Free Beggars in Spain by Nancy Kress

Indivino.
    “It’s Tony I wanted to talk to you about,” Kevin said to Leisha. “He’s started again. This time he means it. He’s buying land.”
    She folded the tabloid very small and laid it carefully on the table. “Where?”
    “Allegheny Mountains. In southern New York State. A lot of land. He’s putting in the roads now. In the spring, the first buildings.”
    “Jennifer Sharifi still financing it?” It had been six years since the interleukin-drinking in the woods, but the evening remained vivid to Leisha. So did Jennifer Sharifi.
    “Yes. She’s got the money to do it. Tony’s starting to get a following, Leisha.”
    “I know.”
    “Call him.”
    “I will. Keep me informed about Stella.”
    She worked until midnight at the Law Review , then until 4:00 A.M . preparing her classes. From four to five she handled legal matters for the Group. At 5:00 A.M . she called Tony, still in Chicago. He had finished high school, done one semester at Northwestern, and at Christmas vacation had finally exploded at his mother for forcing him to live as a Sleeper. The explosion, it seemed to Leisha, had never ended.
    “Tony? Leisha.”
    “The answer is yes, yes, no, and go to hell.”
    Leisha gritted her teeth. “Fine. Now tell me the questions.”
    “Are you really serious about the Sleepless withdrawing into their own self-sufficient society? Is Jennifer Sharifi willing to finance a project the size of building a small city? Don’t you think that’s a cheat of all that can be accomplished by patient integration of the Group into the mainstream? And what about the contradictions of living in an armed restricted city and still trading with the Outside?”
    “I would never tell you to go to hell.”
    “Hooray for you,” Tony said. After a moment he added, “I’m sorry. That sounds like one of them .”
    “It’s wrong for us, Tony.”
    “Thanks for not saying I couldn’t pull it off.”
    She wondered if he could. “We’re not a separate species, Tony.”
    “Tell that to the Sleepers.”
    “You exaggerate. There are haters out there, there are always haters, but to give up…”
    “We’re not giving up. Whatever we create can be freely traded: software, hardware, novels, information, theories, legal counsel. We can travel in and out. But we’ll have a safe place to return to . Without the leeches who think we owe them blood because we’re better than they are.”
    “It isn’t a matter of owing.”
    “Really?” Tony said. “Let’s have this out, Leisha. All the way. You’re a Yagaiist—what do you believe in?”
    “Tony…”
    “ Do it ,” Tony said, and in his voice she heard the fourteen-year-old she had been introduced to by Richard. Simultaneously, she saw her father’s face: not as he was now, since the bypass, but as he had been when she was a little girl, holding her on his lap to explain that she was special.
    “I believe in voluntary trade that is mutually beneficial. That spiritual dignity comes from supporting one’s life through one’s own efforts, and from trading the results of those efforts in mutual cooperation throughout the society. That the symbol of this is the contract. And that we need each other for the fullest, most beneficial trade.”
    “Fine,” Tony bit off. “Now what about the beggars in Spain?”
    “The what?”
    “You walk down a street in a poor country like Spain and you see a beggar. Do you give him a dollar?”
    “Probably.”
    “Why? He’s trading nothing with you. He has nothing to trade.”
    “I know. Out of kindness. Compassion.”
    “You see six beggars. Do you give them all a dollar?”
    “Probably,” Leisha said.
    “You would. You see a hundred beggars and you haven’t got Leisha Camden’s money. Do you give them each a dollar?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    Leisha reached for patience. Few people could make her want to cut off a comlink; Tony was one of them. “Too draining on my own resources. My life has first claim on the