Lopez nodded. "And what did the Supreme Court find in Littler v. Carvey?"

"In a six-to-three ruling, the court found that Stella Carvey's unborn child was indeed a person, with the full rights ascribed to persons under the Fifth, Eighth, Thirteenth, and Fourteenth Amendments of the Constitution."

"And thereforea?"

"Therefore, Ms. Carvey was banned from getting an abortion."

"In relation to Roe v. Wade, how is Littler v. Carvey normally viewed?" asked Lopez.

"It's frequently cited as the case that overturned Roe." said Neruda.

"Making aborting embryos beyond a certain stage of development illegal again in the United States?"

"Correct."

"And what is the status of Littler v. Carvey today?"

"It still stands as the law of the land."

Lopez nodded. "Now, a moment ago, I said that Littler v. Carvey makes abortions illegal after a certain stage of development. Can you explain to the jury how the line between personhood and nonpersonhood was established in Littler?"

"Certainly. Littler v. Carvey turned precisely on this issue: when does an embryo become a person? After all," said Neruda, turning briefly to face Judge Herrington, "we can't very well decide when something ceases to be a person if we don't know when it began to be one."

The judge nodded his shoehorn face. "But do get on with it," he said.

"Of course, of course," said Neruda. "Drawing the line between personhood and nonpersonhood has represented one of the greatest challenges in bioethics. One position, of course, is that held by hard-line right-to-lifers: a new person, with the rights of personhood, is created at the moment of conception. The opposite extreme says that a new person doesn't exist until the moment of birth, some nine months later * and, indeed, since the 1970s, there's been a vocal faction that's argued that even birth is too early, contending that personhood doesn't really begin until there's significant cognitive ability, around two or three years of age; those people find painless infanticide and abortion equally morally acceptable."

I saw several of the jurors react in horror, but Neruda went on. "Conception and birth are, of course, precise moments in time. Although a human conception was never actually observed until 1969, we had known from animal studies for hundred years prior to that that conception occurs when the spermatozoa and the oocyte fuse."

"Oocyte?" said Lopez.

"The female gamete. What lay people call the egg."

Somebody near me snickered at what was presumably Neruda's inadvertent play on words.

"All right," said Lopez. "Conception occurs at the moment the sperm and egg fuse."

"Yes, and that's one specific second of time. We also, of course, routinely very precisely measure the time of birth. In facta" Neruda trailed off.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Well, of course, there's Mr. Sullivan, sitting right over there."

I always sat up straight these days; there was no additional comfort in slouching my mechanical body.

"What's significant about Mr. Sullivan?" asked Lopez.

"Well, he's a Mindscan now, but the original him was, I believe, the first child bom after midnight on 1 January 2001, in Toronto, Canada."

"Defendant's ten," said Lopez, holding up a piece of past "A newspaper clipping for The Toronto Star from Tuesday 2 January 2001, commemorating this very fact."

The exhibit was accepted, and Professor Neruda went on: "So, setting aside the extremists I spoke of earlier, we generally accept that a person is a person by the time they are born. But there have been fascinating cases that have tested the flexibility of this particular rubicon for ascribing personhood."

"For instance?" asked Lopez.

"Department of Health and Human Services v. Maloney."

"What happened there?"

"Brenda Maloney was an emotionally unstable woman in the Bronx, New York, in 2016. She had been pregnant for the standard thirty-nine weeks, and was being wheeled into the delivery room, when she saw a steak knife sitting on a tray of food destined for another patient. She grabbed the knife and plunged it into her belly, killing her baby moments before it would have been born." Again, I saw jurors wince, and again Neruda went on. "Had Ms. Maloney committed murder?

Ultimately, the case was never tried, because Ms Maloney was found unfit to stand trial * but it did certainly galvanize public opinion. Support for the notion that an embryo did not become a person until at least birth waned considerably after that."

"In other words," said Lopez, "the hard-line pro-choice position * that until the baby was out of the body, it was not a person * became less tenable because of Maloney, correct?"

"That would certainly be my reading of the legal commentaries from that period, yes."

"You'd said there were only two absolutely clear points, cleanly and simply demarked by biological circumstances for establishing personhood: conception and birth, correct?"

"Correct."

"And Maloney * and other cases, I'm sure * made the birth marker not seem tenable in the eyes of most lawmakers and politicians, is that right?"

"Correct," said Neruda again. "Anything but conception or cutting the umbilical cord seems arbitrary to them. Even birth is arbitrary, when you can induce it with drugs, or perform a C-section.

"In fact, soon enough we'll doubtless have the ability to bring babies to term in artificial wombs. Take the typical sci-fi version of that: a fetus in a glass bottle full of liquid. The fetus has been growing for almost nine months. I take out a gun and shoot at the glass bottle. If my bullet hits the fetus, and goes through its heart, then I've performed an abortion, but if it misses the fetus, and just shatters the jar, spilling the baby out onto the tabletop, I've performed a delivery. It's very hard to draw these lines."

"Indeed," said Lopez. "And, in fact, weren't there legal attempts to define life beginning at a third point, namely implantation?"

"Yes, that's right," said Neruda. "But that was just as messy."

"Why?"

"Well, conception doesn't take place in the uterus, after all; the fertilized egg * to use the common parlance * normally moves down the fallopian tube into the uterus, then implants in the uterine wall. That event had sometimes been cited as the beginning of personhood, but it was rejected by the Supreme Court in Littler v.

Carvey."

"Why?"

"The march of science, Ms. Lopez. They couldn't do it then, and we haven't quite made it happen even yet, but we recognize, as I said before, that in principal it will be possible eventually to bring embryos to term in artificial wombs. The court didn't want to set up a standard that said that embryos brought to term in vitro were perforce not human. They were looking for a demarcation that was innate to the embryo."

"Well, then, given that the courts weren't happy with the birth standard, conception seems the obvious marker to choose, no? You said it was easy to measure."

"Oh, yes, indeed," said Neruda, nodding. "Prior to conception, no new organism exists with forty-six chromosomes * plus or minus one, as in Down or Turner syndrome. But as soon as conception occurs, a complete genetic blueprint for an entire person is created * the new person's sex is determined, and so on."

"So did the court rule in Littler v. Carvey that personhood was conferred at conception?"

Neruda shook her head. "They couldn't rule that * not without making millions of Americans into murderers."

Lopez tilted her head to one side. "How do you mean?"

Neruda took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "The Oxford English Dictionary tells us that the phrase 'birth control' entered the language in 1914. But, of course, it's really a misnomer. We're not trying to control birth; we're looking to do something nine months earlier * prevent pregnancy! In fact, even though conception and birth are at opposite ends of the time span we're discussing, we use 'contraception' and 'birth control' as synonyms.

"Now, there are true contraceptives: condoms, diaphragms, and spermicides prevent conception by the simple expedient of blocking the sperm from reaching the egg, or killing it before it gets there. And, of course, surgical sterilization of a man or a woman prevents conception, as does abstinence. So does the rhythm method if you're very lucky and very careful.

"But the most common method of a shall we say, 'family planning?' a is none of the above. Rather, it's the so-called birth-control pill * or patches, implants, and so on, that do the same job.

"Now, birth control pills sometimes prevent conception * that is, that's one of the things they do. But they also can have a secondary effect: they prevent implantation of a fertilized egg in the uterus. If the court had ruled that life began at conception, then it would have to accept that birth-control pills can kill that life, by depriving it of the usual necessities of continued existence, which it would receive once it implanted in the uterus.

"But Americans love birth-control pills and related pharmaceuticals, which stiffen the uterine wall so that embryos won't implant. The original birth-control pill was introduced in 1960, and we've been refining them ever since, so that today they have virtually no side effects. But a politically conservative country * and this one had certainly become that by this time, what with Pat Buchanan in the Oval Office * that wanted on the one hand to sanctify the unborn and on the other hand loved the convenience of birth-control pills had to come up with a definition that said life, and personhood, began after conception, so that those cases in which the pill prevented implantation rather than conception weren't tantamount to murder."

"And in Littler v. Carver, the court did just that, correct?"

"Correct." Neruda had her own graphics, and they appeared on the wall screen.

"The Supreme Court of these United States ruled that personhood begins when individuation occurs. For up to fourteen days after conception, a single fertilized egg can divide into two or more identical twins; indeed, the technical term for identical twins is monozygotic twins, because they were twins formed from just one zygote * one cell formed by the union of two gametes. Well, if the embryo still has the potential of being multiple individuals, or so the argument went, then it hadn't settled down to being one particular individual, and so no specific personhood could be accorded it. Do you see?"

I certainly did, although glancing over at Karen, I don't sink she'd gotten it yet.

"So," said Lopez, "under the law of the land, a person is a person so long as he or she can be only one person, correct?"

I saw Deshawn react at this, his eyebrows climbing up his bald head. It wasn't the tack we'd expected them to take at all * and it was damn clever.

"That's right," said Neruda. "The legal point is that once you've become one, and only one, individual, you're entitled to rights of personhood."

Lopez walked across the well and stood near the jury box. "Now, in your legal opinion, Professor Neruda, what bearing does this have on our case at hand?"

Neruda spread her arms. "Don't you see? Karen Bessarian * or, forgive me: her maiden name would be appropriate here. Karen Cohen didn't become a person on the day she was conceived back in * well, she was born at the end of May in 1960, so presumably that was sometime in August of 1959. Rather, she became a person fifteen days later, when that embryo no longer had the potential to become multiple individuals."

Lopez regarded the jurors, making sure they were following. "Yes, professor," she said. "Go on."

Neruda smiled as she went in to deliver her punch line. "And, well, since individuation is the legal test, Karen * now Karen Bessarian * presumably ceased to be an individual in the eyes of the law not on the day on which her body actually died on the moon, but on the earlier day on which her mind was scanned and a second instantiation of that mind was made. That person who had been Karen Bessarian was, in essence, restored legally to the status of an embryo less than fifteen days old: she lost her rights to personhood the moment it could be said that she was no longer uniquely one individual. Do you see? The unique legal entity known as Karen Cynthia Bessarian ceased to exist the moment that scanning was done. And, of course, once a person is gone, they're gone for good."

If I'd been in my old biological body, I'm sure I would have slumped back, stunned, at this point. Lopez had made an elegant end run around our entire strategy * and she was saying that if the court were to challenge her position, it would, by necessity, be challenging the logic underlying current abortion laws. One glance at Judge Herrington confirmed that that was the last thing he wanted.

"Let's take a break," he said, looking as shaken as I felt.

30.

I wish I could see the Earth: that would give me a place to focus my thoughts when I was thinking about Rebecca. But the Earth was straight down, and looking at the floor didn't fulfill my emotional need. Of course, nothing short of actually seeing her would do that.

Rebecca thinks the universe sends her messages * subtly at first, she says, and then, later, if she doesn't get them, the universe starts whacking her with two-by-fours.

I didn't believe in that sort of thing. I knew the universe was indifferent to me. And yet, perhaps out of respect for Rebecca, I did find myself looking, listening, watching, paying attention: if there was a way out, maybe the universe would give me a clue.

In the meantime, I took another of Brian Hades's suggestions * one I hoped wouldn't leave me feeling quite so sordid afterwards. I decided to try mountain climbing here on the moon. I'd never done much of that sort of thing on Earth * Eastern Canada is not known for its mountains. But it sounded like it might actually be fun, and so I inquired about it at the recreation desk.

Turns out the guy who usually led climbing expeditions was my old traveling buddy Quentin Ashburn, the moonbus-maintenance engineer. No one was allowed on the lunar surface alone; the same common-sense safety rules that applied to scuba diving also applied here. So Quentin was delighted by my request to go climbing.

It used to be, I'm told, that spacesuits had to be custom built for each user, but new adaptive fabrics made that unnecessary: High Eden stocked suits in three sizes for men, and three for women, and it was easy enough to see that the middle male size was the right one for me.

Quentin helped me suit up, making sure all the connections were secure. And then he got some special climbing equipment that was stored on open shelves in the change room. Some of it I recognized * lengths of nylon rope, for instance. Others were things I'd never seen before. The last piece was, well, a piece: a thing that looked like a squat, thick-bodied pistol.

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's a piton gun," he said. "It shoots pitons."

"Well, let's hope we don't run into any of those," I said.

Quentin laughed. "Pitons are metal spikes." He opened the gun's thick chamber, and showed me one. The spike was about ten centimeters long. It had a sharply pointed front and an eye at the other end to which a rope could be fitted. "We shoot them into the rock and use them as footholds or handholds, or to hold our ropes. On Earth. people often drive in pitons by hand, but the rock here is quite hard, and there's too much risk of rupturing your glove and exposing yourself to vacuum. So we use piton guns."

I'd never held a gun of any sort in my life * and, as a Canadian, I was proud of that.

But I took the device, and copied Quentin, who slipped another one of them into a capacious pouch on the side of his right thigh.

Finally, we put on the fishbowl helmets. They were impregnated, Quentin told me, with something similar to electronic ink: any portion of them could become opaque * blocking out sunlight. Then we cycled through the airlock, which happened to be adjacent to the pad where the moonbuses landed.

"Your pride and joy is gone," I said over the intersuit radio, pointing at the empty pad.

"It's been gone for days," replied Quentin. "On its usual run to LS One. But it'll be back tomorrow, to take some passengers to the SETI installation."

The SETI installation. Where they listen for messages from the universe. I tried to listen, too.

We continued on, walking over the lunar soil. Although the suit massed about twenty kilos, I still felt much lighter than I ever had on Earth. The suit air was a bit startling * completely devoid of any odor or flavor * but I quickly got used to it, although*No, it's gone. I'd thought for a second that another headache was coming on, but the sensation passed almost at once.

The crater wall was far in front of us. As we walked, the sun disappeared behind it, and stars became visible. I kept looking up at the black, black sky for the Earth, but of course it was never visible from here. Stilla "Is that Mars?" I said, pointing at a brilliant point of light that was shaded differently from the others * it was either red or green, but I'd never heard of "the green planet."

"Sure is," said Quentin.

It took us about ten minutes to half-walk, half-hop over to the crater wall, which was craggy and steep, rising far above us. Since we were in shadow, Quentin had turned on a light in the center of his chest, and then he reached over and flipped a switch on my suit, activating a similar light.

"Wow," I said, looking up at the inky wall. "That looks a difficult."

"It is," said Quentin, amiably. "Where would the fun be if it were easy?" He didn't wait for an answer, which was a good thing, because I didn't have one. Instead, he undid the pouch on his thigh, and pulled out his piton gun. "See?" he said, pointing with his other hand. "You aim at a cleft in the rock."

I nodded.

He took a bead with his gun, then fired. There was no sound, but the gun obviously discharged with a sizable kick, judging by the way Quentin's hand jerked back. A metal spike flew silently into the rock. Quentin tested it to see that it had lodged securely, and threaded a rope through it. "Simple as that," he said.

"How many pitons does it hold?"

"Eight. But there are oodles more in each of our pouches, so don't worry."