’”
A man Erno recognized from the biotech factory took the floor. “It’s all very well to quote the founders back at us, but they were realists too. Men are different. Personalized male power has made the history of Earth one long tale of slaughter, oppression, rape, and war. Sobieski and Al-Hafez and the rest knew that, too: The California massacre sent them here. Durden’s incitements will inevitably cause trouble. This kid wouldn’t have gotten hurt without him. We can’t stand by while the seeds of institutionalized male aggression are planted.”
“This is a free speech issue!” a young woman shouted.
“It’s not about speech,” the man countered. “It’s about violence.”
Debrasdaughter called for order. The man looked sheepish and sat down. A middle-aged woman with a worried expression stood. “What about organizing a new round of games? Let them work it out on the rink, the flying drome, the playing field.”
“We have games of every description,” another woman responded. “You think we can make Durden join the hockey team?”
The old man in the front row croaked out, “Did you see that game last week against Aristarchus? They could use a little more organized male aggression!” That drew a chorus of laughter from the crowd.
When the noise died down, an elderly woman took the floor. “I have been a cousin for seventy years,” she said. “I’ve seen troublemakers. There will always be troublemakers. But what’s happened to the Good Partners? I remember the North tube blowout of ’32. Sixty people died. Life here was brutal and dangerous. But men and women worked together shoulder to shoulder; we shared each other’s joys and sorrows. We were good bedmates then. Where is that spirit now?”
Erno had heard such tiresome sermonettes about the old days a hundred times. The discussion turned into a cacophony of voices.
“What are we going to do?” said another woman. “Deprive men of the right to speak?”
“Men are already deprived of the vote! How many voters are men?”
“By living on the colony stipend, men choose not to vote. Nobody is stopping you from going to work.”
“We work already! How much basic science do men do? Look at the work Laurasson did on free energy. And most of the artists are men.”
“-they have the time to devote to science and art, because of the material support of the community. They have the luxury of intellectual pursuit.”
“And all decisions about what to do with their work are made by women.”
“The decisions, which will affect the lives of everyone in the society, are made not by women, but by voters.”
“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.”
