by Naomi Foyle
‘The answer to that question,’ Hokma said calmly, ‘is one of the reasons you couldn’t come up to Wise House before. You were too young to understand. But now you’re older and I can explain. Astra, I Coded the Edition One Owleons to eat grain, but they didn’t live long. So for Edition Two I reverted to the owl’s natural diet, with some minor adaptations. You see, to fly at night on silent wings, and for other applications, IMBOD needs the birds to be more owl than pigeon. And owls are carnivores. They won’t be healthy and strong if they don’t eat meat.’
Astra struggled to understand. ‘But aren’t the Owleons like cats and dogs? Don’t you feed them alt-meat?’
‘I do,’ Hokma said. ‘I have an alt-mouse incubator, and I freeze what I don’t use right away. But Wise House is off-grid so I don’t have unlimited electricity, especially in the rainy season, and I can’t count on being able to always run both the incubator and the freezer. My solution, which IMBOD has approved, was to add a short sequence of Blackbird Code to the Second Edition so they could eat worms too.’
It was as if Hokma had calmly told her that Nimma had tied Yoki to a chair and stabbed him with a kitchen knife. ‘But … don’t the birds peck them to death?’ Astra stammered. ‘Worms are Gaia’s creatures. We have to protect them. Not torture them.’
‘Of course we do. But Astra, you remember studying the self-defence law last month, don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ Who could forget that lesson?
‘Well, the Owleons are classified as an Is-Land self-defence project, so IMBOD allows me to feed them unendangered creatures. But even so, IMBOD won’t let anyone be cruel to worms. I keep them in a lovely vermicompost and I feed them special vegetables from my garden. Then I give them an injection to put them to sleep before I feed their bodies to the Owleons. It’s not nice, but it has to be done.’
Individually, the sentences made sense, but Astra was struggling to make sense of them all together. Killing worms was cruel, wasn’t it, no matter how you did it? Behind her the woods emitted a groan, swiftly pursued by a thundering crash. She spun round on her stone.
‘It’s the girl!’ she yelled, way too loud – but she was on edge; she couldn’t be expected to follow every single constabulary rule.
‘It’s a branch falling,’ Hokma said sternly. ‘Astra, pay attention.’
Breathing hard, Astra fell silent. Sunlight was playing in pretty patterns over Hokma’s shoulders and a light breeze was shushing through the stringybark trees surrounding the glade. Apart from the birds, there was no other movement or sound in the woods. As if the balloon of the afternoon’s excitement was gradually deflating, she felt her certainty seep out of her. Had she really seen the girl in the tree? Maybe it was a squirrel making the pine cones drop. And was the breeze really Gaia, whispering that she was being a baby? The self-defence law had been a hard shock for many of the children to absorb, especially Yoki, but she had thought she understood it. She had just never dreamed it would apply to Hokma and the Owleons.
Frowning, she thought back over the lesson: a special joint presentation to the two Year Three classes. Ms Raintree had sat up front with Yoki’s teacher, Mr Banzan, and together they’d explained that it was time for the children to deepen their knowledge of Is-Land’s First Principles.
‘Who can tell me what those are?’ Ms Raintree had asked. Every hand in the room had shot up.
‘All together, then,’ Mr Banzan had urged, and in unison the two classes had chanted:
‘Is-Land exists to nurse Gaia back to health. Is-Land cradles all Gaia’s creatures. Is-Land will always defend Gaia from harm.’
‘Very good.’ Ms Raintree clapped. ‘Now let’s talk about Gaia’s creatures. Some of them aren’t always very nice to us, are they? What about ticks and mosquitoes? Sometimes they bite us or poison us. In other countries they call such creatures pests and try to control them. So why do we cradle them?’
Of course everyone knew the answer to that: which species, after all, had proved to be the planet’s real pest? Which species had nearly destroyed the biosphere of the only known life-bearing planet in the whole universe? Insects, on the other hand, were vital to biodiversity, and without them we’d never be able to reintroduce lost mammals and birds. Human beings just had to take precautions and wear repellent if we didn’t want to get bitten.
But then Mr Banzan asked another, harder, question: what if carnivorous creatures ate human beings, or persistent insects threatened our forests or crops? Could we kill them then?
‘No,’ Yoki declared, his face red. ‘We should move and let the creatures live in their natural habitat. Gaia gives us lots of places to live.’
‘Good, Yoki.’ Mr Banzan said. ‘That’s one view, and a very important one. Any others?’
The children were silent. ‘What if we had to all move away from Is-Land?’ Ms Raintree prompted. ‘Would that be good for Gaia?’
Beside Astra, one hand waved. Big surprise who it belonged to.
‘Leaf?’ Ms Raintree smiled.
‘I think,’ the school’s only girl-boy said slowly, ‘we can’t move away from Is-Land because if there was no Is-Land to nurse Her, then Gaia might get sick again. So maybe, in that case, it might be allowed to kill some of Her creatures … if that was the only way to stay here and protect Her. I mean’ – Leaf finished on a triumphant note – ‘it would be like if you had to cut off a person’s arm to save their life.’
That, it turned out, was the right answer. The National Wheel Meet had established that Is-Landers were Gaia’s creatures too, with no greater or lesser rights than any other species. Therefore Is-Land’s legal principles of self-defence applied to life-threatening animals and insects in just the same way as it did to hostile humans. An exception was made if the offending species was endangered; in that case the principle of biodiversity was paramount and human beings had to find other ways to cope with the problem.
Once the children had debated these concepts, the teachers took them to the school vegetable garden, Ms Raintree wheeling herself along the paths and pointing out interesting plants with her baton, Mr Banzan and the gardener taking them into the furrows. This was very exciting at first, because up to now the patch had been off-limits: under-eights were allowed to grow food only in the hydroponic lab, and at home at Or there was a lock on the vegetable garden gate and only bigger children’s fingerprints were on the key registry. At school that day they had discovered why. There, between the rows of beans and lettuces, at the edge of the path where Ms Raintree could see too, the gardener had shown them the slug traps.
Yoki had cried and said he didn’t want to eat garden-grown vegetables any more, only hydroponic ones, but Mr Banzan had said that if we covered Gaia with labs, we would stop being able to respond to Her beautiful complexity. ‘Sometimes complexity means difficulty, Yoki,’ Ms Raintree had said gently, reaching out from her chair to put her arm around him.
Astra had known she ought to comfort her Shelter brother too, but instead she’d knelt down and examined a trap. It was filled with beer. The slugs got drunk and dozy, the gardener had said, and drowned before they even discovered they couldn’t get back out.
‘Slugs are like Non-Landers,’ she’d announced. ‘They’re always trying to infiltrate us.’
‘Clever girl,’ the gardener had said. ‘But we’re too smart for them, aren’t we?’
Worms, Astra knew, were wonderful, essential, amazing. But if IMBOD said a small number of them had to be sacrificed to help the Owleons protect Is-Land and Is-Land protect Gaia, then she had to be strong and accept it.
‘I do understand,’ she said, at last. ‘I just didn’t want Yoki to cry, that’s all.’
‘I know,’ Hokma replied. ‘He found the lesson upsetting, didn’t he? But Nimma said you were fine.’
Astra prepared herself for the worst. ‘Will I have to inject the worms?’
‘Not if you don’t want to. And you don’t have to feed the chicks either if you’d rather not. I can just show you
Wise House and feed them when you’ve gone.’
What? ‘No,’ Astra said, panicked. ‘Constables have to kill if it’s necessary. That’s what you learn on IMBOD Service, isn’t it?’
With the tip of her staff Hokma toyed with the almond Astra had hurled aside. ‘Astra,’ she said at last, ‘we’re going to talk about your IMBOD Service later, okay?’
Astra’s eyes widened. Normally whenever she asked the Or-adults about her IMBOD Service, they said she didn’t have to worry about that for years yet. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. After we feed the chicks. And they’re hungry, so let’s go.’
Hokma flicked the almond further into the glade and, digging her staff into the ground, hoisted herself to her feet. Astra jumped up too and scampered after her Shelter mother, back to the path.
1.3
Hokma was walking way too slowly now. She kept stopping to turn over stones, looking for wigglers. If she found one, she put it into a pouch on her hydrobelt. Watching her do that made Astra feel funny, so, cheering herself on like a Neolympics athlete, she raced up the path until it met the trail that marked the upper Or border. She leapt with both feet into the centre of the crossways. Ahead, the path sloped down to West Gate. To her right, rock steps descended to Birth House and the Fountain. To her left, a perilously steep narrow track overhung with massive leafy stringybark branches led up to Wise House. Panting, she swivelled to face it head-on. This path had no steps, just roots and loose stones. It was a difficult climb, but when on patrol you had to be ready for any challenge Gaia threw at you.
‘That was quite a run.’ Hokma had caught up. ‘Better have some water.’
She was hot, but not too bad. The Pioneers had marched much further in far worse conditions. Hokma was right though: constables had a duty not to get dehydrated. Astra sucked at her tubing again. The water was warm now, but it still refreshed her cells as it sluiced through her. Hokma drank too, uncoiling her own tubing from the side of her belt.
‘Good girl,’ she said when Astra was done. ‘Now, you’re going to need a stout stick.’ She placed her hands a foot apart. ‘About this long.’
A stick? Sunburst! She was heading into unknown territory now, so it would be good to be armed. Who knows, the girl might be following them, and she could have other Non-Landers with her. Astra tramped off the path towards a mossy log that might have shed some branches once upon a time. She found a short, strong stick and stripped its twigs away. Then she ran back to the crossroads, brandishing her find.
‘Perfect.’ Hokma gestured at the slope. ‘You first. I’ll catch you if you fall.’
To climb the practically vertical path, Astra had to hunt for footholds in the roots and between rocks. She dug her stick into the earth for balance and stopped for breathers when she needed to rest, taking the opportunity to assess the stringybarks on both sides of the path. Stringybark branches could crash without warning, like the one at the glade, but thanks to Tabby and his forest-knowledge, Astra had recently discovered that with the help of an adult, you could identify a strong climbing tree and use spikes and ropes to fix a swing to it. That was for another time, though. Right now she had to keep going, one step after another, her heart battering against her chest, constantly watching out for the infiltrator.
At last she reached the top of the slope. Here the stringybarks gave way to a swathe of graceful lacebarks, Or lawn trees with wide-spreading branches perfect for picnicking under. Weaving between their trunks, like a metallic band in a loose, delicate shawl, was a tall wire fence. Astra flung her stick aside, tore up the last stretch of path and threw herself at it. Sticking her fingers in the mesh links, she made the fence shake and the gate rattle on its posts, but her sandals were too big for the gaps, so she dropped back down to the ground. Through the wire and the three lace-barks inside it she could see a grassy clearing and a square brown house.
Hokma arrived behind her. ‘Calm down, Astra.’
‘I was just testing the security,’ Astra explained. It would be so easy for the infiltrator to climb the fence, but she wasn’t allowed to mention her.
‘That fence could have been electrified, and then I’d be carrying you back to Or, wouldn’t I?’
But she could tell Hokma wasn’t seriously cross. She placed her fingertip on the lock and the gate swung open. Astra wriggled through it and dashed ahead onto the path that curved up through the clearing to Wise House.
* * *
Wise House, Astra knew from Biotecture class, was a cob-plastered straw-bale cabin kept cool by its thick walls and small windows. Ahn had designed it for Hokma while they were still living together in an Earthship in Or. Later he’d sold the plans to the Bioregional Wheel Meet for a batch of kindergartens in New Bangor, Cedaria and Vanapur, making lots of money for Or. Astra had once asked Nimma if Ahn had known Hokma would leave the Earthship they shared and move into Wise House, where she now worked and slept and often even cooked for herself. Nimma had said that both Ahn and Hokma were happier and more productive living alone. The reason the Edition Three Owleons were a work of genius – a breakthrough in Code technique – was that Hokma had totally dedicated herself to their design; and the reason Ahn won so many prizes and contracts for his buildings was because he stayed up late most nights at his screendesk. Some scientists worked best in teams; others needed solitude, and Or provided the right conditions for both.
Astra had seen photographs of the kindergartens, but though they had the same floorplan and used the same building techniques, they looked nothing like Wise House. Standing in front of it, at last, Astra understood in an instant why Hokma had left Or. The cabin was magical, an enchanted cottage from an Old World fairy tale. The tawny brown walls were flecked with mica that glinted in the sunlight streaming into the clearing. The two square windows were framed by grooved discs of pine, like two big wooden suns, one either side of the front door, which was inset with a triangle of gold glass and topped by a living lintel of feathery grasses. The flat meadow roof was ablaze with yellow, orange and white wildflowers, and two angular sets of solar cells stuck up like cute little pyramids in the corners.
Little pyramids or … ears? Oh! With a gasp, Astra got the joke.
‘It looks like an Owleon!’ She jumped and clapped.
‘Well spotted, Astra. Why do you think Ahn designed it that way?’
‘Because’ – Astra hazarded a guess – ‘if you live inside an Owleon’s head, you’ll understand them better?’
Hokma laughed again, another short, rough bark of amusement. ‘That’s a great answer. I’ll tell Ahn you said that.’
‘Really?’ Astra flushed. Ahn had lived with Hokma and was still Gaia-bonded with her. That meant that he was almost Astra’s Shelter father. But still, if she ran into him at Core House, something always stopped her from grabbing his hand as she might do with any of the other Or-adults, because Ahn wasn’t anyone’s Code or Shelter parent, and you couldn’t imagine him being one. Tall and lanky, with a fuzz-ball of blond hair, Ahn floated through Or in his straw hat and ex-IMBOD boots, his pale grey eyes always measuring some distant sightline. He never knew any of the Or-kids’ names, and if he did say hello, you usually felt as though the greeting was an accident, an automatic reaction triggered by a disturbance of air in his vicinity; that he hadn’t really seen you – not as you, anyway. In the Quiet Room once, Klor had joked that Ahn viewed people mainly as bodies that needed spaces around them. ‘Bodies and psyches,’ Ahn had softly corrected, as Astra stared at him from Nimma’s lap, too tongue-tied to ask what a ‘sy-key’ was.
‘Do you think he knows who I am?’ she asked.
‘Of course he does. He’s just Ahn. He forgets his own name when he’s thinking.’
Astra wanted to ask if Hokma and Ahn talked about her sometimes, but she was afraid of what the answer would be. Anyway, Hokma was heading up the path and then they were there, at the Wise House front door with its gold glass beak, where Hokma was taking off her boots and turning on the hosepipe to wash h
erself, and Astra too, down to her feet and rubber sandals, and then she was opening the door and finally Astra was going inside.
* * *
The Wise House entrance chamber was spacious and cool, with a stripped pine floor. There were doors in all four walls and three holes in the ceiling: two air vents and one bean-shaped translucent solar panel, which cast spirals of light over Astra and Hokma as they removed their outdoor gear. Paintings and carvings of Owleons hung on the walls and the housecoat hooks were carved hardwood talons. Hokma rested her cedar staff in a corner rack, then unlaced her boots and bunged them under a bench with Astra’s sandals. Astra took off her flap-hat and hydropac, wondering where to put them.
‘We’ll have to get a lower row of hooks for you,’ Hokma said, hanging Astra’s things up on a talon. ‘How about red pigeon toes?’ As Astra protested – she wanted talons too – her Shelter mother took down a towel and rubbed her all over, wet feet last. Then she pulled two pairs of curvytoed slippers out of a basket on the bench. Astra’s were new, and just her size. ‘Here.’ Hokma held out a small sateen housecoat. ‘I thought turquoise would suit you.’
Astra scrunched up her nose. ‘Do I have to wear clothes?’
‘Wise House isn’t an Earthship, Astra. It can get a bit nippy in here. I don’t want you catching cold.’
Cold? Cold was the walk-in fridge in the kitchen or an ice cube on your tongue. ‘I’m not cold.’
‘You might be soon. Now come on.’
Astra blew a raspberry, but slid her arms into the soft sleeves and tied the belt as loosely as possible. If you had to wear clothes, sateen was just about bearable. At least Hokma wasn’t dragging a comb through her hair like Nimma always did the second she stepped indoors.
Hokma had slipped on a short green kimono, which she tied loosely over her hipbelt. From right to left, she pointed at the three interior doors: ‘Living room. Bathroom if you need it. Lab.’ With that, she gripped the carved handle and opened the door.
Astra realised she was trembling. Luckily Hokma’s back was turned. She followed her Shelter mother into a large, luminous room, a proper, organised Or workspace, humming with industry and tingling with the scent of pine-water disinfectant. To her right, light from the front window danced over a stainless-steel countertop, a sink, a cooker and a shuddering brushed-steel fridge, behind which glass doors gave a view of a back verandah and a grassy clearing. Jars of nuts, berries and grains were arranged neatly on shelves above the countertop, which was like a kitchen surface with cupboards and drawers beneath it. But the rest of the room was all lab. Opposite Astra, an ergonomic chair knelt beneath a long wooden table. One end was an easeled screendesk, its black tail plugged into a socket in the blue-tiled floor; the rest was neatly equipped with microscopes, scales, test-tube stands and, at the far end, a large wooden crate. All of this paraphernalia was immensely impressive, but the magnet that drew Astra’s gaze was stationed in the centre of the room: a sleek, transparent alt-meat incubator.
