About Sisterland (17 page)

“Congratulations, Constance 500. Sisterland is proud of you. I’m gratified to report babyfusion. All being well, you’ll be a source in three months.”

Wide-eyed, Constance gasped, “Babyfused? Already? Are you sure?”

“We don’t make mistakes about babyfusion.” Seamlessly, she corrected herself. “We don’t make mistakes about anything in Sisterland. Now, here’s a pill to override the old nine-month timetable. It might leave you a little nauseous for a week. If that happens, switch to high-calorie liquids. There’s a special range for babyfused sisters, available free as soon as I send through notification. I’ll do it at once. Your new status will be registered on your sig later today.”

“But what if it doesn’t . . . I mean, what if I defuse?”

“Statistically, the odds are against you becoming a source, unfortunately. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, you’re babyfused. Well done.”

“I only mated once,” Constance blurted out.

“Really? You must be exceptionally fertile. Lucky, too, to get a result so quickly. You ought to swallow that pill right away. It has to be taken as soon as babyfusion is confirmed. Your body needs to begin the fast-forward. You don’t want to drag round in a babyfused condition for nine months!”

While the medico stood over her, Constance chewed the fuchsia-pink pill. It tasted bitter.

“There now, you’re on the way. Your system will need eight hours to process that.” While she was speaking, the medico delved into a box, and lifted out some tubes. “There’s a little turbulence initially, while the pill adjusts your body’s rhythms, but you’ll be glad of it only lasting thirteen weeks, I promise you. Hard to believe PS women used to have forty-week gestations. What were their scientists thinking of? I could see it being kept if success rates were higher, but it just seemed to allow more time for things to go wrong.” She set the tubes in front of Constance. “From tonight, you should start taking these protein poppers twice a day. You’re going to be ravenous – the poppers will help to fill you. It’s essential you remember to take them. I always advise sources to set an alert on their comtels. Just till they get the habit. I must warn you: if you miss a couple of days, your motor skills will begin to shut down. Fast-forward babyfusion is a wonderful advance – but it can take a toll on women’s bodies.” She smiled. “Congratulations again, sister. I haven’t had a babyfusion for months – I was starting to think I was jinxed.”

“When do I move into communityplace, sister?”

The medico’s face tightened – even the skin couldn’t disguise it. “That may not be happening, sister.”

Constance was bewildered. “But don’t all babyfused women spend their first weeks in one? I thought it helped to prevent babydefusion.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss this, sister. Be patient. Information will be sent thorough to your comtel as soon as you need to know it. Rest assured, Sisterland has your best interests at heart.”

In a dream state, Constance made her way home. Still dazed, she passed through a throng of the Silenced, impervious to their clamour. Inside her twoser, she operated the blankouts on the windows, and collapsed into the pop-up. But she lay awake on it, staring at the ceiling. Loss kept reconfiguring her life. First she had lost Silence. Then Harper. And now she was carrying a child she was destined to lose. Even if she didn’t babydefuse, her child would be taken from her. After a year with her, the baby would go to girlplace.

How did Sisterlanders live with the loss? Why did nobody talk about it?

Chapter 14

Staccato pips from her comtel woke Constance. A message, coded urgent, was flashing. 
SM wishes to see you.
 SM was the Shaper Mother. Could she know about the babyfusion already? Constance had hoped to hug it to herself for a little while. But she supposed the medicos must report every successful mating. They were rare enough to attract attention – babyfusion wasn’t a secret she could be allowed to keep.

Constance splashed water on her face, and sailed out past the Silenced. Wanting to share her good luck, she called as she passed, “Silence hiccupped when she laughed. She had freckles on her hands. She liked to daydream – she said it wasn’t time wasted, but time invested.”

Waiting for a Buzz, her sig caught her attention. Pinkification had vanished – she was no longer licensed for Himtime. Instead, a dark-blue circle had been added. It represented babyfusion. Constance laid her fingertip on the new symbol, wondering what Harper was doing right then. Wishing she could share the news with him. What a persistent presence he was, even though she had to accept him as absent from her life. Still, she liked to think of Harper living under the same sky above her.

Please don’t let him be blamed for the blindfold, she thought. And if he has to be punished, let it be over now.

She boarded a Buzz, and looked at the women seated nearby. Some were with their others. Everyone knew t
he other system was more sophisticated than inter-gender pairing,
and relationships were on a higher plane now. Yet Harper was the one she’d choose to have sitting here beside her on the Buzz. Except, as he had reminded her in matingplace, men weren’t allowed on the Buzz.

To distract herself from anti-Sisterland thoughts, Constance looked out of the window. All about her, the city unfolded. Viewed from the Buzz that morning, it sparkled with promise. Buildings reared up like icebergs, their mirrored glass frontages shivering with pale colours. Sisterland was a place of beauty, she reminded herself.

Quick as lightning came another thought. Harper would call it a false beauty.

A few stops away from the Eternity Square station, a stitch in her side transfixed Constance, the physical pain jolting her system. Hunger pangs, but on a scale she had never experienced before. Belatedly, she realised she hadn’t taken her protein popper the night before, or this morning. She scrabbled in a pocket for the packet, pressed the seal, and an orange pill tipped into her hand. Its outer coating was powdery, yet it didn’t dissolve, and she found she couldn’t swallow it.

“Sister, you’ll never manage that without water,” said the passenger opposite. “I remember those pills – don’t miss having to take them.”

“I don’t have any.” Constance doubled up, another hunger spasm overtaking her.

The woman produced a water tube. “Have this. You can’t afford to miss those poppers. Your body isn’t your own for thirteen weeks. Babyfusion gobbles you up.”

Constance swallowed a pill. It took effect quickly and, as soon as she was able, she tapped in a twice-daily reminder on her comtel. She’d have to be vigilant about those poppers.

By the time she reached her stop, she was capable of disembarking. She rested on a bench, before joining the flow of foot traffic into Eternity Square. Yet more beauty, she thought, at the spectacle of splintering light beams from the mirrored wings above Shaperhaus. But could it truly be beauty if it was sterile? It surprised her to realise just two weeks had passed since she was last at Shaperhaus. So much had happened. Back then, she lived in the same world as Harper – but their lives hadn’t touched. Now, they were connected forever.

Constance reported directly to her progress-monitor. “The Shaper Mother has sent for me.”

A speculative expression flitted across Patience’s face. It was clear she wanted to ask Constance what it was about, but couldn’t presume – not when it concerned the Shaper Mother.

“You’re popular upstairs, aren’t you? Well, go on up, if she’s expecting you.”

In the Shaper Mother’s outer office, her assistant Modesty was studying rotas. “You’d need eyes in the back of your head to keep track of the shapers on location,” she said. “Her majesty awaits you.”

As before, the Shaper Mother was seated on her ersatz throne. This time, however, her customary composure was absent. Her fingers tugged at a bead on her shawl, and Constance had the impression her analytical mind was unpicking a problem.

“Sweet child, how rested you look. More peaceful, I think. Sit.” She turned her hand palm outward, and indicated a footstool. “You mated successfully, I believe?”

So, the medico had passed along her results. Constance took the seat, but pulled it back as far as she dared. The Shaper Mother’s lemongrass scent was making her nauseous. “Yes, I’m babyfused, mother.”

“Splendid. Time will tell if it leads to a baby. We must hope for the best. Have you taken your pills yet?”

“I took one yesterday to speed up babyfusion. And now I’m on the protein poppers.”

Fingers heavy with rings propped up the Shaper Mother’s chin. “I had a report from the Mating Mother in the Tower. She levels a serious accusation against you.”

Constance moistened her lips, her defence rehearsed already in her mind. “I admit it, I kissed a meet. I heard it improved success rates.”

“That’s not all you did.”

“It was an accident. The Mating Mother is mistaken if she thinks I did it deliberately. There was another incident at the Tower – a guest became hysterical and caused a disturbance. She had to be removed. Naturally, the Mating Mother was out of sorts about this episode. But it may have caused her to jump to the wrong conclusions in my case.”

“She didn’t mention an overexcited guest. You could be right about it colouring her view of what happened. I wonder . . .” Tap-tap, went the Shaper Mother at Constance’s mind
.

Constance had a wall erected round it.

The mother sat back, and adjusted her rings. “You’ve babyfused – you won’t be going back to matingplace. I think we can afford to take a lenient view of this.”

“Mother, may I ask a question?”

“Certainly.”

“At the clinic, I was expecting to be given details about moving into communityplace. But the medico suggested there may be a change of policy.”

“That’s right, sweet child. Studies show the communityplace system doesn’t affect babydefusion rates, after all. It turns out that babyfused women are just as safe in their own homes, provided they’re sensible. You see? The Nine listens to sisters. Especially to sisters engaged in such a patriotic enterprise. They never took to communal living, and their voices have been heard.”

“All the women I met in matingplace expected to be sent to communityplace.”

“They’ll be pleasantly surprised. Are you questioning the Nine’s decisions?”

“Of course not, mother.” In fact, it was a reprieve.

“I should hope not. Now, I have a mission for you: you’re needed to interchange a memory-keeper’s memories.”

“I understood I was off the co-keeping programme, mother. You said I had to concentrate on babyfusing, and moe-suppression.”

“This is a one-off assignment. The memory-keeper is extremely old and in poor health. Medicos are keeping her pain-free. But they don’t expect her to continue much longer. She has one last nook of memory to release before she discontinues. We know it’s there, stored in her memory banks, but we haven’t been able to persuade her to share it. Until now.”

“Which one is she?”

“She’s our oldest keeper, Honour 1020. She visited Shaperhaus shortly after you were admitted as a trainee shaper, and gave a talk to your class. Afterwards, you spoke to her about a PS poet called” – the mother consulted her comtel – “Emily Dickinson. That’s why she’s latched on to you. Odd, of course, but we must indulge her. She deserves our kindness and respect.”

Constance recalled a memory-keeper’s visit in her second week at Shaperhaus. She had no recollection of talking to her about Emily Dickinson, yet it sounded plausible. Silence had enjoyed Dickinson’s work, and sometimes she’d share her observations.

“Watch those facial expressions, sweet child. You’ll pucker,” the Shaper Mother reproved.

Automatically, Constance relaxed her muscles, but an impassive face left her no less puzzled. Even if they had discussed a poet, why would the keeper ask for her? She had been unexceptional: one among many students.

“Mother, I haven’t interchanged a keeper’s memory on my own. I’ve only done it under observation in class. What if I mess up?”

“Just remember the Triple E methodology you were taught: empathise, extract and exude. You become the memory. Immerse yourself in detail. Nothing is too trivial: details combine to form a mosaic. Live the experience along with her. And take possession of it when she finishes. You’re a quick learner: I have every confidence in you.”

“I’ll do my best, mother. Should I go to her now?”

“Do, indeed, there’s no time to be lost. It’s peculiar, Constance – all her life, Honour was a model sister, but on this matter she never budged. She refused to describe what it was like growing up in a cake shop. It’s my belief some residual loyalty to her early years prevented her from discussing it. Because of Sisterland’s view on cakes, you see. We’d sooner license euthanasia shops than cake shops. But now, with the medicos telling her it’s only a matter of days, she has conceded. It’s heartening to see her deep-rooted loyalty to Sisterland assert itself: even at the end, still keen to be of assistance. With her final breath, you might say.”

Constance had never eaten cake, and its absence was no hardship.

The Shaper Mother’s voice bisected her thoughts. “Honour will be a loss to Sisterland. But her memories will be preserved and studied.”

“But why should we want to preserve her memory of something as harmful as a cake shop, mother? Wasn’t sugar added to cakes? Surely these cakes would have made people obese?”