Juno of Taris (7 page)

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Authors: Fleur Beale

BOOK: Juno of Taris
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I hoped Leebar would let me off my swimming lesson, but I should have known better. She was waiting for me at home, marched me off down the track and together we scrambled down the cliff. I dived into the water and swam. She wasn’t pleased with me. ‘Your arms and legs are all over the place today, Juno. Get into the mindspace, child. It’ll do you good.’

I trod water, one hand on the rock she sat on. ‘My head hurts.’

She laughed. ‘Yes, I expect it does. It’ll do you good to exercise.’

So. No mercy from my grandmother. I gave in and bent my energies to powering through the water. I did feel better. I was surprised. I swam out and back from the rock twice. ‘Much better!’ She clapped her hands.

After three more laps, she leaned down and helped me out of the water. ‘Well done, Juno. I’m proud of you.’ She handed me a towel and we went home to eat.

 

The next day, my parents went to the Gene Centre to choose the parents of the baby. I was to go too, but only after my swimming lesson. Leebar was adamant. ‘It’ll take them forever to decide. You’ll be truly bored by the time they finally make up their minds.’

So I swam, and I swam well, fuelled by the knowledge that Leebar would keep me at it until she was satisfied I’d given my best. I was impatient to get to the Gene Centre. What if they chose the parents before I had a chance to see the place, to go somewhere different – somewhere I was never normally allowed to go?

But they hadn’t. They glanced up when I rushed in, smiled and went back to listening to the transponders they held in their hands.

Trebe came in. ‘Greetings, Juno. This is indeed a happy occasion.’

I smiled at her. Everyone was pleased for my parents – maybe that was what had finally made the Governance Companions decide in their favour.

She handed me a transponder. ‘There are two hundred males on file, and one hundred and forty-six females. You can listen to each statement, or you can speak the key words you want.’ She glanced at my parents, intent on the voices in their headphones. ‘Take as long as you want. As many days as you need.’

It was kind of her to give me the same instructions that she would have given my parents, for we both knew that the decision would not be mine. She left us alone, and I looked at the transponder. It was the old-fashioned kind that still had the script function. I pressed the button and turned the voices into the magic of written words that glowed on the screen. I turned slightly so that my parents couldn’t see what I was doing.

I began to read. All those words! Words that meant something, words that told stories of people from long ago, from far away, from Outside. It took me some time to get used to the script, for it was so different from Grif’s large printing. These words were small and even and didn’t have to wobble their way over bumps on the page. Many of the words I hadn’t seen before. I was slow at reading but I only switched to the voice function when I couldn’t work out what a word was.

I didn’t bother reading further in a Hope Statement if it said something like ‘my child will contribute to the good of humankind. My genes may one day save the world.’ (‘Genes’. How interesting. I hadn’t thought the word would be written with a G.) I didn’t want a sister who had to save the world. It was tricky enough to keep this one going.

Alas, it seemed as though every scientist who’d contributed to the gene pool had wanted the same thing: to produce a child who would save the world.

I paused in my reading and stared out the high windows, up to the roof of our world. If the world had so badly needed saving, then perhaps it was all dead Outside. I straightened my back. Well, this sister was going to be born whatever had happened to her biological parents Outside, so I might as well use my time here to read and read and read. At least I was learning many new words – words that I’d heard but had never seen in their written form.

I found something interesting at Female Hope Statement 53. There were words in it I couldn’t work out:
laughter, created, Pacific
. I switched to the voice function and listened to a voice that was light and brimming with laughter but underlined with a dark glimmer of sadness.

 

I want a child of mine to have laughter in his or her life.
I want so much for my child. I wish I could have a baby
myself, but I won’t bring a child into a world that seems
bent on self-destruction. An island created in the image of
a Pacific island makes my heart leap again for joy. I
haven’t felt joy in a long time.
 

 

Her name was Margaretta Anders and she’d worked as a researcher. Her job had been to find a way of controlling the viruses that were sweeping the world and killing millions as they went. I liked her. I could love her daughter. 

I switched to reading the Male Hope Statements. Finding Margaretta gave me hope that I might find a man I liked.

The first few statements didn’t encourage me. Not one of them spoke to my heart. Then I read Statement 13.

I’d like a kid of mine to live in clean air. I’d like her

for some reason I’d like a daughter

to be able to dig in
the earth, plant things and not worry what effect the
genetic tomfoolery would have on her.

Tomfoolery. What a great word.

If this island is the way of the future, I’d like to think
that my genes would dance to a tune unsingable in the
world as it has become. I’d like them to make a few
ripples. Go get ’em, kid.

Well! That was surely different! I glanced at my parents. They probably hadn’t bothered listening past the tomfoolery word. Nobody on Taris would choose such a father for their child. Poor man. But he would never know that his genetic material had been wasted. I read his details. He was called Derrick Api and he was a nuclear chemist with an interest in storytelling. How strange that his genes had ended up here, where we did not tell our stories. My heart ached for him, for Margaretta and for me.

I read on. I didn’t like any of the other Hope Statements, but never again would I have such a chance to read the written script. I would not squander it.

Trebe poked her head around the door. ‘Time to leave for the meeting.’ She laughed as we stared at her in astonishment. It couldn’t be that late.

Mother put down her transponder. ‘Goodness, already? And we’ve forgotten to eat. Are you hungry, Juno?’

A growl from my stomach answered her and we laughed. Trebe handed us sandwiches. ‘I brought these for you. People generally forget the time when they come to choose.’

We ate as we walked to the arena. I scanned the stage; there were no death flowers. I joined my learning stratum and sat down beside Brex. Silvern leaned across her and Paz to say, ‘I hope you’re remembering to choose compliance.’

‘I’ve remembered,’ I said. ‘And I thought of you and remembered to choose kindness as well.’ That shut her up.

The meeting began. We stood, said the Pledge and sang the
Song of Taris
. People gave reports: Sarl told us there would be fish for our meals on Sunday; my grandfather Bazin said the flax was ready for harvest. I stopped listening and instead let my mind wander.

We walked home and we didn’t discuss the meeting. Our heads were too full of Hope Statements, and my mind spun with the wonder of written words that told of real people and their stories. 

Have you heard? The Governance computer system is malfunctioning.
 

 

Have you heard? Trebe says Roop’s baby should be born in twelve weeks and four days.

 

Have you heard? Sina is weaving a shawl for Roop’s baby. She says it helps her get over the disappointment of not being chosen to have the new baby.
THE CHOOSING

I
t was late on Friday afternoon before my parents made their final choices. The man they had chosen was called Ahmed and the woman was Sarah. I handed my transponder back to Trebe and put away my thoughts of Derrick and Margaretta.

Trebe smiled at us. ‘Think about the traits you want to enhance for this child, and we will begin her journey on Monday.’

We went home, my parents laughing and chatting, spreading the news as we went.

‘Ah ha!’ the people answered. ‘We’ll have the choosing feast tonight.’ And they passed the word on.

At home, Dad and I ended up preparing and packing the food because Mother kept smiling and stopping what she was doing. I took the bread from her hands. ‘Sit over there, Mother.’ We’d get on much faster without her scatterbrained help.

She seemed to float rather than walk as we made our way to the school courtyard. All the community was there, sitting on mats and opening their picnic baskets. We joined my grandparents and we had to nag at Mother to eat. ‘You must eat,’ Grif told her. ‘Your body has to be in tiptop condition for the implantation and that’s only a few days away.’

That got through to her and she ate a proper meal.

Just as darkness fell, the seven of us walked up the steps at the front of the buildings. Lif, who was the electrical engineer, was there with a transponder. He handed it to Mother. ‘It’s already connected to the speakers. Just key in the parents when you’re ready.’

She took it, smiling at him. The ceremony began. First, my grandmothers placed leis over my parents’ heads – yellow hibiscus for Dad and pink frangipani for Mother. Then they handed me a bouquet of tiny, sweet-scented roses.

Mother grasped the transponder in both hands and spoke the words of the announcement ceremony. ‘Friends, we have chosen with great care. We have kept in our minds the welfare and happiness of our community.’ She keyed in the numbers for the father. His voice floated through the speakers; first he gave his bio and then his Hope Statement. I listened to his voice and mourned for what could have been. Derrick and this man, Ahmed, would not like each other I felt certain. Fragments of Ahmed’s speech chased around in my head:
A mathematician … logic … the world needs
order… self-discipline … these dark days …

My sister’s biological father was to be an uptight, depressed mathematician.

Dad took the transponder. ‘My friends, I invite you to listen to the woman from whose genes our next citizen will come.’

The woman’s voice was strong and light. It fell gently into the ears of the silent listeners. In essence, she explained that she was an astronaut who believed that the way to heal the world was to breed from the fittest and most able citizens. She didn’t want to interrupt her career by breeding herself, but she knew her genes were of the highest quality and wanted them passed on.

The people applauded. I smiled and applauded too. Sarah and Ahmed. Not Derrick and Margaretta.

My sister’s genetic parents should have married because they would suit each other admirably. I held my choices in my mind. I would remember them one day when I was bored to tears by my sister and I would tell her what she could have been.

Fisa came up the steps. She faced the people. ‘Friends – Sheen and Zanin have chosen wisely. Do you all agree to support and love this new child?’

The people rose to their feet. ‘We do. We will support and love this child, our newest citizen of Taris.’

All weekend, people congratulated my parents on their choices. I made sure I kept clear of Silvern.

On Monday, after the work hour, the three of us returned to the Gene Centre where Trebe guided my parents through the first stages of my sister’s existence. First they keyed in the parents: Male 179 and Female 84. They enhanced the characteristics they had chosen: compliance, intelligence, conformity, serenity, kindness, diligence, altruism and the logical, scientific part of her brain.

‘Are you going to enhance the questioning ability?’ I asked. Poor kid, she’d implode with all the junk they’d loaded on her.

Mother shook her head decisively. ‘No. We will not make it difficult for her to live on Taris.’ She smiled at me.

Trebe reassured me. ‘All the traits are compatible, Juno. Don’t fret – your sister will be a wonderful person.’

Silvern would adore her.

Trebe said, ‘When you’re ready, push the activation key, and your daughter will be on her way.’

My parents held hands and together pushed the key Trebe had indicated – and the building shook.

An earthquake. We stood, staring at each other. Should we run? Get under a table? Before we could decide, a rumble, a thud and then a shrieking bellow of pain sounded from outside the building. The three adults raced for the door. I took two steps to follow them, then stopped. I glanced at the computer my parents had used to choose my sister’s genes. Could I? Dare I? There was no one here. I darted to the computer, my hands poised over the keyboard. The Governance Companions would kill me if they discovered what I was about to do. It didn’t stop me. I keyed in Male 13 and Female 53. Derrick and Margaretta. I jabbed at the activation key. There! It was done. There would be two embryos. Would they let Mother have twins? Would they suspect? Would they question Trebe, ask her if anyone could have tampered with the technology? Oh, what had I done? And what would happen if the embryo was male?

If only I could turn back the clock – thought before action. I groaned and scanned the computer. There might be some way of undoing what I’d just done, but there wasn’t time. I had to get out of here.

I ran for the door. I must appear normal. If I let guilt show on my face, everyone would guess why as soon as Trebe discovered that there were two embryos.

That girl is dangerous. I’ll have to …
But the scene outside was enough to give my thoughts a different direction. Aspa lay on the ground between the steep slope of the mountain and the Gene Centre, rolling from side to side. He groaned and clutched at his shoulder. Blood ran from a gash.

I stopped, my hands covering my mouth as I took in the scene. There was so much blood. He must surely be dying. Trebe was kneeling beside him, speaking quietly. I heard her say, ‘Get Creen. Tell her to bring the first aid bag,’ but she didn’t take her eyes off what she was doing.

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