About Sisterland (16 page)

What next time? She was banned from ever seeing him again. Aftershock juddered through her. How could she bear it? A crushing sense of desolation was bearing down on her – an eddy so powerful that her breath came in tearing gulps. A vein popped up on her temple and throbbed there.

All at once, it occurred to Constance that she was in the grip of a barrage of full-scale moes. Primal, insistent ones. Mating seemed to have released them in her. Mid-step, she froze. Harper had taken a risk to give her the kind of Himtime experience she wanted. He had been willing to accept punishment so that she could have what she desired. Nobody had ever cared for her so deeply. Not even Silence. She grappled with the implications. At girlplace, Constance had been taught that self-sacrifice was a female characteristic. Not common, but the potential was present in all of them. Yet here was a man demonstrating it for her benefit.

Amid the turmoil, recognition sank in. Love was meant to be something only sisters could feel for their others, and even then it was not guaranteed.

Yet Constance knew she was in love with a man.

Before Harper, love was a safe harbour. But this love was the storm itself. An excess of moes – ones no Sisterlander could supposedly access without chemical assistance – jostled for position: among them, exhilaration at having mated with him, along with delight at loving him. He must love her back! Even if he hadn’t used the words. This moe bombardment released in her by Harper was awe-inspiring. Wonderful, too.

But it marked her out from her sisters. Trepidation tiptoed in.

Constance rounded the corner, and saw the outline of the unit where she lived. If the mating was successful, she’d have to leave it. All babyfused women were moved into communityplace to allow Sisterland to care for them during the danger period, when babydefusion was most likely. The babydefusion rate was running at fifty per cent during the first three weeks. And even women whose babies survived that critical phase had only a one in two chance of carrying their precious cargo to term. But at that moment, she didn’t care if mating would lead to babyfusion or not. All she cared about was Harper.

In the courtyard, a shape moved. Constance could distinguish a woman holding an egglight which illuminated a strip of chiffon round her neck. The red cloth stood out vividly, as a fresh scar shows against flesh.

At Constance’s footsteps, the stranger called out, “I know you! You’re her other! Silence’s other!”

“Who are you?”

“You’re Constance. I recognise you. You’re the one remaining link to Silence.”

She slid two fingers into her mouth and let out a whistle. An answering whistle bounced back. Two figures sprinted into view, panting from exertion through the clammy air. They, too, wore lengths of a sheer, red material at their necks and carried egglights.

“Is it her?” called one.

“Yes,” said the first. “It’s Silence’s other.”

Reverent, their attention converged on her.

One of them found her voice. “Tell us about Silence. You must have learned so much from her.”

“Silence has gone,” said Constance.

“Sister, she’s here.”

“No, she discontinued.”

“She hasn’t discontinued. She’ll go on forever.”

“Who are you?”

“We’re the Silenced. We live to honour her.”

Questions began to rain down on Constance.

“Why did she do it?”

“Did her babyfusion cause her pain?”

“What was her message for us?”

Bewildered, she made no effort to answer them. Until a question shook her.

“Is it true she turned against Sisterland?”

“Silence loved Sisterland,” Constance protested.

“But she chose nothingness above Sisterland. Why?” 

Constance pushed past them, towards the communal front door. On the step lay a pile of red flowers, all shades of the colour, from flame through to a burgundy-black. Some were withered, but the flowers on top were fresh blooms. She raised her comtel for admission, braced to press the alarm button if the women followed. But they stayed put. Watching.

Inside her twoser, she went to the window to check on them. The three were directly below, watching for her. She activated the blankout on both windows. Rattled, she turned on her entscreen, flicking through the menu selection. She had a choice between two worthy options: the Steadfast City Orchestra performing works by a selection of Sisterland’s composers, or a documentary about Beloved’s tour of all the belts. She plumped for the tour. It was relentlessly uplifting, even in Black Particle, home to Safe Space and little else. Sisterland consisted of many territories, from snow-capped peaks to valleys with lakes, yet Constance’s knowledge of them was theoretical. In Steadfast, the climate was cooler, and people could run without breaking into an immediate sweat. Righteous had hot springs, where sisters could bathe outdoors all year round. She knew this from the entscreen. She would like to know it from experience.

Constance switched off halfway through Beloved’s grand tour.

She woke late, and for a few moments of drowsy joy imagined herself still in matingplace, due to see Harper later that day.
But her surroundings revealed themselves, and
disappointment replaced anticipation.

Remembering the Silenced, she levered herself out of her pop-up and steered for the window, raising the blankout. They were multiplying. Below stood a group of six women, each wearing a scarlet scarf. They gestured when they saw her. Constance closed the blankout, and pressed the icon on the contact console that connected her with the unit-minder.

“Greetings, sister. Those women outside. How long have they been waiting?”

“Greetings, sister. Last night made five nights. They’re obsessed with your other. I told ’em she was ordinary. But they won’t believe me. They pounce on any snippet about her.”

“Do the peers know?”

“Sure do. Been here checking. But as long as they don’t make a nuisance of themselves, nothing to be done. They ain’t breaking any directives.”

“Aren’t they causing a disturbance?”

“By talking about Silence? By leaving flowers on the doorstep? Mind you, some of the residents are unhappy about the flowers. They say it’s disrespectful. Smacks of the flowers left at Beloved’s feet. They drop ’em off at the Hope Bridge, too. Always red. Like their bows.”

“What’s behind those red scarves?”

“Something to do with remembering Silence. They’ve decided to turn her into something she wasn’t, and there ain’t a thing to be done about it. Ignore ’em, and they’ll find something else to fix on. That’s what I’d do in your shoes, Constance.”

There was no food in the twoser, and she had missed breakfast at the dine-all attached to the unit. She’d have to go to an eat-easy. Constance didn’t want to pass the Silenced, but there was no way to avoid them. She washed, dressed, attached her skin, and stepped outside, past a leaning pyramid of flowers. They were multiplying, too. Conversation among the Silenced ceased. She lowered her head and advanced towards them, through air with the consistency of yoghurt.

The questions began again.

“Did she have a favourite scent?”

“Is it true she read poetry?”

“Had she chosen a name for her child?”

Blocked by a tall woman, Constance stopped. “Why are you here?” she asked.

The woman put her hand on Constance’s shoulder. “We’re here because we love her, sister. We’re ready to do whatever she’d want.”

Constance shook her off and pushed past, perspiration making her neck itch. Already, she was longing to be indoors to remove her skin. They followed her to the courtyard perimeter, and stopped. She hardly dared to believe they wouldn’t pursue her, but nobody went as far as the eat-easy. At least she could breakfast in peace. They’d have been within their rights to sit at the next table and continue peppering her with questions. The Silenced must want to stay by the twoser. Perhaps they fancied themselves closer to Silence there. We love her, the tall sister had said. Constance gave a loud sniff. How could they love Silence when they had never met her?

From her seat in the easy, watching the cloud banks swim apart and reform above the river, Constance considered love. Once, she’d have said she loved Silence. But the clamour that Harper raised in her – now that was love. It was inconvenient. A love without hope. But there it was. Love couldn’t be corralled or directed or suffocated. It blossomed in spite of everything. What an astonishing, liberating, intoxicating moe it was.

Even when she knew it was a transgressive love.

She had reacted to losing Silence with puzzlement, regret and something chiming with loss. But losing Harper was a physical pain. Was it possible there were sisters who felt the same about men, and hid it, as she was obliged to do?

A few more days, to know him better – she’d have liked that. Imagine being with him in his forest. Trees as far as the eye could see, with Harper as their caretaker. Nobody truly owned them, he said. No matter how many decrees the Nine issued about forest maintenance.

His descriptions filled her mind. The tame warbler with white eye-rings and a bobbing tail, which snatched crumbs from his hand. The family of foxes he watched at night, emerging from their lairs to forage. The baby fawn he’d chanced across, dappled coat camouflaging it from predators – the doe had left it behind while she hunted for food. Cool air scented by nature, not artifice – air which didn’t claw at the throat, or clog the nostrils.

Constance shook her head to clear it. Ten hours, they had spent together. Ten hours to last a lifetime.

She left the eat-easy and dawdled back to her twoser. Once inside the courtyard, she had to pick up her pace to run the gauntlet of the Silenced, now swollen to fourteen. The stack of red flowers by the door was waist-high.

One of the Silenced tailed her to the door. “Is it true Silence chose the Hope Bridge for a reason?”

“I don’t know why she did it there. I don’t know anything. Please go away.”

“It’s the highest bridge in Harmony. She wanted to be seen. That’s why she jumped from it. She did it for us – to tell us something.”

“What was she telling you?”

The woman whispered, “Some of us have doubts about Sisterland. But nobody dares to speak them. We were alone with our fears. Till Silence brought us together. Her doubt allows us to doubt.”

Constance hurried indoors. But the woman’s words pursued her. She felt herself pulled to the window to see what the Silenced were doing. A young woman wearing a flimsy strip of red was approaching the entrance with a bunch of tulips, a serrated strain. She laid them on top of the pile and stood with her head bowed.

On impulse, Constance went along the corridor to the communal door.

“I’ll take those inside, if you like,” she said. “I can put them in water. For Silence.”

For a moment, the girl was too tongue-tied to respond. Then the words came galloping. “Yes, please. I pray to her. To Silence. Instead of Beloved.” 

Constance looked at the tulips. Already, their heads were open and they were starting to bend at the waist. They wouldn’t last. Even so, their scent filled her nostrils. Gently, she said, “She can’t answer your prayers, sister. She was only a woman.”

“Silence?”

Constance was about to agree. But a shocking thought fountained through her mind, causing her to drop the flowers.

Not only Silence, but Beloved. Both just women.

It was the seventh day after mating and time for Constance to be tested for babyfusion. It could be detected at this stage, and Sisterland needed to know immediately so that precautions could be attempted against babydefusion.

Constance keyed into her comtel for instructions, and read that she was expected at a clinic close to the Tower. No appointment necessary. She might as well go straight over. Babyfusion was unlikely, after a single mating, but the test was mandatory.

She thought about lobbing some information at the Silenced as she passed by. “She never ate breakfast.” Or “Pale blue was her favourite colour.” But she shouldn’t encourage them. Instead, she waved, as though they were work colleagues she hadn’t time to chat with, and kept moving. There were at least twenty outside her twoser now, never without their gauzy red scarves and egglights. Keeping vigil.

There was no need to pass the Tower to reach the clinic. But Constance did it anyway, impelled by a need to be where Harper was, even if she couldn’t see him. She fixed her attention on the door for a few moments, motivated by the same hunger with which the Silenced watched her window. Had they docked his food rations? Put him in solitary confinement? Surely Charity and her stifstat wouldn’t have been let loose on him! She willed loving thoughts through the walls, to wherever he was in the building.
I’m thinking of you, Harper. Are you thinking of me?
Nobody went in or out. By and by, she turned her steps towards the clinic.

There were six women ahead of her. None of them had babyfused. Each one tried to remain detached, but was clearly disappointed. When her turn came, the medico was chilly as she accepted Constance’s urine sample. But, after testing it, her demeanour became animated.