“Why don’t you put in for a babyfusion permit, Modesty? Won’t the mother part with you?”
“They turned me down. I can’t reproduce – my internal plumbing’s defective. So I’ll never be allowed to mate.”
Even with MUM hanging over her, Constance felt for Modesty. “Poor you.” She touched Modesty’s hand lightly.
“No, poor you. What they’re doing to you isn’t fair. Not that ‘fair’ matters to the Nine. Especially not to Innocence – she’s a joyless one. Has her eye on Gracious’s seat as the number one sister, too. Ambition’s supposed to be a restricted moe. But she has an ambitious streak wider than the wings above Shaperhaus. The Nine isn’t really interested in other Sisterlanders. It’s what’s best for the Nine – that’s what counts. Power is everything. Dried-up old crones.”
“Except they’re not, are they, Modesty? I’ve never seen them in the flesh before. I was surprised. They looked – not young exactly – but new-minted.”
Modesty watched the waterfall tangle through tastefully selected pebbles. Constance thought she looked nervous.
“What is it, Modesty?”
“You’re right. A sister starts getting fresher-looking as soon as she joins the Nine. I don’t know why. Nobody ever mentions it. It’s as if we’re not even supposed to notice.” The look she gave Constance brimmed with foreboding.
There was a chirrup on her comtel, and Modesty checked the screen. “The mother wants you back indoors.”
A Sistercentral aide was waiting with the Shaper Mother. The Nine had decided to sleep on its decision: Constance should present herself at Sistercentral at eight the following morning.
“I’ll meet you in the foyer,” the mother told Constance.
“Pardon me, mother, you aren’t required,” said the aide.
“I wouldn’t dream of letting her go through this alone. She’s under my supervision.”
“The Nine’s instructions were that no-one is to accompany her.”
“They can’t have meant to exclude me, surely.”
“No-one is an explicit term, mother.”
“I see. Come with me, Constance.”
Outside the chamber, she halted and beckoned to Constance.
“An overnight delay is highly unusual,” she said. “It means they can’t agree on your case. They must be almost evenly divided, five Sisters to four. All that’s needed for unmapping is a two-thirds majority.”
“So I might be off the hook?”
The mother ran a hand across the top of her skull. “You might be.” Her smile was an instant torn from tension.
A spring uncoiled inside Constance. “Honour is protecting me,” she said.
“Perhaps. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”
As they walked to the Sistercentral exit, Modesty fell into step beside them. In the courtyard, the mother stood, watching a woman spray a row of ornamental trees to stop the leaves falling. A gentle whoosh came from her equipment. When leaves needed to be replaced they were detached by vacuum suction.
“The mother’s shaken – she never loiters,” hissed Modesty. “What’s the Nine’s verdict?”
“No decision yet. I’m to return to Sistercentral tomorrow.”
Collecting herself, the Shaper Mother began marching towards the Buzz. Her strides made no allowances for the thundery atmosphere, and Constance and Modesty grew sticky keeping up. At the entrance to the Sistercentral station, she drew to a halt. “Which direction do you go in, Constance?”
“The Oblong zone, mother.”
“I’ll say goodbye here, then. Don’t be tempted to stay away from Sistercentral tomorrow. Otherwise, peers will arrive on your doorstep. Cooperation is always the best policy. Modesty, why don’t you keep Constance company? Take her to Moe Express – my treat. Choose something . . . something to help her look on the bright side.”
“There’s a bright side to any of this?” asked Constance.
The mother didn’t respond. Turning, she marched away.
Modesty tugged Constance by the elbow, steering her towards the train platforms. “No point in falling out with the only champion you have.”
Constance relented, looking down at Modesty, whose head didn’t quite reach her earlobe. “You make me feel tall.”
“I make everybody feel tall. It’s my gift to the sisterhood. But what I’d like to make you feel right now is grateful to the mother. She’s on your side.”
“She’s not the decision-maker.”
A train approached.
“I’d just as soon be on my own, if you don’t mind,” Constance said. “Don’t worry, I’ll go straight home like a good Sisterlander.”
“You’re not shaking me off till you juice up. We’ll find a Moe Express near your unit, then I’ll leave you alone. The mother’s suggestions aren’t suggestions, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Modesty’s voice softened. “We’ll get you something to help you make it through till tomorrow. We can’t have you sitting up all night fretting.”
Once seated on the Buzz, Modesty produced a vac-pump and set about removing the faint mould left on her clothes by the air. Constance watched the brown hand busy with its task. Modesty kept up a running commentary. Words were flooding from her, threatening to drown Constance.
She turned her face towards the passing cityscape and fixed on the child inside her: part Harper, part Constance, part itself. If she believed it would live, with every atom of her being, then the power of belief would protect it. It must.
The Buzz cornered towards Octagon station, and against the skyline the curve of the Hope Bridge could just be glimpsed beyond the stop. And a piece of jigsaw puzzle slotted into place for Constance. The Buzz stopped, its doors opening. Constance watched for her chance and, as the carriage doors began shutting, she darted through.
“Hey!” Modesty’s arms flailed, but the doors closed before she could follow.
Constance didn’t look back. She jumped over the exit barrier and, running as though her life depended on it, made straight for the bridge where Silence had discontinued.
Chapter 21
At the Hope Bridge, a configuration of women with red scarves milled about. Constance slowed to a halt, lungs gasping for air. She pushed through the crowd until she reached one of the bridge’s supports, so close she could smell the metal. Laying her hand on it, she tipped back her head. Above the viaduct the clouds were torrid – a mirror for the turbulence she was feeling – and for the commotion on the ground, she realised, as the numbers congregated there registered with her. What were so many people doing at the bridge? And why were they all staring in the same direction? Something on one of the bridge’s series of arches had snared their attention. Constance followed their line of vision, but could distinguish nothing out of the ordinary. The flowery scent she associated with the Silenced, underscored by the cloying tang of decay, attacked her nostrils, and she started coughing.
A hand thumped her back. “The red scarf is distinctive,” said a familiar voice.
It was Goodwill. By this stage, surprise was beyond Constance.
“It gives them an identity,” continued Goodwill. “I heard they wear it because Silence had one on when she discontinued.”
“She was wearing a red scarf when she jumped,” said Constance. “But it wasn’t tied securely, and blew off halfway down. A peer told me. She said eye-witnesses claimed it flew through the sky. Escaping. Like Silence, in a way.” Exhaustion pummelled her. “I think I’ll go home now. I needed to be here, to see where it happened. I never came before. But it’s too crowded.”
“You can’t leave without seeing her,” said Goodwill.
“Who?”
“Silence.”
Goodwill pointed towards a central section of the bridge, around which the knot of Silenced was thickest.
Constance began to elbow her way through the throng. “Out of the way. Let me pass.” In a society where politeness was prized, her behaviour was unusual, and sisters stared as they backed away.
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br /> She stopped by a ridged metal trunk, the thickness of four women, holding up the bridge. Silence had climbed this support, according to observers. Constance wished she didn’t know this piece of information, but it had been passed on to her by a peer. It was clear why Silence had chosen it: the centre upright was the only one with convenient edges offering toeholds. This pilgrimage ought to have been made when there was nobody about. Not when she was surrounded by a carnival of sightseers. But she had come too far to turn back. Constance craned her head towards the point creating the stir. A pale oval was pinned against the top of the support.
It was Silence’s skin.
Constance flinched, and would have stumbled if Goodwill hadn’t caught her.
“Lean on me,” urged Goodwill. “I’ll get you out of here.”
“I just need a minute.” Constance was slick with sweat, her hair clumping. “I never expected to see that again. Silence took it off before she jumped. She left it at the side of the bridge. The peers impounded it afterwards. When they returned her possessions, it wasn’t among them. I asked for it, but they said it had been destroyed. State policy in the case of unnatural discontinuations.”
“So why is it here?” asked Goodwill.
One of the Silenced nearby answered. “It’s a message from Silence. To show she’s still here.” She raised her voice. “Silence is with us!”
“With us,” chanted the crowd.
“Silence is watching over us,” said the woman.
“Watching over us,” they repeated.
“Silence will show us what to do.”
“Show us what to do.”
“Speak to us. Speak on behalf of Silence,” the woman urged Constance.
“I’ve nothing to say.”
“Speak,” said the woman.
The refrain was taken up by those around her. “Speak,” they cried.
“Why not give them what they want?” said Goodwill.
“I don’t know what they want.”
“Nor do they. Whatever you give them will be what they want.”
“Speak,” said the women in red scarves.
The chant passed from one to another, until it was in every mouth.
“They aren’t going to stop,” said Goodwill. “Not until you address them.”
Tomorrow she was probably going to forget Silence ever existed, thought Constance. Today, while she could, she ought to remember her. She’d honour her memory. She turned back to stare at the skin. It was Silence – and yet not Silence. Still, it retained enough of her other for inspiration.
Words began to form in her mind, and take shape on her tongue. They were halting at first, but gained in fluency.
“Silence loved Sisterland.” The crowd was mesmerised. “She loved the baby she was fused with. She loved life. But she discontinued herself and her child.”
A moan drifted from the audience.
“She sacrificed herself,” someone called out.
Pitching her voice to the outer fringes of the gathering, Constance said, “Yes, Silence sacrificed herself, but she did it for a reason. To teach us something.” She wasn’t sure if her voice was carrying. In her ears, it sounded reedy. She looked about. The central pillar, the one Silence had climbed up, had a metal rim two feet off the ground. She jumped onto the ledge, and leaned back against the pillar.
“Silence died because she was carrying a boy-baby. She didn’t want to hand him over, to be raised in some distant belt of Sisterland – never to set eyes on him again. Boy-babies are precious, just as girl-babies are.” She rested a hand on her stomach.
Some of the Silenced looked at one another, struggling to reconcile what she said. But they remained attentive.
“Who here has given birth to a boy-baby?” Constance called out.
An arm was raised, then another, followed by several more.
“Did you want to hand over your baby?”
“It was our duty,” muttered one.
“Duty,” said other voices, although not everyone spoke with certainty.
“Did you believe it was right?”
“They told us to do it,” said a woman. “They made us believe.”
“And now? Do you still believe? Do you?”
“Peers!”
The crowd scattered as the peers chugged up in their carriers, each with its distinctive black stripe against the pink background. Peers in salmon-pink leather one-pieces poured out, the colour intended to make them look non-threatening. The peer emblem was embroidered in gold thread on the left breast pocket: an O nestling inside a C, for ‘Compliance Overseer’.
One of them had a voicebox, and spoke into it. “Sisterland is disappointed in you. We expect more from our sisters. There will be sanctions unless you leave immediately.” It was like being ticked off by a bossy head teacher.
Peers moved through the group, clapping their hands. “Go on home now. Everybody, home.” They were polite but insistent.
One of the peers motioned to Constance to dismount. She started to scold Constance but, buffeted by the crowd, they were separated. Somebody – Constance couldn’t see who – pushed her under one of the arches, where she was less likely to get knocked. Several of the Silenced were huddled there, trying to keep out of the way.
“What will happen to us?” asked one.
“A demerit,” another answered.
“What if we’re sent for listening?”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s just counselling.”
“Don’t be such a pearl!”
“They can’t send all of us for listening,” said a third sister. “There are hundreds of sisters here.”
“But they might pick out some at random. As a lesson.”
One of the peers loomed over them. “Signifier inspection.”
“Smile All The While,” said Constance.
The peer’s expression grew stern. She clicked the comtel on her thumb over a line of wrists, registering their details. Logging Constance’s sig alerted her to Constance’s babyfusion. “Someone in your condition ought to know better. Babyfused sisters need their rest.”
“What harm were we doing?” asked Constance.
“Don’t answer back. Use your head and don’t come here again. Now, straight home. Same goes for all of you.”
One of the Silenced spoke out. “You can’t choke Silence’s message – you’ll only make it stronger.”
The peer tapped her sig. “This is going on all your records. You can expect repercussions.” She moved on.
The Silenced swapped anxious glances.
Constance ducked out from under the bridge, wondering about Goodwill’s whereabouts. The peer with the voicebox was still ordering women to disperse, although most had left the Hope Bridge area already. A light glowed on a camera mounted on a pulley, recording the women as they scattered. Still thudding with adrenalin, Constance walked directly towards the camera.
“I spoke here to pay tribute to Silence,” she told it. “While I still remember her.”
A woman with a torn, cherry-red scarf between her hands approached. In her eyes was a sense of loss that could almost be touched.
“I had a boy-baby,” she said. “I saw his face for a few seconds. Not a day passes but his face enters my mind. It comes to me whether I want it there or not. It’s twelve years since I gave him up. I’ll carry that face with me till the day I discontinue.”
Chapter 22
Back in her oneser, the hairs on the back of Constance’s neck prickled. Someone had been there. She could sense it. She walked from room to room, and found the feeling strongest in the bedroom. She opened the wardrobe built into the wall. Nothing unusual there. She moved her attention to the only free-standing piece of furniture, a chest of drawers. One by one, she opened the drawers, fingers dredging the contents. Nothing. Next, she took them out, and laid them on the floor. Her hand groped inside the frame. Still nothing. She slotted them back in.
On a hunch, she tapped a series of digits into the cons
ole which protruded from the wall. A gap opened in the floor, through which a pop-up was propelled upwards. There, on top of the pillow was a copy of Beloved’s Pearls.
Constance picked it up. It was Silence’s. It had gone missing when the peers had rummaged through their home. There could be no mistake. Here was Silence’s name embossed on the cover, and inside was her handwriting: the twoser’s address. It must have been the peers who put the book on the pillow. Which meant they had been back checking through her belongings again. And they wanted her to know what they’d done.
A shiver threaded along Constance’s spine.
She turned towards the blank pages at the back of the book, on which sisters were supposed to write their own uplifting thoughts, inspired by Beloved. Everybody tended to copy down clichés, however. Perhaps Silence had written something original there. Or maybe she had left a message only Constance could decipher. But the pages were blank.
Constance laid her lips against Silence’s name on the pearlised cover, and placed it on top of the chest of drawers. Instead of undressing and getting into the pop-up, she went back to the living room and curled herself into a ball on the couch. She was conscious of two hearts beating inside her body. The next day’s judgment might put an end to that – she wouldn’t waste the night in sleep.
Her thoughts turned to Harper, who didn’t know he was going to be a father. Imagine a world in which she could turn to him and say, “Guess what? We babyfused!” and have him share the excitement. If she had a daughter who looked like Harper, something of him would remain with her – provided the Nine allowed her to continue with her babyfusion.
And what if it was a boy? Restless, she changed her position, remembering the woman with the torn scarf at the bridge.
Moments later, or so it appeared, morning announced itself, along with a crick in her neck. At once, she remembered she was due at Sistercentral. She checked her comtel: almost seven o’clock. Not much more than an hour left.
Passing over the Hope Bridge on her way to Shaperhaus, Constance looked down from the arched metal structure. She expected to see the square beneath it deserted, but sisters with red scarves were congregating there once more. Yesterday’s visit by the peers hadn’t deterred them. Passengers on the Buzz stretched their necks to see what was happening under the bridge.
About Sisterland Page 18