Truth Sister

by Phil Gilvin

  Bella was leaning back on the bed, pulling white trousers over long dark legs. ‘I expect so. Pureclones don’t steal, do they?’

  ‘And you think I should have turned him in?’

  ‘What else does one do with Naturals? But I suppose you’d have had to catch him first. I wonder what’s the best way to catch a Natural? One doesn’t have to keep a respectful distance, I suppose.’

  There was a loud knock on the door. Bella opened it. ‘Ah, Thomas,’ she said, slowly and clearly. ‘Our trunks are ready.’

  Filling the doorway was a broad-shouldered young man, with cropped hair and banana-bunch hands. His face was lumpy and stubbled, and he smelt of grease.

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ he rumbled, scratching his head. ‘I take ’em downstairs then?’

  ‘That’s right. Leave them in the hall, with the other trunks.’

  He blinked twice. ‘Right, Miss. In the ’all, with the others.’

  ‘Yes. And then come back for Miss Clara’s.’

  Thomas stepped into the room, knocking the wardrobe shut. He planted his great feet either side of Bella’s trunk and, panting slightly, bent to grip it. His brown overall was too small: the sleeves rode up above his wrists, the muscles stretching the rough tattoo on his forearm. Thomas heaved the trunk onto his shoulder, turned in a slow circle and plodded away.

  Bella shook her head. ‘Poor thing. It looks like it hurts him to think. Nice arms, though.’

  ‘What do you mean, nice?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. Strong, I suppose. Did you ever wonder what that tattoo means?’

  ‘What tattoo?’ said Clara.

  ‘The porters’ one. A star and a “D”. They have it on their arms.’

  ‘I’ve really no idea.’ Clara wondered about Thomas. She assumed he’d been cloned from someone tall, strong and stupid. Probably not a Natural, then?

  Bella put down her comb and opened the door. ‘Ready?’ she asked.

  Clara tried to focus her thoughts. The Passing-Out was about to start. She’d have to forget about Amy, if she could. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Come on then. Just one set of Principles to remember, hey?’

  With a nod to each other, they stepped out into the corridor. A procession of girls were making their way down the staircase. Faces were pale under the grey light that struggled in through a high window; voices were subdued. Each girl was immaculate in her white trousers and tunic. Visions of purity, they’d been told – a purity they would have to uphold as they took their places the world. In a few minutes, the Passing-Out would reveal their fates.

  Some of the girls’ outfits, like Bella’s, tastefully understated their mothers’ wealth: thin silver piping along the arms and legs gave the merest hint of fortune. Others had far more conspicuous gold trims, or had chosen expensive fabrics – one or two were clearly wearing polyester. Clara remembered her surprise on learning, in one of her lessons about the Oil Crises, that synthetics had once been so cheap that they were used for everyday clothes. Nowadays materials like polyester were expensive, and people had long since gone back to the wool and cotton that women used to weave. Then she remembered that, in that particular lesson, she had been sitting next to Amy. A Natural.

  ‘Are you all right, Clara?’ Bella’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Yes,’ said Clara. ‘Trying to remember the Principles, you know?’ They had reached the hallway, and joined the back of the queue of pupils leading down the broad staircase all the way to the tall oak doors that led to the assembly hall.

  Bella studied her face. ‘Are you sure?

  ‘Yes, of course,’ snapped Clara. ‘And you’re standing too close. You don’t want Carrow to see you.’

  ‘We’re at the back,’ said Bella. ‘She’ll never notice. Besides, I’ve never seen why there’s all this fuss about “personal space”. What’s wrong with touching each other?’

  ‘Bella!’

  Bella rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, yes, I know all that stuff about being respectful, but we’re allowed to touch someone “to help or to punish”, aren’t we?’

  ‘It’s about purity–’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s not like we’re going to suddenly turn Natural just because we’ve touched each other, is it?’

  Clara could feel her neck muscles knotting, but this wasn’t the time to argue. A few stairs in front, Amy was chatting away, looking no different to the other girls. She wasn’t wearing a big placard saying I am a Natural, she wasn’t corrupting anyone’s mind and she wasn’t causing the downfall of society.

  ‘Come on,’ Bella was saying. ‘Test me on the Principles.’

  Clara tore her gaze away from Amy. ‘Er, okay.’ ‘What’s the punishment for unlicensed Naturals?’

  Bella frowned. ‘That’s not in the Principles. Is it?’

  ‘You’d have to report them, right?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not in the Principles. I’m positive. Are you sure you’re okay?’

  The brass handles rattled and the doors swept open. Twenty heads snapped upright, and Ms Carrow stood stiff and straight in the doorway.

  ‘Get in order,’ she said in her ash-dry voice. ‘Now, girls, you are here for your Passing-Out ceremony. You know what an important moment this is. The Head wants you all to behave respectfully, as you take this first step in your careers.’

  Clara tried to pay attention. Without letting herself touch anyone, she stood on tiptoe and tried to peer into the hall. Who was that, sitting on the dais? Somebody squat, and swathed in black. She couldn’t make out any more details from back here. Next moment, Carrow had vanished and the girls began to file in, half-reluctant, half-eager. At the dim rear of the hall they passed between three rows of mothers, faces proud as their daughters marched by. Clara saw Ms Martin, but turned her head away before she could catch her eye. Amy’s mother, the one who’d mated like an animal.

  Under the girls’ feet the paved floor, now without its flood-soiled rug, had been cleaned and swept. The usual heavy russet curtains had been replaced by bright white ones. These were drawn tight against the approaching dusk, yet the room was alive with light. The chained chandelier and the brackets along the walls glowed full of scented white candles (no doubt from the Martins’ factory). Over the mantelpiece hung a soft-focus portrait of a woman in her fifties, the short fair hair waving crisply back from the temples, the pale eyes fixing the viewer with a stern gaze.

  They filed into three rows of white-upholstered chairs that stretched across the room. There were clear two-foot gaps between the chairs, to emphasise that touching was disrespectful. These were Academy girls, some of them soon to be Truth Sisters, and they were pure. For a moment they stood in rows of angelic white obedience.

  On the dais at the front of the room sat the Head of the Academy, Ms Butcher. Butcher by name, butcher by nature: Clara had once seen a picture of a mad man in a crimson-stained apron, from the old days, when they still allowed men to cut up meat. The head teacher looked the same. Ms Butcher bore no bloodstains, but she was large and thick-set – her broad shoulders and bust filled every inch of the smart dark suit she wore. She’d make short work of a pig.

  Bella, in the next chair, inclined her head slightly. Now that they were on show, Clara dared not turn to look but she caught the movement from the corner of her eye. She let her gaze flick to the far end of the dais. A Prime Sister here tonight – old Butcher must be thrilled.

  The Head now rose, and was joined, a pace behind, by Ms Carrow. ‘Girls!’ boomed Ms Butcher. ‘We are once again privileged to welcome to the Academy one of the Republic’s leading officials, to conduct our Passing-Out. This is a further recognition of the high standards set by our school. Will you please give an Academy welcome to Mater Hedera, of the Ministry of Knowledge.’

  The old woman was seated in a great high-backed chair, her black eyes glittering in a puckered, grey-fringed face. Her billowing black suit was surmounted by a shiny purple scarf, fastened with a golden brooch. Clara had never been this close to a Pri
me Sister before. From here, she could see the fine detail on the nylon scarves that only they could wear, and the Horologe brooch, the shining hourglass-in-a-circle symbol of the Republic. Beside Hedera’s chair was a low table. On it lay a row of paper rolls: their diplomas. In her preoccupation with Amy, she’d almost forgotten why they were here. Which one was hers? What did it say? Had she managed to get a first?

  The applause died as Ms Butcher raised a paw. ‘Sit,’ she commanded. Clara swallowed, and dropped into her chair. A few seats to the right, Amy caught Clara’s eye and gave a quick smile. Clara looked away. With an effort she drew herself upright.

  ‘Good evening, girls,’ Butcher continued. ‘Before we start, I have some good news. I know that, owing to the longer Academy terms, you have seen very little of your families over the last few years. So, in honour of her visit, Mater Hedera has kindly decreed that those of you who pass, and go on to a useful career, can have a holiday. You need not begin in your new jobs until September.’

  There was a ripple of applause.

  ‘Indeed, indeed. We are very grateful to Mater Hedera–’ here she nodded to the Prime Sister ‘–for her considerateness. But now, to business. This evening, those of you who have passed your examinations’ – the pause was long enough for Clara to guess that somebody hadn’t – ‘will receive your diplomas from Mater Hedera. You have studied hard for five years, and this evening you will discover the fruits of your labour. As you go out upon your appointed paths, whatever they may be, each one of you will be expected to uphold the reputation of the Academy. You must set a shining example to the commoners – particularly those of you who qualify as Truth Sisters. You must become living embodiments of purity, of the Principles of our great Republic’s foundress, Ms Teacher.’ The Head faced the portrait over the fireplace and touched right hand to left shoulder.

  ‘Ms Teacher!’ chorused the girls, imitating the salute. Clara knew that she would see other copies of that portrait – there was one in every public building in London – but, Clara now realised, she’d never see that particular copy again. She was leaving – actually leaving – the Academy.

  ‘Those of you who do make Truth Sister,’ continued Ms Butcher, ‘will swear the oath of allegiance before Mater Hedera. I need not tell you what a great privilege it is. Truth Sisters are chosen for their intelligence, diligence and loyalty to the Republic, and only Truth Sisters may hold senior posts in any walk of life. But you will also have great responsibilities. You must show your respect for people by the way you lead your lives, by your selfless dedication to the Republic and by your pursuit of knowledge for the good of all womankind.’ She produced a small patch of embroidered cloth. ‘And when you have sworn your oath, you will be given your Truth Sister badges: they bear the sign of the book and compasses, the symbols of the precious gift of knowledge.’

  For a moment, Clara forgot all about Amy. That was where she needed to be. Recovering old knowledge, helping all women. That badge was a pass to the life Clara had always dreamed of.

  Ms Butcher raised her hand. ‘Camilla, bring water for Mater Hedera. Come along, child, don’t dawdle.’ The bowl was brought, and Clara saw the steam rising as the old woman washed her hands.

  ‘Now girls, in homage to Ms Teacher, we will be giving you one final test this evening. Before Mater Hedera presents you with your diplomas, each of you will be asked to recite one of Ms Teacher’s Principles. Should you answer wrongly’ – she paused while her gaze swept over them all – ‘you will fail, and receive no diploma. But I am sure this will not happen. None of you will fail this test.’

  Clara’s throat was constricting. When she looked again at Mater Hedera, the old woman was smiling to herself. And so the Passing-Out began.

  Medea Carrow called out the first girl’s name. Trembling, Hetty Bowring stepped up to the dais and almost fell down in shock as Mater Hedera pointed a clawed finger.

  ‘Well, child,’ rasped the old woman. ‘They tell me you’re good at painting.’

  Hetty looked at Ms Butcher, then back at the Prime Sister. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘Hmph! Fat lot of use that is.’

  ‘W-well, Ma’am–’

  ‘What’s the first disaster that men brought upon the world, girl?’

  Hetty’s mouth opened and shut twice. ‘Um–’

  ‘Come girl, answer the question. The first disaster brought by men!’

  ‘Uh, war, Ma’am. Men brought war–’

  ‘Enough.’ The old woman held out a hand. Ms Butcher passed her one of the paper rolls, and whispered something.

  Hedera raised her eyebrows and nodded. ‘Seems you’ve got a first, girl. Well done. Stand in front of me, where I can see you.’

  Clara watched intently. If only this could be her, in a few minutes’ time.

  Butcher read out the oath. ‘Nice clear answer, then, Bowring. Hand on heart – that’s it. Now: do you swear to uphold and support this Women’s Republic, and to follow the Principles of our great founder in all that you think, all that you say, and all that you do?’

  ‘I … I do, Ma’am,’ said Hetty.

  ‘Very good.’ Hedera passed her one of the cloth badges. ‘I now declare you Truth Sister.’

  All the girls clapped as Hetty stepped down from the dais, looking stunned. Hetty had never been at the top of the class, so she’d done well to get a first. If she can do it, Clara thought, so can I. She chewed her lip.

  Up on the dias, the next girl was reciting one of the Principles: ‘Climate change, Ma’am, was brought upon the world by the greed of men. It was they that caused searise.’ Merit. Then another: ‘After the animals and man, evolution is complete in woman.’ Merit. Then: ‘Genetic Engineering is forbidden. To follow it would be to repeat men’s mistakes.’ Another first, another Truth Sister swearing her oath. With each girl, each question, Clara shook her head. I wish they’d asked me that one, she thought. I knew that one. Didn’t I?

  Now Suzanne Gorman, a skinny girl with thick eyebrows, stood before the Prime Sister, and Clara could sense all the girls sitting a little straighter. This would be interesting. Suzanne had always been bottom of the class, and – well, it was always good to see someone else embarrassed. Especially a spiteful pusbag like her.

  ‘Now, girl,’ said Hedera, ‘why must we clone?’

  To Clara’s surprise, Suzanne intoned the answer straight away. ‘Cloning makes us free, Ma’am. It keeps women pure and perfect. It keeps us strong.’

  ‘Good,’ said Hedera, and held her hand out. But Ms Butcher leaned forward and whispered something in the old woman’s ear.

  ‘Failed, eh?’ said Hedera, aloud.

  There were gasps from the audience, but Suzanne’s face was set. She said nothing.

  ‘But, it seems, only just,’ went on the old woman. ‘Ms Butcher says you were only two marks short of a pass. And what do you think, girl? I can give you two more marks.’

  Suzanne’s eyes widened. ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘You were saying about purity? The Ministry is keen to see that purity is maintained. Particularly among Truth Sisters, as you girls aspire to be.’

  Suzanne studied her feet.

  ‘Come, girl!’ crowed Hedera, with a suddenness that made Clara jump. ‘Is there any pupil in this room whom you know to be impure? Mm? Anyone who is a Natural?’ The old woman’s lips curled at the word. ‘Tell me, and you can have those two marks.’

  All around Clara, heads turned this way and that. A Prime Sister, one of those models of virtue, was actually encouraging Suzanne to betray a fellow pupil. Surely, thought Clara, Hedera can’t know anything about Amy. So why is she asking?

  Ms Butcher turned a dark frown on them, and the fidgeting stopped. The whole assembly was watching Suzanne.

  The girl muttered something. Hedera’s face cracked in a slit of a smile. ‘Speak up, girl,’ she said.

  Suzanne raised a shaking arm and pointed. ‘Anna Cowley, Ma’am – she’s not Pureclone – she’s a Natural.’

  A m
urmur ran through the audience. Heads turned. The girl herself, Anna Cowley, stared open-mouthed at Suzanne. Although none of the others had moved, Anna seemed all at once to be isolated. Clara stared, horrified. So Amy wasn’t the only one?

  ‘Silence!’ cried Ms Butcher. ‘That will be all.’ She turned to Mater Hedera and gave a bow. ‘Ma’am, the Academy is well aware of the rumours that once surrounded Matilda Cowley. However, I can assure you that they are untrue. I can show you Anna’s Authentication, a copy of which was lodged with us when she joined. It seems that there was indeed, at one time, a misunderstanding. However, the Academy is satisfied with Anna’s pedigree.’

  Hedera gave a cackle and began to wheeze. ‘You,’ she said, between splutters, ‘Gorman. Get out. You’ve failed.’

  Suzanne stared at her for a moment, blinking. ‘But, Ma’am, my mother … she’ll–’

  ‘That’s not my concern.’

  Suzanne looked at the head, the deputy, the audience. Then, fighting down the tears, she slowly walked down the steps and out of the room. As the door closed and Ms Butcher clapped her hands for silence, Clara noticed that Anna Cowley had covered her face with her hands.

  A girl brought the Prime Sister more water, which she drank greedily, wiping her chin with a sleeve. ‘Well,’ she said to Ms Butcher. ‘Get the next one up.’

  Clara gasped. In the drama of Suzanne’s exit, she’d forgotten all about the test. Her stomach lurched. She tried again to remember the Principles but her thoughts kept flying back to one thing. What should she do about Amy? Did Hedera already know the secret? Or, what if Hedera suspected but didn’t know for sure?

  ‘Isabella Karah,’ called Ms Carrow, and all the girls watched as Bella swept up to the podium and bowed to the Prime Sister.

  ‘What is religion?’ croaked the old woman.

  ‘Religion is a tool, Ma’am,’ Bella said smoothly, ‘that was used by men for centuries to oppress women. That is why it is banned.’ Bella got a first, and gave a modest smile as she took the oath and the audience applauded.

  Only a few more girls achieved a first, but everyone managed to recite one of the Principles. Knowledge is power … The old writings must be preserved for womankind … Only cloning keeps us pure … Men are useful only for labour …