About Sisterland (6 page)

Constance had only to look around Harmony to see that different types of love existed between others: for some there was passion, while for some there was companionship. She would have liked to experience the sort of ardour she observed elsewhere with Silence, but it had never kindled. There had been no clamour inside her at Silence’s presence. Wanting to love someone wasn’t enough. Love could not be summoned at will. Even Sisterland’s scientists had stopped trying to manipulate it.

“Goodwill is fond of you, Constance,” said Devotion. “Because of me. But for your own sake, as well. Try to appreciate her.” She squeezed in beside her daughter on the window seat. “She’s known you all your life,. She takes such trouble over those handmade birthday cards she paints for you every year.”

“I like them,” Constance conceded.

“She was offered the opportunity to switch to thought-mending recently. It would have been a sensible move – it’s less pressurised. But she said she had no appetite for it.”

“I don’t blame her.” Constance shuddered.

“It’s necessary work. Someone has to fix all those wrong or broken thoughts – they’re like a disease, they hurt the thinker. Repairing cracked thoughts is a humane act.”

“But what if they’re just different thoughts, not damaged ones? What if this is about control rather than compassion? Besides, if everyone sticks to safe, authorised thoughts, we might never get exciting, break-through thoughts to help us make progress.”

“What progress? Sisterland is a paradise.”

“A paradise? When we’re told what to work at. Where to live. What to eat. We’re even told when to mate.”

“You’re fault-finding for the sake of it. All of us love our work. And there’s always a choice of menu in the dine-all.”

“Yes, and it’s always wholesome. Haven’t you ever wanted to cook your own meal?”

“Certainly not! It’s time-consuming drudge work. Constance, I’m concerned by your attitude. You must watch out for negativity. If you’re not careful, you’ll tip over into a downward spiral. You have a responsibility to think positive thoughts – we all do.”

“But positivity can be monotonous and monochrome, Devotion.”

“Stop this at once, ladybird! I won’t listen to another word. Oh dear, I blame myself. I shouldn’t have given you that second glass of wine.” Devotion knotted her hands. “I wish Goodwill was here, she’d know what to say. This is about Silence, isn’t it? What happened was ghastly. I know you looked up to her – she had so many gifts. Even if she had trouble coping. It’s too bad that wasn’t spotted sooner. The thought-menders could have recalibrated her mind. It would have been better for Silence, and better for you. It was a mistake to let you have such a young other. Best practice calls for at least a twenty-year age-gap.”

“There was more than a decade between us. She had experience I could draw on. Besides, we wanted to be others. It was our choice.”

“It can’t be all about compatibility. It has to be about suitability, too. The senior other has duties towards the younger one: she’s meant to guide her, and help her grow. How is throwing yourself off a bridge the act of a responsible mentor?”

Suppressed moe quivered between them, threatening to break through.

A door opened. Two heads swivelled towards Goodwill 524.

“Why, Constance, how lovely to see you!” She crossed the room and pressed her palms against the younger woman’s, before tugging off her skin.

“Don’t throw your skin on the chair, Goodwill, it’ll get knocked. Here.” Devotion held out a lacquer container.

Goodwill dropped in her skin, and Devotion rearranged it.

Goodwill started chattering, unconscious of the brittle atmosphere. Despite being a thought-crafter, she was devoid of any capacity to pick up on tension. Her skills were saved for the workplace. “I’m starving. I don’t suppose you know what’s on the menu, Devotion?”

“Twiced-up pie.”

“Yummy. Devotion always lets me have some of hers, Constance. No wonder I’m so well-upholstered.” Her laugh boomed. “I must have a cosmos bite to keep me going.” She disappeared round the corner, towards the food box, returning with a bulky bag. “Think I’ll have a triangular-shaped one – I always feel fuller after the triangles. No point in asking either of you to join me, I suppose. You gals don’t have my sweet tooth. Though you could use a few cosmos bites, Constance – you’re a bag of bones. And my gorgeous Devotion isn’t much better.” She squeezed her other’s shoulder, and Devotion laid a hand on top of hers. “A bird flew into a window in the laundry block,” Goodwill continued. “There’s a dreadful mess outside.”

Caged birds which managed to escape were invariably confused by the mirrored walls on buildings, and crashed almost as soon as they took to the air. Their taste of freedom was short. Yet life in a cage was brief, too. Constance had never been able to bring herself to own a bird. Once, Devotion had tried to buy a pair of doves as a gift for Goodwill, but she had refused point blank to accept them. At least she had that in common with Constance.

“Blood and feathers all over the ground,” Goodwill was saying.

Constance thought about what must have happened to Silence when she hit the ground. She never saw her other’s remains. The peers wouldn’t let her. But it didn’t stop her imagining how she looked. Constance swallowed. Goodwill and Devotion were swapping news, their words sounding fuzzy in her ears.

Constance stood up. “I need to go home.”

“What about lunch?” asked Devotion.

“Not hungry.”

“You have to eat, Constance.”

“I’ll pick up something later at an easy.”

Constance’s legs were heavy, carrying her downstairs. Skirting round the side of the laundry block, she saw a man clearing up the debris. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her looking at him, and his posture became deferential while his movements speeded up. She averted her gaze, reluctant to see bloodstains.

Near the Buzz station, Goodwill caught up with her.

“Devotion’s just told me. And you have no other to talk it over with. I know I’m a poor substitute for Silence. But if you have any questions, I’d be glad to answer them, Constance.”

“It’s OK. The Mating Board’s compiled a guide. I know what to expect. Everything you never knew you wanted to know about Himtime is in there. But thanks.”

“Is it still the rule you go to the nearest matingplace in your area? To avoid cherrypicking?”

Constance nodded. “I’m due at the Tower.”

“I know the Mating Mother there. She’s well regarded. She’ll look after you. Are you certain there’s nothing you’d like to ask me?”

Constance shook her head, unwilling to admit that what really troubled her about trying for babyfusion was the aftermath – how she might react. Imagine if she responded like Silence. What if she, too, felt compelled to climb up a Buzz viaduct and fling herself off?

“Good luck, my dear,” said Goodwill.

She hugged Constance and, for once, Constance didn’t pull away.

Chapter 5

On the Buzz home, Constance decided to buy an ovu-pen. Silence had used one, so Constance was familiar with the device. She hoped she might not be ovulating yet – maybe she had wriggle-room to wait a night or two. It didn’t seem too extravagant a wish. There was a medshop near her stop – she’d go there.

The medshop had a queue but Constance didn’t mind waiting. Through the window, she watched a sister in Harmony Parks’ livery polish the stones marking out the contours of a flowerbed.

After a few moments, a girl came to stand behind her.

“Excuse me, sister, is this where I can get an ovu-pen?”

“I hope so. That’s what I’m waiting for.”

“I’ve never used one. This is my first time at matingplace.”

“Me too,” said Constance.

The girl stepped closer. “If only we didn’t have to do it this way. I wish we could go back to artificial insemination.”

“It wasn’t working. Babyfusion figures were falling too fast.”

“So my other keeps reminding me. We have to think about the greater good. She says a woman and a meet actually doing it in real time doubles the success rates.” She swallowed. “And if that’s not bad enough, I heard they’d prefer us to have boy-babies rather than girls. Something to do with their stupid stats. Still,
Mustn’t Grumble
.” She quoted from
Beloved’s Pearls
.

“Can I help you, sister?” asked the medshop server.

Constance smiled at the girl, and turned away. “An ovu-pen, please.”

“Scan in your sig.”

Constance held up the back of her wrist to the console, and the pinkified
φ
symbol began to tremble. “A three-month permit has been uploaded to your account. You’ll need to apply for a full licence if you continue to seek babyfusion after the period elapses. User instructions are inside the ovu-pen.” She dropped one into a bag. “A temporary permit is extremely rare. You’re fortunate.”

Constance didn’t feel fortunate. “How many els, please?”

“No charge. You’re doing this for Sisterland.”

Back in her twoser, the ovu-pen confirmed that Constance was ovulating. Just as the Shaper Mother had said. No help for it but to present herself at matingplace. She could always treat it as a trial run, and bail out if she couldn’t go through with it tonight. Some women balked at the first attempt, according to the
Himtime
handout. It was forgivable, if a little weak-willed.

She remembered the girl in the medshop. She’d been right – boy-babies were preferable currently. Silence had told her so. Male numbers were dropping year on year, with the ratio 80:20 in women’s favour. To turn the tide, studies into interventions to stimulate male births were being carried out. But their results had not been made public.

The extent of the population imbalance would not have been known generally, except for a comtel malfunction which transmitted it to everyone in the second city, Righteous, Sisterland's most southerly metropolis, in Grey Disjoint. In turn, they told their Harmony sisters, in the middle of Sisterland, in Green Hyperreal. Who told their sisters in the northern city of Steadfast, in Brown Convolution. And so on. For damage limitation, the Nine sent out s
hapers, whose silkenspeak patter focused on roosters and broods of hens. “Look at the animal kingdom. The most economically efficient communities have
a large number of females and a few males,” they said. “This is an evolutionary stable strategy.” In the meantime, sperm was frozen. Yet despite the man shortage, and despite being told it was a selfless act to give birth to a boy-man, Sisterlanders continued to prefer daughters.

Constance showered, and patted transcendent gel over her face to protect it from drying out under her skin. Otherwise, there was a risk of faces becoming spongy. You saw it occasionally in forgetful sisters, but they only had themselves to blame. Next, she fell to considering which set of tunic and leggings to wear. Dresses were worn for ceremonial occasions, but she didn’t put mating in that bracket. She supposed her outfit ought to be something that wouldn’t get spoiled. At the thought of how it might get stained, she felt damp and overheated. But the obedience habit asserted itself, and she dressed quickly, pulling on her favourite boots – a long pair in stretchy mesh. Without stopping to check her appearance, she caught up her skin and left the twoser.

As she walked along, she stroked Silence’s moon charm for luck. It kept her company on the pavement decorated with seahorses and other fish that led to the Tower. And here she was already. A metal arm extended from the building, from which dangled a sign shaped like a castle. She supposed it was intended to appear inviting. The dome-shaped door opened, side-to-side in the old-fashioned way, and a woman drifted out into the night air. She looked dazed. An older woman stepped out from the doorway opposite, where she had been waiting, and led her away.

The door was still swinging on its hinges when Constance entered. Inside stood a young woman in the domino-checked tabard and tights of a medieval page.

“Good evening, sister. Welcome to the Tower. I’m Unity, your greeter. Identify yourself, please.”

“Constance 500.”

She consulted a screen. “We’ve been expecting you. Please sig in.”

Constance raised her hand, and the pinkified
φ
symbol on her inner wrist throbbed and became lambent. The greeter swiped an icon on the screen, and another woman approached, also in that anachronistic black-and-white uniform.

“This is our sister’s first time – make sure the Mating Mother knows,” said Unity. She turned back to Constance. “Be fertile, sister.”

The second woman led her along a hallway, as far as an imposing double staircase. Flurries of chatter and laughter gusted out from the right. Taken aback by the noise, uncharacteristic in Sisterland, Constance looked left – an inviting area of quiet.

But the attendant shook her head. “You don’t go there till later.”

“Is that where it happens?” asked Constance.

“Wait and see.” She pushed a button on the wall by the stairs, and a drawer slid out. It was blocked off into compartments, most of them containing a skin. “Check in your skin, please.” Constance unclasped it. “You’ll need to collect the skin again when you proceed to the mating floor. This way, sister. Here’s the readying room.”