Conditionally Human
By WALTER M. MILLER, JR.
Illustrated by DAVID STONE
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction February 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
They were such cute synthetic creatures, it
was impossible not to love them. Of course,
that was precisely why they were dangerous!
There was no use hanging around after breakfast. His wife was in a hurtmood, and he could neither endure the hurt nor remove it. He put on hiscoat in the kitchen and stood for a moment with his hat in his hands.His wife was still at the table, absently fingering the handle of hercup and staring fixedly out the window at the kennels behind the house.He moved quietly up behind her and touched her silk-clad shoulder. Theshoulder shivered away from him, and her dark hair swung shiningly asshe shuddered. He drew his hand back and his bewildered face went slackand miserable.
"Honeymoon's over, huh?"
She said nothing, but shrugged faintly.
"You knew I worked for the F.B.A.," he said. "You knew I'd have chargeof a district pound. You knew it before we got married."
"I didn't know you killed them," she said venomously.
"I won't have to kill many. Besides, they're only animals."
"Intelligent animals!"
"Intelligent as a human imbecile, maybe."
"A small child is an imbecile. Would you kill a small child?"
"You're taking intelligence as the only criterion of humanity," heprotested hopelessly, knowing that a logical defense was uselessagainst sentimentality. "Baby—"
"Don't call me baby! Call them baby!"
Norris backed a few steps toward the door. Against his better judgment,he spoke again. "Anne honey, look! Think of the good things about thejob. Sure, everything has its ugly angles. But think—we get this houserent-free; I've got my own district with no bosses around; I make myown hours; you'll meet lots of people that stop in at the pound. It's afine job, honey!"
She sipped her coffee and appeared to be listening, so he went on.
"And what can I do? You know how the Federation handles employment.They looked over my aptitude tests and sent me to Bio-Administration.If I don't want to follow my aptitudes, the only choice is commonlabor. That's the law."
"I suppose you have an aptitude for killing babies?" she said sweetly.
Norris withered. His voice went desperate. "They assigned me to itbecause I liked babies. And because I have a B.S. in biology and anaptitude for dealing with people. Can't you understand? Destroyingunclaimed units is the smallest part of it. Honey, before theevolvotron, before Anthropos went into the mutant-animal business,people used to elect dogcatchers. Think of it that way—I'm just adogcatcher."
Her cool green eyes turned slowly to meet his gaze. Her face wasdelicately cut from cold marble. She was a small woman, slender andfragile, but her quiet contempt made her loom.
He backed closer to the door.
"Well, I've got to get on the job." He put on his hat and picked at asplinter on the door. He frowned studiously at the splinter. "I—I'llsee you tonight." He ripped the splinter loose when it became obviousthat she didn't want to be kissed.
He grunted a nervous good-by and stumbled down the hall and out of thehouse. The honeymoon was over, all right.
He climbed in the kennel-truck and drove east toward the