About Sisterland

by Martina Devlin

  “How can help be close by if nobody can hear what goes on inside? Could you hear if someone screamed?”

  “No, sound doesn’t travel out from the cubes. But we wouldn’t dream of sending in sisters without protection. I’ll let Charity explain. She runs the mating floor.”

  Halfway along the corridor a door lay ajar. “That’s the control hub. It’s run by Charity 8521. We lured her here from the biggest matingplace in Righteous.”

  Constance blinked. People working in Righteous rarely had a chance to transfer to Harmony or Steadfast, or vice versa. “You must have had to pull strings with the Mating Board,” she said.

  “I did what I had to do. I saw Charity in action and knew she was exactly what the Tower needed.” She raised her whispery voice. “Charity, incoming business.”

  A woman with an unfriendly expression was silhouetted in the doorway. She wore black tights, like the other Tower attendants but, instead of a tabard, her top half was covered with fake chainmail, with a belt crisscrossing her body from shoulder to waist. Against one hip dangled a strap, ending in a metal box about the size of her hand.

  “Charity, this is Constance 500.”

  Shrewd eyes measured Constance. She noticed Constance staring at the piece of equipment, and stroked it. “You like my stifstat?’

  “I don’t know what it is.”

  “A necessary precaution is what it is. Shoots an electric shot into the brain, causing temporary paralysis.”

  Constance stiffened. She was about to register a protest when the Mating Mother intervened.

  “History tells us men don’t share our views on non-violence. Charity only uses it in exceptional circumstances. All well on the mating floor, Charity?’

  While they spoke, Constance managed a glance into the control hub, where a large screen was broken into boxes, showing all the doors along the corridor. In the corner of each box was a purple timer ticking down minutes, while a green light glowed in the middle of the boxes. She was recalled to business at the mention of her name.

  “Constance is a first-timer. I’m putting her in Dawn Cube.”

  “New meet in there,” said Charity. “We just took delivery of him. Extremely fit specimen. Outdoors type.”

  “I know he’s a first-timer – that’s why I’ve earmarked him for Constance.”

  “Isn’t that the blind leading the blind?”

  “Constance is younger than most of our sisters. I believe they’ll be a good match.”

  “What are those monitors for? To see inside the mating cube?” asked Constance. She still thought she might be watched – no matter what the Mating Mother said.

  “Nope. Not allowed. If I had my way, I’d see and hear everything. But the Mating Board won’t allow it.” Charity’s scowl showed her low opinion of that directive. “Ridiculously lenient. Just as silly as parties in readying rooms, if you ask me.”

  “Our guests need to be spoiled, Charity.” Playful, the Mating Mother wagged a finger. “Now, Constance is concerned about her safety. I told her you’d put her mind at rest.”

  From a pocket, Charity produced a crystal ball with indentations on its surface. “Keep this near you at all times. See the button on this end? It sets off an alarm on the monitor I’ll be watching.” She pointed towards the boxes inside the control hub. “Those green lights turn orange and start flashing if there’s a problem at your end. I’ll be at your side in seconds if you need me. If things develop in a way where your control’s lost.”

  “Charity practises how quickly she can get from the hub to a mating cube. She’s always trying to beat her own record,” said the mother.

  “If the meet tries to take away this ball, I’ll know at once. I’m going to set it now to memorise your handprint. Here, hold it.” Charity passed the ball to Constance, and at her touch it glimmered green for a moment. “Squeeze this ball, and I’ll be inside your cube so fast the meet won’t have time to lay a finger on you.” She caressed her stifstat. “They know what to expect. They’ve been warned. Remember, you’re in charge at all times. Never surrender that, never allow it to be taken from you. Repeat, never allow it to be taken from you. The meet is here to do exactly what you require of him.”

  “Don’t go giving her the heebie-jeebies, Charity. Constance’s new to this, remember.”

  “I’m just preparing her, is all.” Charity tapped her comtel. “You want me to message one of my people to come up and take her in?”

  “I’ll do it. One of your team can collect her afterwards. Follow me, Constance.”

  Retracing their steps along the corridor, the Mating Mother said, “It’ll be over before you know it. But, after mating, you must lie still for a time to increase its effectiveness.”

  “Do I send him away while I’m doing that?”

  “Great Beloved, no! We can’t have unsupervised meets let loose in matingplace. This is a controlled environment. We need oversight to keep our records accurate. He’ll stay in the cube – he knows to wait till he’s collected.”

  “Sorry, it’s all new to me. I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”

  “Top girl, you’re the only person who matters here. Everyone’s on your side. Now, when you’re through, one of Charity’s team will take you back downstairs. She has four girls, Sincerity, Humility, Verity and Purity. They’re probably doing drop-offs or I’d introduce you. They bring sisters down to the respite room, leave meets back in their quarters, and so on.” The mating mother stopped by a door.

  “How will they know I’m through? What if I take longer than the other sisters? Or finish up quicker?”

  “Oh – Charity should have said. Show me the alarm ball. Don’t touch the button. Unless you need help, of course. If you give the ball a squeeze, it signals that you’re ready to leave. You’ll be collected, and escorted back to the respite room.”

  Constance rolled the crystal ball around the palm of her hand. Immediately, a bulky presence emerged from the control hub.

  “Everything all right?” called Charity.

  “Constance’s just testing the ball. She’s about to go in now.”

  Charity disappeared.

  “So, Constance, I think that’s everything. I’ll see you in the respite room afterwards.”

  “What happens there?”

  “You rest. It has hot showers, food and drink. We’ll help you to destress before you go home. Or you can spend the night in the Tower if you choose. Not in a mating cube. No-one ever spends the entire night in one. But the respite room has pop-ups, for those who’d like to sleep among friends. The first time can be an adjustment. We find the more facilities we offer, the higher our babyfusion rates. There’s nothing like some old-fashioned tender loving care. Now, one final check.” The Mating Mother curled her thumb into the palm, and tapped a sequence of digits onto her comtel. “Yes, Dawn’s where you should be. Everything’s ready. He’s inside, waiting for you.”

  “One last question, please. How did you choose him for me?”

  “I’m not supposed to answer questions about the meets. Naturally, he’s in his prime: a healthy specimen, tested and disease-free. You go to him each month, for six months, while you’re ovulating. If babyfusion doesn’t happen by then, we select a different meet.” She selected a key from the ring at her belt, unlocked the door, and pushed it ajar.

  Constance looked towards the space. Inside it was dim. Was that the sound of someone breathing?

  The Mating Mother extended the hand holding the key towards the gap, indicating that Constance should advance.

  “You’re not going to lock me in with him?”

  “I’m afraid we must. It’s to keep him in. Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe – all our meets are trained, and help is never far away. Charity and her helpers are extremely capable. There’s no situation in a mating cube they haven’t had to deal with, at one time or another. Remember, you’re free to go whenever you like. Otherwise, we’ll leave you here with the meet for two hours. That’s easily long
enough. Oh, one final instruction. Under no circumstances must you ever remove your skin.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s for your own protection: it helps you retain control. Now, the hopes of Sisterland go with you. Be fertile.”

  Under the implacable sweetness of her smile, Constance entered the room. The door was pulled shut behind her, and she heard metal grind on metal as the key turned in the lock.

  Chapter 7

  A nightlight drilled into the wall just inside the door kept the room from darkness. Constance could discern the outline of another human standing in a corner. Her eyes flicked round the cube. She was expecting it to be compact, as suggested by its name. It was also utilitarian, its only furniture a standard-issue pop-up bed. She was relieved to notice it was temperature-controlled – otherwise, such a confined space would be claustrophobic. Predictably, it was windowless. A check back towards the door reassured Constance that there was no peephole – at least, not one she could make out.

  Her gaze returned to the figure diagonally opposite. Its shape was neither particularly tall nor broad. The posture suggested tension. When her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she realised the meet had his hands crossed in front of his chest, and his back pressed into the corner where two walls intersected. Boxed in.

  She moved a few paces closer. He cocked his head, listening. She noticed he wasn’t wearing a hood, which meant his hair was visible. This was the first unhooded man she’d seen. More of his face was exposed than she was accustomed to, yet there was something hidden about it. Oh, he was wearing a blindfold.

  No wonder his position was so defensive. Still, it allowed her to study him openly. Now she stood in front of him. Why, he was naked to the waist, his chest hairless like a woman’s. He breathed in – was he smelling her? The movement caused a minor tremble through her flesh. Unexpectedly, a desire to reach out her hand and touch that skin shivered through her. This must be what was meant by the mating urge.

  His unsure air gave her confidence. She slipped the alarm into her pocket, and reached up towards the blindfold. He flinched.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to take this off. It doesn’t seem right that I can see you and you can’t see me.” She pulled, but the strip of material didn’t budge. “Turn round.”

  A momentary hesitation before he obeyed her. She tugged at the knot, but could make no headway with it. As she pulled, her fingers brushed against his hair, and she noticed its texture was sleek. The nerve endings on her fingers liked how it felt, but he didn’t seem to enjoy her touch. There was an infinitesimal resistance.

  His hair was paler than she had supposed was possible. It appeared to be blond. She was taught the colour had all but vanished from the gene pool. A man wouldn’t have access to hair technicians – it had to be natural. Longer than hers, it parted in the middle and fell in two waves along his cheeks as far as his collarbone.

  He must think she was pawing at him. Her hand fell away from the blindfold.

  “Do you always wear your hair down?” she asked.

  Nothing.

  “Maybe all men wear their hair like that? The hood covers it, so I wouldn’t know.”

  Still nothing. She wondered if he was tongue-tied, or deliberately dumb.

  “Why won’t you answer me?”

  She heard him swallow, a painful sound.

  “It’s tied back when I work.”

  “I’m glad you don’t think of this as work,” she said.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Or maybe you do?”

  “When they made me ready for you, they told me to leave it down. They said it was more becoming.” His voice was deep and low.

  “Who are they?” asked Constance. He shrugged. “I suppose,” she answered her own question, “the sisters who pick the men who’ll be meets and the women who’ll be sources. I don’t suppose they asked if you wanted to be a meet, any more than I was consulted.” He tensed. “Don’t worry, I’m not testing you.” She tried his blindfold once more, before conceding defeat.

  “Can I turn round again?” he asked. “Or do you prefer me to stand with my back to you?”

  “Turn, of course. I was only trying to take off your blindfold.”

  “It’s forbidden for us to look upon one another.”

  How strange that he was reminding her of the rules – she was meant to be the one in charge.

  She studied him. His face had symmetry, which pleased the eye. Even blindfolded and in semi-light, he was handsome. She wasn’t supposed to find him so. But beauty formed its own rules. She noticed that his complexion looked surprisingly smooth. Any men she had seen in Harmony had sandpaper flesh, because they didn’t wear a skin – none of them earned a wage, to pay for it.

  There was something about the way he held his head on one side, in a listening attitude, that moved her. Here was somebody less sure than herself.

  “Oh, your feet are bare,” she said. He didn’t respond. “Did they take away your shoes?”

  A slight nod.

  She opened her mouth to ask why, and stopped in time. To make it harder for him to run away, of course. He was here for her convenience. A shadow-moe stirred: something that chimed with shame.

  On impulse, she bent down and peeled off her pumps. “There now, my feet are bare, too. Don’t you believe me? Feel.” He stayed where he was. “Feel.”

  He knelt. Moving back her heavy skirt, he spread one hand on each foot. A sensation of comfort travelled up Constance’s body. She closed her eyes, luxuriating.

  After a few moments, he asked, “Do you wish me to continue holding your feet?”

  As if caught doing something amiss, her eyes snapped open. “I – no – as you choose. I just wanted you to understand that we’re the same.”

  “But we’re not. You’re a woman and I’m a man.”

  “Yes, of course.” What was wrong with her? She was behaving in a ridiculous fashion. Perhaps even dangerously. Where was the alarm? She put a hand in the pocket in her dress, and wrapped her fingers about the ball.

  “Does this give you pleasure? I’ve been instructed to do what satisfies you.”

  “Who said that?”

  “The woman they call the Mating Mother.”

  “Did you meet any of the others? Charity, and her team?”

  “I don’t know them by name.”

  “Can’t you read it from the sig? Or are you always kept blindfolded?”

  “The blindfold is only put on before we’re taken to the mating cube. But I can’t read sigs – we aren’t taught to read.”

  “You don’t learn how to read and write in boyplace?”

  “No.”

  “How about counting? Can you add and subtract?”

  “I can count to twenty. More is pointless, they say.”

  Constance paused. She knew it was superfluous to educate men to the same standard as women, but she had presumed they were taught the basics. Maybe it was only the policy at this man’s boyplace. “Can other men read and write?”

  “None of the men here can. They come from all over Sisterland.”

  She hunkered down beside him. “What was it like at boyplace?”

  “We were taught useful work.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “That we were savages with violent instincts, and Sisterland needed to regulate us for our own good. We were shown images of war and death caused by men. They told us men are destroyers. We can never be trusted.”

  “But at least you had fresh air and plenty of food,” said Constance. “You weren’t ill-treated. If you were sick, you were given medicine.”

  “It’s efficient to raise healthy specimens. Here in matingplace, they talk a lot about healthy specimens. The woman they call the Mating Mother says it feeds into success rates. She gave us instructions about touching a woman. She did not . . .” He broke off.

  “Tell me. Help me to understand.”

  “She did not teach us how to speak to one. She said talk was
unnecessary, and not talking was better. We were to remember we had a job to do, and anyone who gave satisfaction could expect extra rations and free time. Already, I’ve broken her rules.”

  Constance was pulled up short. The Himtime handout had said men couldn’t help themselves mating at every opportunity. But this man had to be bribed with food and time off from the mating cube. Without incentives, was it possible some men might decline the honour?

  “I’ve offended you,” he said. “It wasn’t my intention.”

  “I’m not offended. I just didn’t realise mating was such a chore for men, too. Tell me, what did you do, before you became a meet?”

  “I’m a forester. My home is seven days’ journey from here by transer.”

  Seven days in a transer meant he had seen more of Sisterland than her, even if he’d been heavily sedated, a standard precaution as men were moved round.

  “You were living in the Brown Convolution belt?” It was composed of farmland and forests, where men laboured under the supervision of female agronomists.

  He nodded.

  “I’ve heard about forests.”

  “You’ve never been in one?”

  “No, only to some woods at the end of the Buzz line here in Green Hyperreal. What’s it like, living in a forest?”

  “The air is sweet and pure, and I can hear the birds sing. There’s no birdsong in this place.” He had been on his knees until then, but now he sat back on his heels. “Do you require me to start?”

  “Can’t we talk some more first?”

  “As you choose.”

  “What kind of trees grow in the forest where you lived?”

  “All the trees are the same, because they were planted to serve Sisterland’s needs. We grow jack pines. Their branches are thick, and warblers build their nests on the ground under them. We have to burn down trees to keep the forest alive. Jack pines don’t grow in the shade – fire clears a space for them. After a fire, we plant new jack-pine seeds. They spout quickly.”

  “It seems wasteful to burn trees.”

  “It keeps the forest alive. The earth is only scorched for a short time. Soon, it’s green with new growth.”