by Phil Gilvin
Truth Sister
Phil Gilvin
Our great Ms Teacher taught this truth
The royal road to reproduce
Not Naturals, like beasts before us
With men to rape and so subdue us
Not gene-changed brutes by men designed
That way our end is all we’ll find
To bring forth girls there’s one way sure
It’s CLONING that will keep us PURE
– Edwina Codling, The Pinnacle of Evolution, 2129
Dull would she be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty.
– Dorothy Wordsworth, Composed upon
Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
Contents
Title Page
Epigraph
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Acknowledgements
Copyright
When she awoke that morning, Clara Perdue never thought she was going to betray a friend. She had other things on her mind: there was the Passing-Out that evening, of course. And, the school had been flooded.
The flood was the third that year, and once again London had been lucky. The Thames Barrier had held back the storm-surge, so that the flooding had come from the river itself, bloated after the recent rains with the run-off from half of southern Anglia. It had risen over the embankments, spreading as it went, and deposited a stinking layer of silt over roadways, pavements and lawns.
Next time there was a storm-surge, things might be different; but for now, people shrugged and began the clear-up. The river had forced its filth into houses, shops and offices alike, and people everywhere shovelled, salvaged and swept. Even the privileged pupils of the Academy had to help, which was why Clara had found herself swilling down the laundry-room all day.
‘It’s not fair,’ she moaned as she scrubbed at an especially gluey patch of mud with her broom. Her back ached, her tunic clung to her skin and her face ran with sweat. ‘I know we’ve all got to help,’ she went on, ‘but we’ve done our bit, haven’t we? They should get the third-years to finish off. We’ve got to get ready for this evening.’
‘Oh, come on, Clara.’ With a swing of her hips, Isabella Karah swept another wash of suds into the yard. ‘We’ll be finished by midnight.’
Amy Martin, plump and red-cheeked, looked up from her sweeping and mopped her forehead. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘I thought we were nearly done.’
‘I was joking,’ said Bella.
‘It’s not funny,’ said Clara. ‘I want to go and revise the Principles.’
‘Again?’ said Bella, swilling more soapy water over the tiles. ‘They’re only going to ask you one of them, you know. And we’ve all known them off by heart since first year.’
‘Yes, but what if they ask me the one I can’t remember? We’ve never had to recite them in front of half the school before. And then they’re going to tell us our results, in public, in front of everyone.’
‘Come on, Clara,’ said Amy, wheezing. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ve passed all your assignments this year. You’ve nothing to worry about.’
‘Yes, but I’ve told you – I need a first.’
‘Oh, you’ll be all right. A diploma from the Academy will get you a good job anywhere. Even if it’s only a pass.’
Clara threw down her broom. ‘I can’t be a Truth Sister without a first, stupid.’
‘Hey, hey,’ said Bella. ‘Steady on, Clara. Amy’s only trying to cheer you up.’
Clara hung her head. ‘Yeah. Sorry, Amy.’ She sighed, and bent to pick up her broom.
‘Did you get another letter?’ said Bella.
‘This morning,’ said Clara. ‘Aunt Grana tells me things are bad at the farm. If I get a good job I can send them money, to help. I’m just a bit – well, you know …’
‘It’s okay,’ said Amy. Now her breath was rasping and rattling, her face redder than ever.
‘Are you all right?’ said Clara.
‘Yeah. Just my asthma.’
Bella was scrubbing behind a cupboard. ‘You get it badly in the summer, don’t you?’
‘It’s the heat,’ said Amy. ‘And all this stink.’
‘Well,’ said Clara, ‘why don’t you rest for a bit? I’ve nearly finished this patch. Then I’ll come over and do yours.’
‘Oh, thanks, Clara,’ said Amy. She sat down and eased off her bracelet, rubbing at her wrist. ‘I’ll just sit for a minute, till I get my breath back.’
Clara and Bella worked on in silence, swilling down the floor and sweeping the mud into piles before shovelling it into a slimy heap in the yard.
‘I’m going to miss you two,’ said Amy. ‘And I don’t mean just ‘cause you let me have a rest when my asthma’s bad.’
‘Yeah,’ said Bella. ‘I’ll miss you girls too.’
‘I remember when I started here,’ said Amy. ‘Clara was my only friend then. I was so glad you were around.’
‘Oh,’ said Clara, blushing, ‘it’s okay. I mean, I needed friends, too.’
‘We’ve all looked out for each other, haven’t we?’ said Bella. ‘Like that time Amy persuaded old Johnson to let us off riding lessons.’
‘And like when we used to borrow Bella’s assignments,’ said Clara.
‘Yeah,’ Bella grinned. ‘Even when they had the wrong answers.’
Clara bent to shovel up some mud. ‘That’s your bit done, Amy,’ she said. ‘Anyhow, it’s not like we’re never going to see each other again. We’ll be back in London when we start work, whenever that is. You’ll still be in town, won’t you, Amy?’
Amy stood and stretched her back. ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘Mama’s got some job lined up for me in her chandlery. Making candles all day long. All government supply stuff.’
‘Just candles?’ said Clara.
‘No, not just candles,’ said Amy. ‘She sells other things, too. She says she’s got contacts, so she can get things the government wants. But they won’t let her put the prices up, even with the way oil’s gone these days, so she can’t afford to hire anyone. What am I going to do, work for free?’
‘Do you have to do what she says?’ said Clara.
‘No,’ said Amy slowly, ‘but I guess I should. And she has to work all day long, herself. She used to go to a lot of Sorority meetings, but she doesn’t have the time now.’
‘My mother used to go to those,’ said Bella. ‘All very earnest, she said. Faithfulness to the Republic. Big on purity.’
‘Yes, they are,’ said Amy, ‘but they do a lot of good stuff too. Mama used to help in a soup-kitchen sometimes.’
‘Is she coming tonight?’ asked Clara.
‘Yes. Said she wouldn’t miss the Passing-Out for the world. Did you say your mother can’t make it?’
Clara re
filled her pail from the tap. ‘Cor!’ she said. ‘The water doesn’t half stink. Er, yes. Got a message this morning. She’s got to go and haggle about the price of carrots or something. Can’t be helped, I suppose.’
‘Here.’ Amy picked up her own pail. ‘I’m a bit better now. Pass me that broom? But at least you won’t be the only one.’
‘Sorry?’ said Clara
‘The only one whose ma can’t come. Milly Souza’s mother is ill, and Jodie Parkinson says hers has never been bothered. How are you getting home?’
‘Oh,’ said Clara, ‘Mother’s arriving later. She’s staying at an inn, and she’ll send James to fetch me. But,’ she added with a shake of the head, ‘I do wish the Passing-Out was over.’
‘Me too,’ put in Bella.
‘I don’t mind,’ said Amy. ‘So long as we don’t have to quote any of Edwina Codling’s bloody poetry.’
Bella turned her head. ‘Someone’s coming.’
The door banged open and in strode a tall stork of a woman with protruding elbows: Medea Carrow, Deputy Head of the Academy and popular as a toothache.
‘Isabella Karah, Amy Martin,’ she snapped, ‘your mothers are here.’ Then she spotted Clara, still with a shovel in her hand.
‘What’s this, Perdue?’ she shrieked. ‘Haven’t you finished? You’ve been slacking again, haven’t you?’
‘No, Ma’am–’
‘You’re lazy, my girl – lazy. You’ve been that way since the day you got here. Can’t you put in some hard work, child, for once in your life?’
Clara stood open-mouthed.
‘Nothing to say, eh?’ sneered Carrow. ‘You two,’ she added without taking her eyes off Clara, ‘go and get changed – the Passing-Out starts at eight. As for you,’ she added, stabbing a finger at Clara, ‘I want this floor spotless, and everything tidied away.’
‘I have been working,’ Clara protested.
Carrow’s finger was an inch from Clara’s nose. ‘Dare answer me back, child,’ she hissed, ‘and you’ll be in trouble. I’ll be back in ten minutes – and this place had better be tidy.’ She bustled off, slamming the door behind her.
The three girls looked at each other.
‘That wasn’t very nice,’ said Bella.
‘Not very nice?’ said Amy. ‘It was awful.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Clara. ‘But she’s always been like that.’ She gestured at the door. ‘Carrow is one thing I’m not going to miss about the Academy. But you two had better get off – you’ll want to see your mothers.’
‘We’ll stay and help,’ said Bella. ‘Won’t we, Amy?’
‘No, really,’ said Clara. ‘You go on. It won’t take long.’
After they’d gone, Clara chucked three extra buckets of water over the floor then swept the whole lot out into the yard. It’d leave the place wet, but no-one would come this way for ages – and at least it was clean. Then she threw the brooms into the cupboard and lugged the pails into the yard, where they could dry. But as she reached the doorway, she found herself face to face with a boy.
A boy! Skinny and pale, with hair like straw, he hugged a loaf to his chest. Clara stared, then opened her mouth to shout.
‘Don’t,’ he croaked. ‘Don’t turn me in. Please.’
He shouldn’t have been there: the only males allowed in the Academy were the porters. Commoners like this one shouldn’t be anywhere near the place. And he was obviously stealing. Clara should have given him up, and if it had happened that morning, she would have done. But now she thought, why bother? Carrow could go stuff herself. ‘Go,’ she said, and went on stacking the pails.
There was a rattle, and she turned to see the boy disappearing over the top of the eight-foot gates that sealed off the yard. She held her breath, sure that he must have broken some bones in the drop. But after a minute she heard footfalls, dying rapidly away.
For a moment Clara forgot to worry about the Passing-Out – she’d have to tell Bella and Amy about this. A boy, in the Academy! They hadn’t had so much news since – well, since two days ago when they heard another storm-surge was coming. She locked the door.
As she passed through the damp-but-clean kitchen, she noticed Amy’s bracelet lying on the draining-board, where she’d left it. Amy had a room to herself, up in the attic where you could get more air coming through. Clara hauled herself up the three flights of stairs – she’d just have time to give Amy her bracelet, then she’d better get to her own room and change. Near the top of the last flight, she noticed something flopping about on her foot: her lace was broken. Safety on the Stairs, said all the notices. She’d better fix it.
As she sat re-lacing the shoe, she noticed the light shining through a large gap at the bottom of the door. She could also hear voices: Amy’s and another, which she supposed was her mother’s.
‘Hush, dear,’ Amy’s mother was saying. ‘The whole five years, and never a word from anyone about your Authentication. I told you it’d be okay.’
Clara stopped, her lace half-tied.
Amy’s voice came now. ‘Mama, it’s been all right for you. I’m the one who’s had it hanging over me. If anyone had ever found out … I’m exhausted, Mama. Nearly every day, they tell us how bad Naturals are, and I want to vomit every time they tell us the penalty for forging your Authentication.’
‘Well, it’s over now. Here you are at the Passing-Out. We’ve got away with it, haven’t we?’
Clara dared not listen any more. As quietly as she could, she re-tied her shoe and tiptoed down the stairs, her heart beating fast.
One foot after the other. Down the stairs, along the corridor. Clara hardly knew what she was doing. Naturals! Amy and her mother had been talking about Naturals – people who were not Pureclone. People who’d been conceived in the old way, the animal way.
The bell was ringing downstairs. Soon it would be time for the Passing-Out. How could Amy be a Natural? Cloning was the whole reason for the Republic, wasn’t it? It had been drummed into them in their lessons: for all history, men had brutally dominated women, denying them their rights and their place in society. Then fertility rates fell, diseases wiped out most of the men and cloning had saved humanity. With cloning, women would never need men again. They could build a free Republic. Women had moved on from the old repression; they no longer had to breed like animals. Surely Amy fitted in, she had to be Pureclone. Surely.
Clara could hear a bustle below. Footsteps, doors opening and closing, a murmur of voices. What should she do? Amy and her mother had talked about a forged Authentication. But if it was forged, there couldn’t be any other explanation. Amy must be a Natural. Her mother had mated with a man.
There was a tightness across Clara’s chest. She recalled a chant they’d learned in their first year: Animals are natural, Naturals are animals … No, it couldn’t be. Amy was so normal. She wasn’t dirty, or violent or mad. She was her friend. She had to be a Clone. But they’d talked about Naturals, hadn’t they? And they’d said they’d got away with it …
She reached the bedroom she shared with Bella. ‘Bella–’ she began; but her friend wasn’t there. Should she tell Bella? Would she believe her? With a sigh, Clara sat down on the bed and gazed around the room. The cold bunks were bare, the coarse blankets folded, the last sheets gone to the laundry. Nearby stood her own trunk, a sturdy wooden affair close-tied with old rope, a bundle of books balanced on top. Beyond it were Bella’s belongings, also carefully packed. Ready to go, ready to leave the Academy. Gone was the watercolour of Briar Farm that had hung by Clara’s bed, gone was the array of Bella’s combs and brushes that had occupied the window-sill. Gone were the cloaks from the back of the door. In the open wardrobe only a couple of linen suits remained. This was the room where she and Bella had shared their secret hopes and fears, where they’d laughed and cried, where they’d worked into the night on their assignments and slept late on Saturdays. She should be fighting back tears at the thought of leaving this place. Instead, she was horrified, angry and a little b
it frightened.
If Amy’s been a Natural all these years, she thought, and kept it from us … Unlicensed Naturals were illegal – they had to be reported to the authorities, didn’t they? Clara knew some Naturals were legally licensed: the older people, she supposed. But that couldn’t be the case with Amy, otherwise why hide it? No, it had to be true. And if Amy was a Natural, well, who else could be? Hetty? Camilla? Even Bella?
No, calm down. It can only be one. Otherwise there’d be forged Authentications everywhere. It must just be Amy. But it was against everything she’d learned. Naturals: vile, root them out …
She jumped as the door banged open and Bella bustled in. ‘Come on, lazy,’ she said. ‘Better get a move on.’
‘Bella,’ said Clara. ‘I – I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Oh?’ said Bella, her head in the wardrobe.
‘I heard something.’ Clara swallowed. ‘Er, in the yard – and there was a boy.’ Why hadn’t she told her about Amy?
Bella was pulling a smart white tunic off its hanger. ‘Good,’ she said. Then she looked up and frowned. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?
Clara nodded. ‘He’d stolen a loaf.’
‘A real boy, here in the Academy?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘You’d better get changed. How d’you think he got in?’
Clara fetched her own suit down. ‘The gates were open all morning, I think, because of the clear up. He could’ve got in anytime.’
‘Ugh. He must have been hiding all afternoon. Do you think he was watching us in the kitchen?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Never mind. Are you going to put that tunic on, or are you going to wear your overalls to the Passing-Out?’
‘Oh!’ said Clara, and started dragging them off.
Bella winced and held her side. She pulled a bottle of spring water from a crate and took a swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Much better. So what did you do?’
‘Uh, he got away. Climbed over the gates.’
‘You should tell Carrow,’ said Bella. ‘She’d have loved to catch a Natural.’
Clara poured water into a dish, splashing her face and arms. ‘Do you think he was a Natural, then?’
