About Sisterland (20 page)

There were no bookshelves in the oneser, however, and Constance’s books had been stacked on the floor. They were lined up neatly, spines outward.

Constance stood in the centre of the room and did a slow, 360-degrees spin on her heels, absorbing this new space. It was a replica of the twoser upstairs, except almost half the size. A sense of invasion simmered. Strangers had handled her stuff. All of it. From her underwear to her toiletries to her plants. Probably, the ferns would melt away now – they went into a decline if they were touched by anyone else. Everything she owned had been examined. They knew what brand of shampoo she used, how much of Devotion’s setting-sun wine was in her fridge, whether her laundry basket was full or empty, the outline left by her body on the pop-up.

The trappings of her life might not amount to much, but they were hers. And for the second time, they had been violated. Peers had crawled all over her twoser after Silence had been found, looking for clues as to why she did it. Constance had hunted for clues, too – a note, perhaps. A reason. But there had been nothing. Apart from that final message on her comtel from Silence, which Constance couldn’t bring herself to delete. Now, she touched the gadget on her thumb, but resisted the temptation to read the message again. She didn’t feel strong enough.

Today’s violation was different to the last one. Silence’s discontinuation had been shocking. It had to be investigated. But this was a way of controlling Constance. Picking her up from one space and setting her down in another, like a chess piece. Or a doll. Tears pricked, but she refused to surrender to them. She dug her nails into the soft flesh in her palms, willing herself to resist. She was becoming more moe-susceptible by the day. That was anger in the easy. This was outrage. Her moe-controls were malfunctioning.

She paced through her new home, trying to remind herself it was small because space was at a premium in Harmony. That’s the price she paid for living in the capital city. But Silence’s possessions were crowding the rooms. A dash of resentment floated up. She managed to suffocate it: of course she couldn’t throw them out. They were loved by her other.

Now, Constance was overcome with nostalgia for her time with Silence. She dropped her face into her hands, and realised she hadn’t taken off her skin. Unclipping it, she examined the transparent oval. No traces of those racing moes were left on the skin. Naturally not. The Nine was insistent on the need to wear them. But could the rumours be true? Could it be about moe-control rather than air pollution?

To escape the see-sawing moes, Constance explored the oneser. The living area had a window – all homes in Sisterland were equipped with at least one. She inspected her view: it pointed in a different direction to the twoser. At least the Silenced weren’t outside her window any more. Turning back to the room, she saw a cupboard just inside the front door, inside which was the usual glass cone for boiling water and hotbox for a snack. The bathroom was blind, however, with just enough space for a shower, sink and toilet. At least the tiny bedroom also had a window – she should be thankful for any mercies that were going.

All at once, a wave of exhaustion hit her, and she had to sit down: babyfusion’s way of reminding her she needed to take more rest. She was nauseous again, too. The medico had warned her about sickness in the first week, from the babyfusion speed-up pill. She must remember to pick up some of the recommended protein liquids. In the meantime, she should take a popper. She staggered out to the living area, poured water, and swallowed an orange pill.

As soon as she was able, Constance settled down to deal with the interchange of Honour’s final memory. Her range of expressions became the memory-keeper’s. Her connections. Her sympathies. Her tone of voice. And yes, her moes – that was it. That explained why she was fizzing with moe, tossing over chairs and verging on tears.

Moe and memory couldn’t be separated. Memory was sparked by moe and moe by memory. Interchanging Honour’s memories left her open to the moes once felt – perhaps still felt – by the memory-keeper. Hopefully, when the interchange transaction was complete, she’d regain her equilibrium. Constance didn’t care for this whirligig. A moe every now and then was agreeable, but one crashing in on top of the next was draining. Especially in the early stages of babyfusion.

Constance worked on, reliving Honour’s final memory. She concentrated on interchanging the moes that accompanied the memory, while trying to sidestep sharing them, despite their tendency to seep in. When she was finished, her mind continued to race. On impulse, she decided to visit her source.

She hurried past the knot of needy Silenced followers, ignoring their calls, and caught a Buzz to the Circle zone.

Devotion twanged the door-lock mechanism and Constance was admitted. While Goodwill frothed up herbs to make ocean tea, Devotion chattered about a thought consignment she had just finished hatching: patriotic ones, bulky with unquestioning pride in Sisterland.

“Do you ever hatch any of Goodwill’s thoughts?” Constance asked.

“Not knowingly. We’re never told who’s crafted them. But sometimes I’ve sensed her mind-print on a batch.” She sent an affectionate look towards her other. “My Goodwill has a rare mind. Such clarity and precision.” She returned her attention to Constance. “You’re quite the regular here these days.”

“I’m Making Time for Togethertime. I’m babyfused, remember? I messaged you on your comtel about it.”

“Oh yes, good job. Universal sisterhood is proud of you.” Devotion patted Constance’s shoulder.

Goodwill bounced over and hugged Constance. “What happy news! You should have told me,
Devotion.”

Constance threw a surprised glance at Devotion. Why hadn’t she told Goodwill?

“It slipped my mind,” said Devotion.

“I remember when you were a baby,” Goodwill went on.
“You were such a solemn wee creature. Wasn’t she, Devotion?”

“She hardly ever cried.”

“Let’s all toast Constance’s babyfusion. Never mind ocean tea. Devotion, break out your top-of-the-range sunset wine.”

“It’s all top-of-the-range. But Constance can’t drink
alcohol if she’s babyfused. I suppose we could have some, to wish her luck. I do hope you don’t defuse, ladybird, and have to go through all that messy mating again.” 

Constance rolled her eyes at Goodwill, who pulled a sympathetic face.

After Devotion and Goodwill had clinked glasses, Constance said, “Babyfusion seems to make me want to be around my family. It must be a biological reflex.”

“Sisterland is one large family, Constance,” said Devotion.

“I hope I’m allowed a special bond with my source, all the same. Surely Sisterland isn’t threatened by that?”

“Sisterland isn’t threatened by anything. Really, Constance, you need to practise self-control. Doesn’t she, Goodwill?”

“Constance is a little out of her groove, dear. We should offer her something to eat. You were ravenous when you were babyfused. Are you hungry, Constance?”

“I do feel empty.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Devotion tutted. “You have to learn to ask for what you want.”

“All right, Devotion – what I want is to know why you never mention my father. Why do you have no stories about him?”

“He was just a meet.”

“I wouldn’t be me without him.”

“Stop being awkward.”

Goodwill spoke up for Constance. “I’m glad she thinks about him, Devotion. Perhaps you should remember him, too. He gave you a precious gift.” 

“What’s got into you, Goodwill? Don’t encourage her. Sisterland has no use for fathers.”

“I met a memory-keeper who thought they mattered,” said Constance.

“Really, Constance, babyfusion is making you imagine things.” Devotion looked concerned. “You’re overtired. I think you should go straight home to bed as soon as you’ve had something to eat. Goodwill will find you a snack. But I don’t want to hear any more of this ridiculous talk about fathers. You’ll only land yourself in trouble, ladybird.” 

Chapter 17

The sound of fast-moving traffic woke Constance early. It couldn’t be the peers back again – their vehicles had a distinctive chug, and didn’t achieve high speeds. Neither could it be transers moving men about. They went at an even slower pace, and were restricted to certain roads. It must be the Nine. No-one else was licensed to travel at speed in personal carriers. They had been on circuit in Righteous, and were not due back for several more days. Something must be brewing.

She shrugged, propped her pillow against the wall, and sat up to message the medico’s comtel with an inquiry about Honour. While she waited for a response, she washed and dressed, but the medico didn’t reply. Maybe she was busy. She’d try again later.

Constance set off for Shaperhaus to report on the memory interchange. Outside her unit, half a dozen members of the Silenced dozed in sleeping pouches in a corner of the courtyard. They looked chilled to the bone, and no wonder. Surely their eccentric discipleship would wither away soon? Yet last night’s wind hadn’t deterred them. Which reminded Constance. She sniffed: the wind was gone. Once more, the air was dense.

She picked up an ocean tea at the Buzz station, and sipped it on the journey. Something was definitely afoot in Harmony today. Peers patrolled the streets – she could see them from the train.

At Shaperhaus she met a trainee co-keeper in the foyer.

“Curious wind last night, wasn’t there?” said Constance.

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“It was windy last night.”

“I wish.” 

“Of course it was. The peers drove round, telling everyone to stay indoors.”

“Not where I live, they didn’t. Where was this?”

“Oblong.”

“I’m in Cone. Deliverance here’s in Polygon, aren’t you?” She addressed a shaper walking by. “Any wind out your way yesterday, Deliverance?”

“You kidding? Since when do we get wind?”

“Must just have been an Oblong wind, Constance. Unless you dreamed it.”

“Harmony’s not that big. There aren’t different weather conditions all over the city.”

The co-keeper shrugged, losing interest. “Is it true you’re off the co-keeper programme?”

“Temporarily.”

“That’s tough.”

Constance made her way to the stairs, past the

SMILE ALL THE WHILE

lettering, an uneasy feeling taking hold. She met her progress-monitor coming from the opposite direction.

“The Shaper Mother’s been asking for your report,” said Patience.

“I have it here.”

“You can pass it to me.”

“The mother said it was for her ears only.”

“She isn’t here – she’s at Sistercentral. The Nine has convened.”

So that explained the traffic. “In that case, perhaps I might be allowed to return to the memory-keeper today,” said Constance.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Honour has more to contribute, I’m sure of it.”

“No doubt. But she discontinued last night. She left it absurdly late to share her final memory. Still, better late than never. Now, no time to dawdle. I’ll take care of the memory interchange. I’ll make sure the mother gets it as soon as she returns to Shaperhaus.”

Constance was deflated. Honour had changed before her eyes, from an elderly woman into a small girl at her father’s elbow. But that metamorphosis had been her swan song. She braced herself to do what she knew she must.

“In that case, I need to go directly to Sistercentral. The information I carry should be placed by me personally in the Shaper Mother’s hands as soon as possible.”

Patience folded her arms. “She left no instructions to that effect.”

“The memory-keeper’s discontinuation makes it essential. It’s in Sisterland’s best interests.”

Patience looked irritated at being obstructed. “You presume too much, Constance. But go, since you’re so insistent.”

“I’ll need Sistercentral admission uploaded to my comtel at once.” Trusting to a show of confidence to win the day, Constance pivoted on her heel.

In the square outside, a giant screen showed images of Honour 19, while a voicebox gave news of her discontinuation, along with a précis of her life. Constance stopped to watch a clip of the memory-keeper speaking at a Sisterday celebration sixty years earlier. How certain she sounded. But her absolutes had undergone a sea-change. And Constance had the evidence.

There was no more magnificent building in Harmony than Sistercentral, which had been designed with panache. It was shaped like a horseshoe, with columns of half-moon windows, and nine steps leading up to a curved entrance doorway. On either side of the front door, brackets held torches in which perpetual flames burned. The façade was constructed of golden sandstone which glimmered constantly, day and night, giving the impression of tiny diamonds embedded in its surface. Even on days when the air was particularly moist, they retained vestiges of sparkle. It was the only building in Harmony constructed from golden stone, and it lent Sistercentral a totemic quality.

An ugly building had been flattened to make way for it. There were no unattractive buildings left – an aesthetics committee had put them to the vote, and all were now eradicated. Phallic symbols had been toppled, too – freestanding spires, for example. Some people believed the committee should have been more willing to take public soundings before sending in the bulldozers, because what one Sisterlander regarded as unsightly, another interpreted as idiosyncratic. However, the result was a harmonious city, even if closer study revealed something anodyne in its totality.