DarkShip Thieves by Sarah A. Hoyt Page B

What you're reporting is a fallacy caused by whoever interpreted history to write the books you read. They had assumptions a-priori and—"
    "In the twenty first people believed the zaniest things. That there are no gender differences in the human brain; that race predetermines culture. That—"
    "Granted. That whole period was psychotic. It could be argued that it was a psychosis from which the Earth as a whole has yet to recover. But the thing is, unless the analysis I've read got it grossly wrong—and they investigated electronic documents of the time—mostly the mass psychosis was pushed from the top down. Yes, people came to believe it, but it was taught in colleges, by professors trained in the best universities."
    "But how could the common man not notice reality right in front of his eyes?"
    "They did. The masses as a whole made jokes about these notions. But they weren't truly given an option not to apply them. By that time, government was already too divorced from the common man."
    I was lost. This was such a complete contradiction of everything I'd learned, that he might as well have announced that the sky was normally green, or that this spaceship was made entirely of fish. "I suppose," I said. "If what you say is true . . ." Part of me was trying to adjust to the idea that anyone could say it was true—that this anarchic vision of individuals ruling themselves could in any way be the work of a sane human being.
    The rest of me, meanwhile, wanted me to back away from the dangerous madman, before he reached out and stabbed me with his fork.
    He grinned at me, as though reading my mind—which he might very well have—"Patrician Athena Sinistra," he sad. "Tell me—who is better equipped to decide what you should be doing with your life? Yourself or your father?"
    "Myself," I answered without thinking.
    "Then what makes you think that your father is better equipped to decide what's best for total strangers?"
    I hesitated. "People would say he's best qualified to say what I should be doing," I said. "They would say he knows how the world at large works and what I will have to do when I inherit."
    "Does he?" It was a mild enquiry.
    "Like hell he does," I'd tried to constrain my response, but it wasn't going to happen. "All Father cares about is the Sinistra name, not me. Given enough time, he'd have found me a nice Patrician husband, probably the younger son of a ruling Patrician, and he'd have me marry, have the man take our name and then . . ."
    "And then?" He looked half interested, half horrified.
    I shrugged. "And then I become a broodmare," I said. "To make sure the Sinistra name never comes to this point again." I looked up and couldn't read his expression. "I know it sounds childish. Yes, I'm aware that forced marriages have occurred in every culture and place, throughout history. And it's not like anyone will force me to choose a man I hate. It's just that I . . . ah. Never mind."
    He didn't say anything for a long while, then put his empty plate in the cleaning area of the cooker. "Let me show you the gym," he said. Which is how we'd started our habit of exercising through mock fights. At least most of them were mock, though sometimes our discussion got more than a little heated and it extended into the exercise room.
    Which is how we'd got to the point where he was making a great show of flexing his legs. The pity-mongering worked. "You may have the fresher first," I told him.
    He flashed me a half surprised smile and went past me and down the hallway. The only fresher in the place opened off the bedroom—in keeping, I supposed, with the idea that the ship was supposed to contain a married or otherwise bonded couple.
    I walked after him, far enough to see him go into the bedroom. And then I turned and went back to the virtus closet where he slept.
    It was normal for a full-size unit—not like the little holo projectors that I used to watch the gems he gave me and the ones I found on my own but