About Sisterland (38 page)

En route, she tramped past a public art gallery and the civic offices, both floodlit pale blue because it was Honour’s favourite colour. Already, she was developing a headache from the all-pervasive rose scent, also in Honour’s memory. It was even wafting up from the paving cracks.

“If they really wanted to please Honour, they’d hand out gingerbread figures,” she muttered.

But today was only about Honour in passing.

The pavement was decorated with insets of all the symbols representing Sisterland’s professions. From habit, Constance searched until she found the 
φ
for shaper. It was still listed after Constance 500 on her sig, although she didn’t know how she ought to be classified any more. On the other hand, why should she be?

As she walked, she noticed knots of peers at regular intervals – more peers than was normal at a public event. Usually they looked relaxed, but today they were vigilant, and all of them wore stifstats. Their hands rested on them. Peer numbers increased the closer she approached to Sister Plaza. At the entrance they were conducting body searches. A peer examined Constance, smiling at her bump, but the shakedown was thorough. Constance looked about. Everyone was being patted down carefully. No doubt security had been stepped up because of the moe factory break-in.

After scanning her sig, the peer directed Constance towards a scrutineer who led her to a front-row seat at the side of the platform. Anxious not to compromise her babyfusion, Constance had taken Patience’s advice, and had asked the Shaper Mother for the boon. “For Honour,” the mother had said. “She’d want you there.”

Constance skimmed the rows for the Shaper Mother, or anyone she might recognise. There was nobody. Some Sistercentral officials occupied seats near her, and she hunted in vain for Modesty among them. The Peer Mother made an entrance, festooned in loops of gold brocade over salmon-pink leather. Soon, all the seats were filled. But on the dais, nine azure chairs with backs shaped into butterfly wings remained vacant.

Constance’s gaze travelled uphill, towards Sistercentral. It was early evening, and the setting sun turned its golden sandstone into a glimmering palace. Not floodlit blue, then. Even on days of national celebration, Sistercentral was a place apart. She wondered if the Outsidelander was still in Harmony, or if he had been moved elsewhere. Or if he was discontinued by now. They hadn’t exchanged a word, but he had made a difference to her. Her forehead attempted to pleat, but was prevented by the skin. The Outsidelander would pay a high price for his adventurous spirit.

An elegy played by a string quartet billowed out from voiceboxes. It was the signal for a procession of nine young girls, arms bare, floral wreaths in their hair, to proceed down the centre aisle. They wore ankle-length, cobweb dresses in a pink so pale it was blush-white, and carried baskets from which they distributed posies of forget-me-nots to spectators.

Images of Honour
 
19 flashed onto giant entscreens around Sister Plaza. Similar screens throughout Harmony, and the rest of Sisterland, showed the memory-keeper. Not as she had been when Constance interchanged her final memory. But as a girl – at the age when she had met Beloved, dedicating her life to universal sisterhood – and later, in her prime, sometimes in the company of other memory-keepers.

To rapturous applause, the Nine filed onto the platform. Gracious led the way, as insubstantial as the veil trailing behind her. She was followed by the one Constance still thought of as the Plaits Sister, Innocence, and the remaining seven. Spotlights picked out the stage, dancing across their metal headdresses. Each Sister sat on a butterfly seat.

Except for Temperance, the sister with cropped platinum hair tinged black at the tips, who advanced centre-stage to deliver an address. She was a dramatic figure in her triple-tier golden headdress with its veil floating to the floor. But her speech was peppered with the usual public holiday platitudes about how women had succeeded by unsexing themselves.

It struck Constance that the Nine had grown complacent – no longer making a genuine effort to engage sisters. Hers wasn’t the only negative reaction. The crowd stirred, with some of the spectators muttering. That multiple-moe discharge from the factory break-in had left them less tolerant
to waffle. Innocence made a signal, cutting short
Temperance’s oration.

Now, a trumpet call rang out, the prelude to an approved moe release. The Shaper Mother mounted the steps. She bowed as she passed the Nine, before turning to the front, where she held out her arms, curved upwards: a pose reminiscent of one of the goddesses in Sistercentral’s inner chamber.

“My name is Honour
 
42.”

Constance started. To her, she had always been the Shaper Mother.

“I was named for Honour
 
19. And in her memory, the Nine has decided –”

The mother’s address was sabotaged by two concurrent actions. The sound was cut. And on cue, some hundreds of women stood up, silken scarves tied over their mouths. It was a silent protest, projected onto the entscreens in Sister Plaza, and every screen in Sisterland. A camera panned along the standing rows of Silenced, lingering on their bound mouths and on their hands, which held one another’s in a human chain.

Visually it was eye-catching. Constance admired the spectacle. But she was surprised that more of the Silenced hadn’t assembled. A sea of scarlet was needed. There were fewer here than at the Hope Bridge on the day when Silence’s skin was suspended from it. Perhaps more had intended joining, but were deterred by the security cordon around Sister Plaza.

Still, for the first time, Sisterland in its entirety must be aware of the Silenced. Even if sisters didn’t know what they represented, they must recognise that a challenge had been thrown down.

Next, a background commentary from someone unseen offstage replaced the Shaper Mother’s tribute. The voice was Patience’s, the effect bewitching – its honeyed quality making her demands sound mild.

“We are the Silenced. But we will not be silenced! We insist on change. Matingplace. Wrong! Boy-babies taken away. Wrong! Absolute control by the Nine. Wrong! Join with us, sisters. Together, we can build a New Sisterland. A better one. An emotional one. Yes! Moes! We’re taught to fear them. But moes are natural. The Nine rations moes. Suppresses them. Demonises them. Sisters, moes are not evil!”

At that, the screens turned white. The ranks of the Silenced, red scarves across their mouths, could be seen no longer.

Undeterred, the voice continued,
“You may block out our faces but you can’t stop our words. The Silenced refuse to be silent. The tide of history is propelling us forward. A Silent Revolution has begun!”

The blare of high-pitched whistles drowned out Patience. At a comtel command from the Peer Mother, every peer in the square was blowing on the whistle she carried. Prominent in her gold braid, the Peer Mother was directing subordinates, and the pounding feet of peers accompanied the whistles. Each one took a Silenced protester by the arm. No scuffles broke out: the Silenced consented to be led away. Constance was puzzled at how uneventfully the demonstration was broken up. Some of the Silenced grinned as they went, exchanging meaningful looks with their fellows. Perhaps they
were pleased to have made their point. Even so, their
compliance made no sense. This was the same band of sisters that had scaled Beloved’s statue, hacked down sunflowers and painted graffiti on the Sistercentral perimeter walls.

Constance’s attention was caught by Gracious, whose head was shaking repeatedly. One of the Nine had left her seat and was bent over her, but Gracious was waving her away.

“If I may resume at the point where I was so rudely interrupted,” boomed the Shaper Mother, restored once more to the airwaves. She received a scattering of applause, and some of the dignitaries at the front tried to turn it into a standing ovation, but the crowd wouldn’t cooperate.

Order was not yet restored, however. The Silenced didn’t only have members in the sound division – they had supporters in lighting. Now, the spotlights dimmed, and onto the stage a series of images was projected. Baby boys crying for their sources. Phantom baby boys crawled over the outlines of each of the Nine, and across the Shaper Mother, waving their arms, sucking their fists, and kicking their chubby legs. The audience gasped.

“Stop this! Get rid of these baby-men!” shrieked Innocence.

A wail went up from the crowd.

“He looks like my boy. My boy who was taken
from me!” came a cry.

Once more, a voice was amplified over the hubbub. This time, it was Goodwill’s. Its tinny sound suggested she was using a peer voicebox.

“
To Acceptance 77807 a son. To Clarity 3021 a son. To Consideration 4158. To Diligence 227 a son.
” Nobody tried to bring the litany to a halt. Its effect was hypnotic. “
To Gratitude 98 a son. To Integrity 84003 a son. To Justice 54395 a son. To Loyalty 22195 a son. To Moderation 127 a son
.” And still the images of baby boys drooling their flirtatious charm were superimposed across everybody onstage. “
To Punctuality 1507 a son. To Simplicity 4248 a son. To Thankful 97842 a son. To Verity 11113 a son
.”

Electrified, Constance felt herself fuse with every woman in the audience. They blended into a whole – moeing together, spontaneously, with the loss of those children. Babies taken, not from one woman, but from all of them.

As the roll-call drew near its conclusion, Patience materialised at the side of the stage, beckoning to Constance. Patience’s voice entered her mind, urging her forward.
For Harper,
it said. The name propelled Constance from her seat. She passed a number of peers, but no-one stopped her. They were as mesmerised by the liturgy of the list as everybody else. In a trance, she advanced up the steps to where Patience stood.

Patience seized her by the hands, sizzling with conviction. “Our cause, like all causes, is collecting its legends. Constance, this is your time to shape one! Today, you shall be heard everywhere. Every entscreen in every city and town will beam you out. Your voice, your image, your message. You’re about to become the new face of Sisterland!” She gave Constance a gentle push.

Constance found herself stranded at the front. The baby boys vanished. She was alone. A spotlight was trained on her face, another on her belly. Nobody could be in any doubt that she was babyfused.

“
This sister is Constance – Silence’s other.
” From offstage, Patience’s voice introduced her. “
She’s babyfused. She carries the future inside her. All babies are precious. But this one is exceptional. Rejoice, sisters, because the sister before you is babyfused with the spirit of Silence!
”

Chapter 33

“Constance,” the crowd murmured. From sister to sister, the name spread. “Constance.” They laid the name before her in homage.

Blinded by the lights, she was at a loss.

What do they want from me, she thought.

They want to hear you speak.
Patience was trespassing into her mindmap again.

For now, Constance raised no barriers.
What should I say?
she messaged back.

You’ll know as soon as you begin. The words will flow – follow your instincts.

“Constance!” the crowd chanted.

The name rained down on her, and she gained substance. What was wanted from her became possible. Constance began filling out to transform into the sister they longed for her to be. Her eyes travelled across the rows of spectators, absorbing the love. Some of those calling out to her were peers. There were Sistercentral officials, too.

Turning her head to the right, she saw the Shaper Mother in the wings. Members of the Silenced surrounded her. Some of the Nine were there, blocked in place by sisters in crimson scarves. Constance looked to the left. Ranks of the Silenced waited there, too. The three hundred or so marched away earlier was only a foretaste, a diversionary sample. Her gaze moved to the front again, and she saw that red scarves were omnipresent. Visible now was that cloudburst of scarlet whose absence she had regretted earlier.

Power tingled through Constance. She was ready to reach out to those who called her name. Their need for her was intoxicating. She could communicate with them on a deep-rooted level – without a shadow of doubt, she knew it. She had the ability to give them what they wanted. And she was willing to do it. She burned to do it. Words sped from her brain to her tongue.

But as she opened her mouth, Temperance eluded the Silenced and dashed onto the stage, pushing Constance aside. Unbalanced, Constance threw down her hands instinctively, breaking her fall to land on her hands and knees.

“Don’t listen to these degenerate women!” Temperance reared up in the spotlight. “They seek to drag us backwards. To retreat to the warped days of two-gender society. It’s a corruption of nature’s law. We must never tolerate it, sisters. Never! Better a noble end to Sisterland than the ignobility of male domination!”

Constance pulled herself to her feet, arms wrapped round her stomach, wrists and knees aching. Outside the spotlight, she was invisible. She stared at Temperance, who was in an altered state. Her movements were jerky, fingers scissoring and elbows jabbing. But she was compelling.