Truth Sister

by Phil Gilvin

  Clara glanced quickly up and down the alley, backing away until the fence dug into her shoulders.

  The Repseg stood with her feet apart, arms folded across her chest, watching. ‘Just supposing you were quick,’ she said, ‘and took me by surprise. You’d get, maybe, half way back to the street before I got you.’

  ‘Sergeant Shavila,’ said Clara. ‘I suppose I knew I’d get caught one day.’ She lowered herself to perch on the wall, then sighed. ‘I’m glad it was you.’

  Shavila regarded her for a moment. ‘Who was that you were talking to?’ she asked, nodding towards the compound.

  ‘My manservant?’ hazarded Clara.

  Shavila snorted. ‘Do you call all your menservants “Father”?’

  ‘If you knew the answer, why did you ask?’

  Shavila pulled a face. ‘Come on,’ she said, laying a hand on Clara’s shoulder and ushering her towards the street. ‘It’s taken a while, hasn’t it? You’ve done well, you and the boy. Lot of fight in you.’

  ‘Get off me,’ said Clara. ‘Aren’t you taking me back into town?’ she added as they reached the main road and turned east.

  ‘Wait and see,’ said Shavila.

  Clara looked up at her. ‘You’ll leave Jack alone?’

  ‘The boy’s not important. We’ve got you.’

  Clara glanced back over her shoulder. There were no signs of any rec-gangs. It looked as if they’d left the compound already, James along with them. As Shavila forced her across a wide road and down a side-street, Clara said, ‘What will happen to James?’

  ‘You mean “Father”? You know that already – he’s off to the Barrier.’

  ‘Is it bad, there? I mean, will it fail?’

  ‘It’s not my job to know,’ said Shavila with a shrug. ‘Maybe it’ll hold this time. But nobody lasts long there.’

  ‘And my mother,’ said Clara, swallowing. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘You can ask the All Mother yourself’

  ‘Mater Hedera? Why?’

  Shavila chuckled. ‘How many Truth Sisters turn traitor, do you think? You’ve seriously upset a lot of people.’

  Clara squeezed her lips together. ‘Sergeant, listen,’ she said. ‘Listen to me. I’ve found lots of things out. You must know the Republic is a sham. They can’t maintain cloning. It’s finished.’

  Shavila gripped her shoulder tighter. ‘That’s what they all say,’ she growled, keeping her eyes straight ahead. ‘I’m not listening to this treason. Don’t make things worse for yourself.’

  ‘Tori F. Shavila,’ went on Clara, emphasising the letter. ‘You think genetic engineering doesn’t happen, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s banned.’

  ‘No,’ panted Clara, ‘it happens. And you – well, you’re a product. You’re a Geemo. Ow!’

  Shavila had struck her across the face. Clara’s nose bled anew, but she forced herself to go on. ‘It’s true, I tell you. I know all about the Fortis programme. Think, Sergeant – do you remember your childhood?’

  Shavila didn’t answer, but doubled her pace, dragging Clara along.

  It’s working, thought Clara. Out loud, she said: ‘What do you remember? What games did you play? Who were your friends?’

  ‘It’s not your concern,’ muttered Shavila.

  ‘You and all the other Repsegs, you’re all Geemos – off Geneco’s production line. The ones that didn’t make it were destroyed. You were designed, Sergeant. Remember your teeth? They grew back, didn’t they? That doesn’t happen to normal people.’

  ‘Silence!’ Shavila shook Clara harder. ‘You’re my prisoner.’

  They turned off the main road where a few women huddled outside a Provis depot, watching the black clouds above. The rain returned, a few chill drops riding on the wind. Shavila pushed Clara down a narrow side-street between dirty, five-storey buildings.

  ‘You all look the same, don’t you, you Repsegs?’ said Clara. She wiped the blood from her mouth with a sleeve.

  ‘We’re all Clones, of course,’ snarled Shavila, giving Clara a shove towards a low arch. Clara fell.

  ‘You’ve a thirty-year life,’ she said, hauling herself up. ‘How many old Repsegs are there?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Shavila. ‘When we get too old to fight, we retire.’

  Clara was guessing now. But she was right, she had to be. ‘The ones that have retired – do you ever see them again?’

  They had reached a quayside. Two floating jetties stuck out into the brown waters, heaving up and down with the swell. Shavila didn’t hesitate, but shoved Clara straight over the edge of the wharf. Clara squealed and braced herself for the cold salt water, but before she realised what was happening, she landed with a thud on something hard.

  ‘A boat!’ she gasped. She ran her hand over the floor. ‘What’s it made of? It’s not wood. It’s not metal. What is it?’

  Shavila didn’t answer, but jumped in and began to work on something in the stern. Clara saw that the walls of the boat were all tube-shaped: stern, sides and pointed prow were like one long two-foot pipe. The boat rode the water like a gull, and the waves slopped and slurped under its flat keel.

  ‘It’s plastic,’ Clara couldn’t hide her wonder. ‘A plastic boat!’

  ‘Speed launch,’ said Shavila. ‘Fastest thing on the river.’

  Then there was a coarse roar from whatever Shavila had been playing with, and the boat began to wallow. She untied the rope, squatted down in the stern and raised a long lever. Immediately, the prow jumped a couple of feet clear of the water as the engine surged and the boat leapt forward. Shavila threw the boat into a sharp turn so that Clara, who had been trying to scramble onto one of the narrow seats, fell back to the floor. She dragged herself towards the gunwale, her stomach squirming as the boat sprang from wave to wave on the heaving river.

  ‘Try jumping, traitor,’ shouted Shavila over the noise of the engine, ‘and I’ll rip your arm off.’

  The wind had strengthened further, and at the tiller Shavila was holding on to her cap as she stared out over the waters. Behind her in the east, the clouds were a black curtain. Nearer at hand, it looked as if a row of huge helmets were standing out of the water.

  ‘It’s the Barrier!’ yelled Clara, scrambling up to get a better view. She knew the rec-gangs wouldn’t have arrived yet, so James wouldn’t be there; but she felt a lump come to her throat as surely as if she was seeing his gallows. Then she stared; she tried to wipe the water from her eyes. ‘It’s up!’ she shouted, pointing. ‘The Barrier’s already up.’

  Shavila cast a glance over her shoulder. ‘So it is,’ she said. ‘But don’t get your hopes up. I saw the detail orders this morning. Every rec-gang from this end of town is on its way there.’

  ‘But why? What good will they do?’

  Shavila shrugged. ‘This surge is going to be a big one. Maybe they’ll be useful yet,’ she said with a grin.

  The right-hand bend hid the Barrier from view. Soon they rounded the Isle of Dogs and Clara saw the old piers of Tower Bridge approaching through the rain and spray. In amazement, she saw that despite the weather, the river was scattered with boats. A few hardy ferrywomen were rowing passengers through the swell. Several larger launches, slower and heavier, were setting off from the south bank, while a wide-beamed steam barge ploughed past them, its deck full of troops.

  ‘Where are they going?’ shouted Clara.

  Shavila frowned, but said nothing.

  The banks rushed by on either side, and it seemed to Clara that every second building had vanished, or was being demolished: the work of centuries returning to the mud. As they fought their way under London Bridge, she saw that the rising waters were already lapping over its piers, encroaching on the long stone arches. She shivered in her sodden clothes. She had thought that she would soon see the old familiar places, where she’d lived a precarious lie for those few months; but to her surprise, as they passed Blackfriars Bridge, she realised that Shavila was already guiding the
launch towards the north bank.

  ‘I thought you we’re taking me to Mater Hedera,’ said Clara as the engine subsided and the noise of the wind returned.

  ‘So I am,’ said Shavila, edging the boat towards a jetty. ‘Hullo, what’s this?’

  Clara followed Shavila’s gaze. Up on the embankment a line of Repsegs was drawn up across the road, behind a makeshift roadblock. ‘Come on,’ said Shavila, leaping out and tying up the boat. ‘And don’t try anything. Watch yourself on the decking there.’

  They splashed along the jetty, its boards now level with the rising waters, and climbed a set of stone steps slippery with rain. At the top, a gust of wind made Clara stagger, and she held on to the parapet. ‘What’s happening? There are people over there.’

  Eighty yards further along the embankment, a crowd stood facing the roadblock. In the swirling rain, Clara couldn’t make out who they were. One of the Repsegs spotted Shavila and beckoned. As they approached, Clara was reminded of the rioters at London Bridge; but this time there was a silence about the crowd that was almost as frightening as the noise had been before.

  ‘What are they waiting for?’ she murmured.

  The sergeant in charge nodded to Shavila. ‘Better clear off, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘We’re expecting trouble.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Shavila.

  ‘Don’t know for sure – they’re pretty frisky today. Normally a bit of rain quietens them, but this lot were throwing bottles ten minutes ago. A couple of shots in the air made them think about it a bit, and we’ll go and grab a couple in a minute. Make an example of ’em.’

  ‘What’s got into them, I wonder?’

  ‘Might be the Smithfield Provis Depot,’ said the officer. ‘They closed it yesterday. Bound to mean trouble for someone.’

  Clara tore her eyes from the crowd. She’d noticed a few of them turning their heads, as if to pass instructions back down the line. ‘Closed it?’ she said with a shiver. ‘Why?’

  The officer frowned. ‘I don’t know. And, Sergeant – just so’s you know – we’ve been told to withdraw later.’

  ‘Withdraw?’ said Shavila. ‘Why?’

  ‘Not my job to ask,’ said the officer with a shrug. ‘It’s orders. Pull out by three o’clock. All right?’

  ‘Understood,’ called Shavila as the officer jogged back to the line. ‘That’s in half an hour,’ she added, half to herself.

  Clara pointed at the crowd. ‘Sergeant, there’s something going on in there. I think they’re going to attack.’

  ‘Well, you know what’ll happen to them, then. It’ll serve them right for breaking the law.’

  ‘But a whole food bank’s been closed.’ said Clara. ‘The Republic is starving its own people. I told you – the thing’s a sham.’

  Shavila grabbed her and hauled her away. ‘They are subsocials,’ she said. ‘They are a threat.’

  ‘You sound like you’re in a classroom,’ said Clara. ‘If–’

  She broke off as an especially strong gust of wind shoved her forward and made her hair fly all around her face. Shavila’s cap flew off, and she stooped to collect it.

  ‘That’s it!’ said Clara, watching the wind ruffling Shavila’s hair. ‘Your serial number – it’s tattooed on your head. Shave your hair off – you’ll see a mark, a number. It’ll say Geneco.’

  ‘Look,’ said Shavila. ‘I don’t know, and I don’t care.’

  Behind Shavila, Clara saw a movement in the crowd. ‘Guns,’ she cried. ‘Look out!’ She flung herself to the ground, instinctively grabbing at Shavila’s arm. Taken by surprise, the Repseg fell on top of her with a grunt; at the same moment a volley of shots rang out from the crowd.

  They rolled apart, but Shavila pushed her flat. ‘Keep down,’ she hissed. Clara could see three of the Repsegs lying dead, but before she could take in any more, she heard the rapid sound of a machine-gun.

  Shavila pulled Clara up and forced her into a run. ‘Bastards took us by surprise. Good job we were better armed.’ Clara knew that behind them, the rioters were being exterminated. She didn’t need to look.

  Within a few hundred yards they came to a white stone building fronted by a series of arches. Passing under one of these, they found themselves in a short alley. There was no more gunfire. The Repseg unlocked and opened a door, and as she closed it behind them, Clara heard her own breathing for the first time since she’d left Bella’s flat that morning. She hoped Jack was safe.

  Shavila spun Clara round. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘What?’ panted Clara. ‘Do what for?’

  ‘You pulled me out of the way. You should have let them shoot me.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I’ve captured you. I’m taking you in. What did you want to save me for?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Clara. ‘It was like – I didn’t think, really. I just did.’

  Shavila frowned, and gave Clara a long stare. ‘Mater Hedera’s here,’ she said at last. ‘Up these stairs. Move.’

  ‘Here? Why? What’s she doing here? What’s wrong with Whitehall?’ Clara’s voice echoed up the stairwell.

  ‘Safer, I suppose,’ said Shavila. ‘Now come on. See what they’ve got in store for a traitor.’

  ‘You were at Wittenham,’ said Clara.

  ‘What?’

  ‘With Carrow. You executed the priest.’

  ‘And if we did? She wouldn’t tell us anything.’

  ‘You saw me in the reeds, didn’t you? Why didn’t you turn me in?’

  Shavila gave Clara another shove. ‘Just get up the stairs. Or you might meet with a nasty accident, right?’

  Clara turned and looked Shavila in the face. ‘Before you hand me over, promise me something.’

  Shavila gave a snort. ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘Promise me you’ll shave your head. You’ll see if I’m right.’

  ‘The only tattoo I’ve got,’ said Shavila, pointing, ‘is the one on my wrist. Okay?’

  ‘Even that says you’re a Geemo,’ said Clara. ‘It’s F for Fortis, but Fortis isn’t a training college – it’s a genetic engineering programme.’

  ‘You,’ said Shavila, stabbing a finger at Clara, ‘are a liar. You pretended you were Pureclone, didn’t you? You lied to everyone – your friends, your colleagues – even the Prime Sister. Why should I believe anything you say?’

  Clara hung her head. ‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘it doesn’t matter. I expect’ – she swallowed – ‘I expect I’ll be dead soon. But in all those years at the Academy, they taught me to love the truth. And I still do. It’s just that the truth – well, it’s not what they told me. And anyway – why would I lie to you now? They’re about to kill me.’

  With a snarl, Shavila pushed her up the last of the stairs, flung open a pair of tall oak doors and shoved her through.

  Clara knew the Prime Sister was there even before she saw her. As soon as she stepped into the room her nostrils caught the sugary-pine smell of rosemary, and she felt steam in the air. The place was warm, too, and Clara felt her cheeks getting hot. Behind her, the door closed: Shavila had left her to her fate. Clara was sorry.

  The room was broad and high-ceilinged, with a dusty chandelier hanging low in the centre. Through the main windows she could see the embankment and the river; opposite, smaller windows looked out on a square courtyard and stables. Dark brown curtains hid the far wall. Clara saw Mater Hedera, just as she remembered her – standing by the window, the hunched figure in black. She was staring out over the grey river, where the waves were white-spumed like the sea. A steaming basin stood on the table.

  ‘So!’ screeched a voice. Clara turned in time to see Medea Carrow bearing down on her. ‘Here she is, the upstart little dog who thought she could defy us all. Have you no respect for the Republic, child? Did you think your puny little brain could outwit us? You always were stupid, Clara Perdue. You never had a clue. And now, you’re going to pay for your insolence.’

  Cla
ra stared at her. Long though she’d hated Carrow, this small-minded woman no longer frightened her. ‘Aunt Grana told you, didn’t she?’

  Carrow sneered. ‘At least your Aunt had some sense, some loyalty to the Republic. She did the only thing she could have done. And now we’ve got you.’ She slapped Clara so hard it made her stagger.

  Mater Hedera turned. ‘That’s enough, Medea. I told you to have the traitor brought in, and you’ve done it. Now you can leave her to me. And, Medea, do you really think you’d have done it without the Repsegs?’ She tottered towards Clara, her sticks tap-tapping on the wooden floor.

  There was a knock on the door and Shavila re-entered. ‘Ma’am, the rioters – they’ve got through. They’re coming this way. Are we still to withdraw as planned?’

  ‘Get your women up to higher ground, Sergeant. You can leave the mob to me.’

  Shavila stood to attention, staring into the middle distance. ‘Some of them have guns, Ma’am. They attacked us just now.’

  ‘Do as I say, Sergeant. Tell your women to withdraw. Then I want you to come back here – I have a job for you,’ she added, nodding at Clara.

  Clara looked at Shavila, and held her gaze, but Shavila’s eyes were as cold as ever. Then the Repseg turned away. ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ she snapped, and was gone.

  So, thought Clara. No public execution for me. She’s just going to get Shavila to murder me. I hope it’ll be quick.

  Hedera was standing before Clara. ‘Medea,’ she said as she stared into Clara’s face, ‘open the window, would you?’

  Carrow hurried to obey. The wind battered the casement out of her hand as she struggled to fasten the hasp; gusts raced into the chamber and blew papers from the table. Then Clara heard, over the thumping wind, the now-familiar sounds of shouting, of breaking glass, and the occasional gunshot.

  Hedera inclined her head, but didn’t take her eyes off Clara. ‘Hear them, Clara Perdue? The mob. Sub-socials, all of them – wicked men and stupid women. What do they want, but to destroy the Republic?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And they’d have done it by now had we not been watchful.’