Octavia's Brood: Science Fiction Stories From Social Justice Movements

by Walidah Imarisha

  “The name is not necessary. All we need is the number.” So they said.

  She signed her name anyway. I knew she would. When she finished she looked them in the eye. Two of the officers were like us.

  “That’s all. You can go.”

  My mother moved toward the door with long strides and waited for the trip switch to buzz. As it did, she palmed the ID-plate. Then we waited for the computer scan to ID-check her palm impression. After a few seconds, a green exit light flashed on. The door slid back. We walked through.

  All the way home in the tube we said nothing. Nothing. It was so hard. Nothing had ever been so hard. Forty-eight minutes of nothing was hard. I kept fighting back tears. I pressed my forehead to the window. We were sitting close together, my mother and I, but we were not touching. All the way home. Nothing. She said nothing. She looked straight ahead. I said nothing, my face against the window. All the way home.

  And then the long walk from the tube to our place. Just like I’m walking now. A long walk. Elder Imani says nothing. My mother said nothing. I say nothing.

  I know I have done nothing wrong. Well, it’s not so much that I have done nothing wrong, because there is always something wrong, but at least I am sure that I have meant to do nothing wrong. I have tried my best. Which, at moments like this, may or may not mean anything.

  You try your best and nobody speaks to you.

  I had done so well on that test. I had everything right. And the teacher insisted that my getting everything right was wrong. But then if you didn’t get everything right on the test you didn’t have a chance to advance to city entrance level.

  We had walked home in silence. When we got inside, my mother took off her stoic face. “Catherine, I cannot keep you. You are no longer a child. I cannot keep you.”

  “Mama, my mama, my mama. Mama, Mama. I. Mama. I know. I know. I know. Mama. I know.”

  “Tomorrow, one of us must go to work.”

  “I know, Mama. Mama. Mama. I know.”

  “Next they will put you online.”

  “I know.”

  “If you run. They will get me.”

  “I know.”

  “If you go to work, it will kill you.”

  “I know.”

  “If I go to work—” her voice faltered. “I . . . cannot work.”

  “I. Mama. I know.”

  We were standing the whole time. Just like I am standing now, outside HQ. Waiting for a hearing. Waiting for a future I don’t control but which has so much control over me.

  “Catherine,” is all she said. I heard each syllable softly explode into the silence. Cathhh. Haaaa. Rinnnnn.

  “Mama. Mama. It is okay. It is okay. It. Is okay. Okay? It really is. Okay.”

  “Look.” She peels out of the plastic jumpsuit. “Look.” Her locator patch is red.

  “Look.” She points to the maroon glow beneath the skin on her left thigh. I look down and then look up at her naked torso. She gave up wearing a bra long ago. She stopped wearing anything but a jumpsuit. My mama’s smell is so strong. We do not have enough points to visit the baths more than once a week. So we wait for rain. We stink. We stand it.

  My mother reaches out to me and pulls me close to her. Her musky odor is so strong. I’m sure I smell too, but she folds me in a huge embrace. “Catherine. Remember I have a name.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Say my name.”

  “Poilette. Poilette. Poilette.” We are standing and holding each other. I will always see that moment. The moment I realized that I was on my own. I had to run. My mama was sending me away. My mama was paying with her life for me to run.

  At that moment I was frozen into a stiff column of flesh. And then she spoke very, very softly, almost so low I did not hear her. I felt her breath against my ear stronger than I heard the sound of what she said. I could feel her lips move, her arms tighten around me when she said, “Go. Run.”

  I stood there for several seconds trying to avoid the finality of what I had been told to do, trying to understand how was it possible to thank her for my life. With so little time left. Before I could say anything to her, she said a benediction into the hair on my head. “And may you find some god to shelter your soul.”

  May I find some god.

  Many years later I would have a name for this moment. The religious folk call it epiphany, the moment of realization. What I realized at that moment was not god but rather where god came from. God is one answer to our need to explain ourselves, to make sense of ourselves. But the moment you just accept yourself, then no explanation is needed, and god is everything together and nothing in particular. But that was later. At that moment—my mother holding me and urging me to run, not telling me where to run, and knowing that she would die after she would not account for my absence—at that moment I had to believe in something, so I believed that god was life. The urge to live is god.

  In some really deep way, her sacrifice was not a death wish but a life wish. My mother’s sacrifice was designed to pass life on.

  We didn’t say anything else all night.

  I am called back to the present when I feel an arm around my shoulder. Elder Imani embraces me. The cotton of his blue tunic is very soft.

  “Mauve, you are a good warrior. But you need to improve your dancing. Let us face this together.”

  Before I can ask what dancing has to do with my hearing, Elder Imani draws back from the embrace, takes my hand, and we walk into HQ.

  • • •

  “Mauve took off her TalkChip. She broke contact while outside the compound. That is a violation,” Elder Ujamaa comments as she uses a remote to scroll through my debriefing report, which is flashed on a screen large enough to be read from ten meters away.

  “Yes.” Elder Imani stands and replies with a sardonic tone that implies “And so what?” It was like he was asking a question instead of responding to an assertion.

  “Mauve had no way to know the shield was not raised for a full minute after the alarm.”

  “If she had had her TalkChip on, she would have heard the instructions.” Elder Jamaa is speaking softly, slowly, emotionless.

  Elder Jamaa has pinned me with that. Elder Imani pauses before answering her charge. At first it seems as if he is going to concede I was wrong. “Elder Jamaa, you are talking instructions and code. Let us talk reality. The reality is that Cobalt was going to run, and if Mauve had not been with him, he would, at the very least, have made contact with the guerrilla forces.”

  As Elder Imani pauses, Elder Jamaa starts to speak, but Elder Imani continues. “Where was Indigo at this time? She was outside the compound. What was she doing? We did not know at the time. Where was Mauve? Outside the compound. What was she doing? Mauve was with Cobalt. We later learn that Indigo makes contact with a guerrilla who has a tracking dog. Let us suppose that Mauve followed instructions but Cobalt did not cooperate.” Elder Imani looks at Cobalt briefly and then continues, “What then?”

  Cobalt, who is sitting by himself on the ground near Elder Umoja, looks down. This hearing is the first time I have seen Cobalt since the incident.

  Elder Umoja sits as Elder Imani sums up, “I think we are fortunate. We lost one warrior who had betrayed us. We repelled a guerrilla extraction attempt. We retained a cheddo.”

  “True, that is the end result. But this hearing is to determine whether Mauve violated code.”

  “Yes, on one level. But for the good of our community, Elder Ujamaa, shouldn’t this hearing also be to determine what we as a compound should do with Mauve, with Cobalt, and with ourselves after we have assessed the reality of what happened? Shouldn’t we be here to heal rather than solely to punish? What if we punish Mauve but do not address our problems? They will recur. And next time, we might not be so lucky as to have a warrior taking a one-on-one interest in a cheddo.” A fleeting smile flits across Elder Imani’s face. There is a murmur of what I hope is concurrence from some of the elders.

  As if in agreement with El
der Imani, Elder Umoja stands and addresses the full assembly. “Does anyone else wish to speak?”

  “Yes,” someone says from behind me. I turn around. Turquoise steps forward. I had become so wrapped up in the elders, I forgot that the whole compound was present. When Elder Imani and I had entered HQ to begin the hearing, the other six elders were inside. They went over my report and told me that I would be examined in front of the whole compound.

  “Mauve, do you wish to change your mind and speak?”

  “No, Elder Umoja. I stand by my original decision.”

  “Good. Let us go to the assembly area.” The elders walked out of HQ in order: The elegant and beautiful leader Umoja. Kujichagulia, chunky and fierce, a fierce competitor who trains us in martial arts and has never been bested by a student, never. His sense of humor ranges from wry irony to near sadistic sarcasm, but all of his angles are balanced by an uncompromising sense of loyalty and protectiveness. Ujima—this is my first time seeing her, and I am not sure what to make of this robust and muscular, dark brown woman who obviously was a tremendous warrior. Ujamaa, whom I have come to think of as the older sister I never had. Nia, the most eloquent speaker I have ever heard—she greeted us when we first arrived and immediately inculcated into us a sense of mission and dedication to duty. Kuumba, who is an incredible drummer and also a trickster. He frequently pops into our ideology sessions, asking trick questions and challenging us to outwit him. Finally Imani. If there is any man in the world of whom I can honestly and unashamedly say this, I say of Elder Imani, “He is the man I love.”

  Elder Imani held my hand as we fell in at the rear of the procession and briskly walked the half kilometer to the assembly area where the elders sat in a small semicircle on stools and where I stood near Elder Imani facing the other elders. The thirteen cheddos sat on the ground about five meters away, facing the elders. The four warrior squads were assembled behind the cheddos.

  Now I stand facing ebony-hued Turquoise, Indigo’s twin sister.

  “I agree with Elder Imani. I want us to heal.” Almost in slow motion, Turquoise strides over to Cobalt. “Cobalt, you talked to my sister all the time. She would smile whenever your name was mentioned. But her emotions were not safe in your hands. I do not know what you really felt for her. I know she would have done anything for you. I know that she did the undoable for you. She betrayed everything she believed in so that she could believe in you.” Turquoise looks at Cobalt for a long time. Cobalt is both visibly frightened and fascinated with Turquoise’s movements, demeanor, and emotional intensity as she carefully chooses her words.

  When Turquoise pauses momentarily, no one says anything. Our silence highlights the rustle of leaves as a breeze shakes the treetops.

  Cobalt looks like he is about to say something. He opens his mouth and then closes it.

  Death is still fresh in my heart. I almost hate Cobalt, but he is a cheddo, a man. What more could I expect than that he would think of himself before thinking of others. Yet I had to face the undeniable strength of my own desire to one-on-one with him. Looking at him now, his head slumped down into his hands, I want nothing more to do with him.

  “We say we are a family,” Turquoise turns, sweeping her extended arm about her to indicate all of us. “We say we are committed to revolution, to the future, to dedicating our lives to our people. And then something like this happens. And it is hard to know what to believe.”

  With her arms outspread, Elder Umoja walks directly over to Turquoise and hugs her. “Work it out. Let it out. Speak your feelings, your thoughts.”

  “Why do we let these men mess up our lives so much? Indigo was strong and beautiful, but she just—she . . . if only we could have babies without these men, then we could live our lives in peace.”

  “Some babies grow up to be men.” Elder Umoja speaks loud enough for everyone to hear, while she holds Turquoise in a strong embrace. In a gesture of maternal care, Elder Umjoa places her left hand firmly atop Turquoise’s head and pulls Turquoise’s face into the hollow of her neck. After briefly resting her head, Turquoise pulls back abruptly.

  “I would give all the males to the people,” Turquoise spat out.

  Turquoise was right. Why do we let these men mess up our lives?

  Elder Umoja is undeterred by Turquoise’s temporary bitterness. She pulls Turquoise close again and gently rubs her cheek back and forth in a soothing motion. “Who are you really angry with, Turquoise: Cobalt for seducing Indigo? Mauve for killing Indigo? Or all of us women who love men?”

  Elder Umoja reminded me of my mother. I could hear Poilette counseling me. “Catherine, if you study and work and study, and study and pass the entrance exam, there is the possibility that you could go live in the city. That you would find a place for yourself among the citizens instead of out here in the subcity just barely existing.”

  My mother had always believed that the meritocracy would work. That if you applied yourself you could make perfect scores and get admitted to the city.

  My mother would hold me and whisper into my ear, “Never forget, there is nothing in the subcity for you. The men are sterile and the women are barren. These men will do nothing but bring you disease and grief.”

  Once I had been foolish enough to ask her why, if men only brought grief, did she have me? If men were sterile, how could she have had me? And she had answered me with a hug, just like Elder Umjoa was hugging Turquoise.

  “I had you because I never gave up trying to become pregnant. I knew that I could. And I knew that there was a man somewhere whose sperm was still virile. So I lay with so many different men. Catherine, I do not know who your father is. I had you because I was selfish. That’s all. But I love you. I owe you my life. Without you I would have been nothing.”

  “Mama, Mama. Not true. Not true. You could never be nothing.” My desperate reply kept circling in my head.

  Turquoise suddenly draws away from Elder Umoja. “I am angry with myself. I knew Indigo was going to run, and I did, well, I mean I felt that she was going to run, and I didn’t do anything to stop her because—because, well because I believed that if running away would make her happy she had a right to be happy. And that’s wrong.”

  “It’s never wrong to be true to yourself,” Elder Imani responds quickly. Though not loud, his voice nevertheless startles me. “The problem is, once we commit ourselves to a path in the company of others, we should keep our word.” I feel like Elder Imani is talking to me rather than to Turquoise. For some reason, I believe Elder Imani is probing at my internal and unspoken fears.

  “But what if things turn out different from anything you expected?” I hear myself asking.

  “A blade of grass may blow this way and that, but an oak tree must be firm. If you volunteer to be an oak, you must be firm,” Elder Imani says calmly, looking at Turquoise but obviously speaking to me.

  “But a big enough wind will blow even an oak tree to the ground,” I speak up defiantly. I am talking about myself, but Turquoise answers as though I was talking about Indigo.

  “No, this was not a big wind. Indigo wanted to be with Cobalt more than she wanted to keep her warrior vows.” Turquoise points at Cobalt as she speaks. “If Cobalt had asked Mauve to run, what would have happened?”

  Elder Imani chuckles quietly. “There are some women men don’t mess with. Mauve is one such woman. Believe me, I am a man. I know.”

  Everyone I look at seems to be shyly smiling, but no one says anything.

  Finally Turquoise turns to face Cobalt. “It’s time to heal. Cobalt, I forgive you,” she says, standing in front of him, her arms wide open, inviting an embrace. He rises slowly. She steps into his assent and hugs him tightly before he is fully upright.

  “We all have our weaknesses. Unfortunately for my sister, your weakness and her weakness were twins.”

  Cobalt says nothing. He is visibly shaking. Turquoise steps back after kissing him on both cheeks, first right and then left. “You used her,” Turquoise intones, without
any bitterness in her voice. Cobalt looks down. Turquoise raises his face with her hand cupped beneath his chin. “But that was only possible because she wanted to be happy more than she wanted our people to survive.”

  “I’m s—” Turquoise puts her fingers to his lips before he can complete his words.

  “I forgive you.”

  Turquoise turns and faces me. There is calm in her face. She looks like my mother did. The calmness of finality, I think. The calmness of having decided and successfully facing a hard truth.

  Turquoise walks slowly toward me. “Mauve, you killed my sister.”

  Turquoise’s words pull me to a standing position. I am strong enough to take her hate. I am strong enough to take her anger. I am strong enough to accept what I have done. Indigo was a traitor. Traitors must die. Now, as I stand before a traitor’s sister, I steel myself to bear the weight of whatever is to come. Indigo’s sister is walking to me. She stands before me.

  Her arms are not out.

  My mother just stood there before me like that. Just like that.

  Work killed her. I killed her. One of us, me or my mother, had to work.

  Turquoise, if you hate me, I will understand.

  “My sister betrayed our compound. Betrayed us all. Betrayed me. That was the hardest part for me.” Turquoise’s breathing is labored. But she does not stop talking. Slowly talking. Her words take so long to come out. Each syllable seems to take an hour. I killed her sister. I killed my mother.

  I want our people to live, and so far all I do is kill. I killed the extractor. I killed Indigo. I killed Poilette. Never forget my name, Poilette’s last request to a daughter she dies for.

  “I—”

  I have succeeded in killing. I have failed at living. If I die tonight, who will mourn that I am gone? Whose life depends on me? Mama. Mama. I.