by Naomi Foyle
She couldn’t go forwards. She couldn’t go back. She sank to her knees behind the tree and flattened herself into its roots like a hare into her form. Her cheek was rubbed raw against the scabrous grey bark, her breast was squashed on top of a spongy tree fungus. Her face was a silent monsoon. That was how Vishnu found her.
‘Astra. Oh thank Gaia.’ He knelt and put his arms around her. ‘Come, Astra, come home.’
Then Russett was there, and Moon, and others too, vague figures hanging back in the trees.
‘Sweetie.’ Moon stroked her back. ‘You must come home now. Hokma’s not there. Come home and we’ll explain.’
Russett and Vishnu hooked their elbows beneath her armpits, helped her to her feet and showed her to the IMBOD officers. Then as the dark clouds reopened, they escorted her down the steep path and back to Core House.
* * *
‘Why? Why did they take her?’ They were in the Quiet Room but she was bellowing like a bull. She knew that she shouldn’t be shouting, but she didn’t know how to behave any more. She couldn’t pretend. How would a Sec Gen kid act if IMBOD took their Shelter mother away? Did anyone know? Had they done tests? She wasn’t in trouble, the adults kept saying, their faces blanched with concern as they cosseted her with pillows and glasses of water. She could just feel what she felt for once, couldn’t she?
‘Hush, hush,’ Vishnu fretted. You’d never guess he was a teacher and a father of two, or branded for an invincible god; he was floundering like an international visitor confronted with an upset Or-kid. Beside him on the sofa, Nimma was dabbing her eyes with a hanky; Klor had his arm around her and looked too dazed to speak.
‘You let them!’ She accused the circle. ‘You let them take her!’ They shrank back, a confused woolly ball of theories and responses – except for Ahn, of course. He was sitting on a chair between Congruence and Moon, and though each woman had at one point been stroking his arm – obviously considering that as Hokma’s ex-Gaia partner he was in need of support – he was now doing that steeple thing again with his fingers at his lips, his expression tight and alert, his reptilian eyes flickering between Astra, Nimma and Klor.
Russett was the only one unperturbed. Since the deaths of Torrent and Stream he had changed. At first, people had thought he would leave Or, but he’d said he had nowhere to go. He had undergone two years of therapy: not only bereavement counselling, but anger management and parental skills lessons. Flint and Thor and Tulsi’s Birth-Shelter mother had accompanied him on his journey, and Russett was now Tulsi’s Shared Shelter father. He was also back coaching the under-ten archery team. As Astra’s scream reached glass-shattering pitch he stepped forwards; looming over the armchair, he leaned down so his pouchy, broken-veined face was bang up against hers.
‘Astra, be quiet,’ he ordered in a low voice, ‘or you are going to your Earthship and no one is going to be telling you anything for a very long time.’
His voice vibrated through her like a gong. The men, and Moon, had dragged her down from Wise House. They could drag her away from Core House too. She gulped for air and shut up.
Russett turned back to the other adults. ‘Now tell her. She has the right to know.’
People looked at Nimma and Klor, but Nimma was sobbing now and Klor shook his head helplessly. ‘Vishnu, you tell her,’ he croaked.
Vishnu sucked his lower lip. It was so strange to see him so anxious. The only time Astra had ever seen him close to distress was the evening Sorrel had collapsed in the Quiet Room, going into labour early with their second Code daughter Kishar, and he’d come barrelling from his Earthship down to Core House. ‘It was Helium, Astra,’ her old teacher said at last. ‘He died on a flight back from Atourne and a farmer found his body on the steppes. He turned it in to IMBOD and when they checked his memory clip they found some things that shouldn’t have been there.’
Helium was dead? Astra choked – but the adults weren’t grieving, she suddenly realised; they were afraid. At the sight of Moon’s drawn face, a trickle of fear crept into her too. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘What shouldn’t have been there?’
‘We don’t know, darling,’ Sorrel said. ‘We just know that IMBOD has taken Hokma in for questioning. They couldn’t leave Silver and the other Owleons there by themselves so they’ve taken them too.’
‘We’re sure there’s an explanation,’ Pan spoke brightly, with faux-confidence, as if she were a child. ‘She probably had permission from Dr Blesserson or the National Wheel Meet – she’ll tell IMBOD what she was doing and she’ll be back soon.’
At the mention of Dr Blesserson the alarm in Astra’s belly twanged up a note. Your little experiment, Hokma’s brother had called her all those years ago. Your project, Ahn had sneered. But Hokma couldn’t possibly have been keeping records of Astra’s behaviour, could she? Or sending information about her over the steppes?
‘Astra,’ Vishnu asked, ‘you don’t know what she could have been working on, do you? Anything unusual at all?’
The fear was rising in her throat now. Astra glanced at Ahn. He wasn’t saying anything; he was watching, she realised. Beside him, Congruence’s face was scrunched up like a sponge, positioned to soak up the tension misting from his frame.
Ahn was a snake and she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing her panic. She folded her arms. ‘Erm, the Owleons?’
‘Leave the girl alone, Vishnu,’ Ahn said, his soft, loathsome voice sprinkled with threat Astra knew was intended for her. ‘She’s not on trial.’
‘Of course not,’ Vishnu replied shortly, not looking at Ahn, ‘but she’s in a better position than most of us to know what Hokma may have been doing lately. I’m sure we’d all rather know what was going on, wouldn’t we?’
‘Ahn’s right, sweetie. No one’s on trial,’ Sorrel gently corrected Vishnu, who lapsed back into silence.
Astra avoided everyone’s gaze and forced herself to remain calm. There was no way Hokma would fly information about her shot across the country, and if she had, IMBOD would have arrested her too. So this was something to do with the Owleons, though she didn’t know what. Ahn was a malevolent wasp, waiting to sting her, and the rest of them were useless grubs. They hadn’t got a clue; they didn’t know an Owleon from an oil junkie and they couldn’t chuck an alt-chicken across a road. Look at Vishnu, sulking after one sly rebuke from Ahn. And Congruence – what was she even doing here, anyway? She wasn’t an adult. She didn’t know anything about Hokma or the Owleons or Wise House, none of them did. And if they thought that just because Astra didn’t stay there much any more, she’d stopped caring about Wise House, they were wrong.
‘What about the worms?’ she demanded.
‘What worms, darling?’ Klor asked.
‘The vermicompost wigglers. Who’s going to feed them? I have to stay up there and take care of them.’
‘No, you can’t do that, angel. IMBOD is looking after Wise House. They’ll look after the worms too.’
‘Oh Klor,’ Nimma sniffled, and then burst into a fresh round of sobs. ‘What did I say? What did I say? We let her isolate herself from us. We have no idea what she was doing up there.’
Astra stopped, then, and refused to listen or speak any more. Soon she couldn’t tell who was talking; she was trapped in a hollow, interweaving round of adult voices, all saying no, no, whatever Hokma might have done wasn’t Nimma’s fault or anyone else’s – and besides, they didn’t know anything yet; everything was going to be okay, Hokma would be back in a day or two, just you wait and see.
But their stringybark basket of reassurances was full of holes, each one larger than the crater Hokma had once shown her on the edge of Sippur.
3.2
The next week the winds ripped through Or. The urbaggers and stapcroppers had to peg covers down over the Code House roof plots to protect the topsoil and small plants, and every day Astra had to battle to and from school, squinting against the dust and enduring Nimma’s constant nagging about her ‘bird’s nest�
� of hair. But though the winds brought signposts down on the New Bangor main road, sent verandah chairs tumbling over the grass and whisked flap-hats off children’s heads and up into the treetops, it didn’t bring Hokma back. IMBOD was holding her in Atourne, Klor said, and right now she wasn’t allowed to Tablette-talk or email Or, and no one knew when she would be able to communicate again. Their faces were anxious and tight-lipped, but still all the Or-adults kept on saying not to worry: IMBOD was just making sure Hokma hadn’t broken any rules by mistake. As soon as Hokma explained things to their satisfaction, they would let her go.
Yoki and Meem hugged Astra, then carried on with their studies and social lives as normal. Though her Shelter siblings’ calm acceptance of uncertainty was infuriating, their unchanging routines were a handrail Astra clung to that week, going to school, running laps, doing chores with a tumour of fear bulging inside. If Hokma hadn’t been sending information about Astra – which, given that no IMBOD officer had even come to test her, seemed more and more unlikely – what in Gaia’s name had she been doing? Suppose she had been helping other children avoid the shot? In which case, would IMBOD also find out about Astra? Ahn hadn’t told on her at the Or meeting: did that mean he wouldn’t tell IMBOD either? Surely not – if he did they’d ask how he’d found out and why he hadn’t told them before, and they might suspect that he knew more of Hokma’s secrets. He might be frightened too, she realised at last: frightened even that she would tell IMBOD that he had known about her. That was why he’d defended her from Vishnu. But for how long would he continue to protect her?
The endless permutations of uncertainty were intolerable. Once she even wondered if she should go and see Ahn and ask him for help – but no, that was crazy, why would Ahn help her? He wasn’t helping Hokma. When Vishnu insisted on calling a small meeting in the Quiet Room ‘to discuss what might be done for Hokma’, Ahn showed up late, and when Vishnu suggested he use his position to write to IMBOD, he’d said he doubted the word of a biotect would make any difference to an IMBOD classified secrets investigation. Nimma had backed him, of course. As she was browbeating Vishnu, Ahn shot a look at Astra, a piercing look of resentment that sent his own fear travelling through her. They were both Hokma’s accomplices, Ahn’s glance said, him thanks to her. Then the next day he and Congruence went off to Sippur, to work at the museum – ‘until there was news’, Nimma said – and the opportunity to confide in him was lost.
At last Peat Tablette-talked her from his IMBOD Service barracks near Atourne. He said that legally IMBOD had a month to question Hokma and then they had to decide if they were going to charge her, release her or place her under Concernful Detention. Astra had found Year Eleven Law tedious and this year she had specialised in Code and Global Languages. Now she wished she knew more about the Wheel Meet justice system.
‘Concernful Detention – what’s that?’
The internet connection in the barracks was poor and Peat’s face kept losing definition. As he blew out his cheeks he became a blobby brown balloon on her screen. ‘It’s when someone’s behaviour is … concerning. They can be kept in prison until circumstances change and they aren’t considered a worry any more.’
‘But that could be anything!’
‘Technically it’s pretty broad but IMBOD only invokes it when someone is a national security threat or seriously mentally ill. Hokma was probably just involved in some petty illegal Code sharing. I doubt it would apply.’
She couldn’t share his confidence. ‘But IMBOD owns the Owleons. What if sharing their Code is considered a national security threat?’
He pouted, his lower lip a briefly shining crescent on her screen. ‘Okay, so it’s a grey area – but as long as she has a good lawyer, she should be fine. Anyway, don’t worry, Astra, they’ll probably just release her with a reprimand. She’s been working for them for years.’
Don’t worry: that’s what they all kept saying. The short-tempered, absent-minded, distant adults, who were clearly worried to death themselves; the placid, kind, sweet-natured Sec Gens who wouldn’t, couldn’t worry, even if they were facing a quadruple amputation. But there was nothing to do but worry. And miss Hokma.
* * *
In fact, there was something enormous to worry about. On the seventh day after Hokma’s arrest, IMBOD charged her with treason.
Klor broke the news to Astra and her Shelter siblings. Peat was present on Libby. Meem and Yoki put their arms around Astra. She didn’t push them away.
‘Treason,’ she repeated dumbly. She had come to the meeting convinced that IMBOD had discovered that she hadn’t had her shot, but this news was even worse. The word was like a hammer cracking down on her head, pulverising everything inside it. Treason was the worst crime you could be accused of. The punishment was life imprisonment in solitary confinement, at the bottom of a cement well. The wells were located in a heavily guarded site in the ash fields, and the tops were covered with a black waterproof cloth so the prisoners could never see the sunlight or the stars, or feel the wind or rain. The light was artificial and the air was pumped in, dusty from the pipes. Liquid food was hoisted down on ropes, and the prisoners lived with the constant smell of their toilets. Those who sought to betray Is-Land were guilty of attacking Gaia Herself and did not deserve to enjoy a single pleasure of her bounty. When Astra was little she’d had nightmares about being locked away like that. The thought of Hokma being confined in a traitor’s well made her want to run through the greenhouse corridor window.
‘It’s a very serious charge,’ Klor said needlessly as Nimma reached forward to comfort her. ‘We can’t believe it either. But IMBOD have told us they have substantial evidence.’
Nimma gripped her knee. ‘Darling, we know this must be so hard for you.’
Astra ignored Nimma’s hand. Hard for her? Wasn’t it hard for Nimma too?
‘What evidence?’ she demanded of Klor. Now the initial shock had drummed through her, her mind was whirring again. She hadn’t been tested or arrested, so IMBOD didn’t know about her shot – so what else had Hokma done?
‘They can’t tell us,’ Klor sighed. ‘It’s confidential. Think, Astra: are you sure you don’t know anything about what Helium might have been carrying? Why was he over the steppes?’
They’d had this conversation a hundred times already. ‘How am I supposed to know?’ she snapped. ‘He flew to Atourne once a season to take seeds to Hokma’s friend at Code College. Maybe she knows.’
Nimma withdrew, her eyes flashing. ‘There’s no need to display such a temper, Astra. We’re trying to—’
She hadn’t been shouting! She’d—
‘Astra’s just anxious, aren’t you darling?’ Klor attempted, but Nimma was just warming up. Behind Astra, Meem and Yoki’s arms dropped to the sofa. They were still touching her, but lightly, passively, as they waited for the storm to pass.
‘I’m not the one who’s brought all this trouble down on our heads, Astra.’ She was speaking quickly: the rain pattering on the window before the thunder broke. ‘Don’t punish me with your rudeness. If you—’
‘Hang on,’ Peat interrupted before Astra could stand up and stalk out. ‘Sorry, Nimma. It’s just there was an IMBOD arrest in Atourne yesterday – a Seed Coder. It was in the latest city news bulletin – here, I’ll find it.’
Astra focused on Libby. The wallscreen went grey, then reloaded with a webpage from the Atourne Times. It was a small article, no photo, just a few lines of text.
Code College researcher Dr Cora Pollen was taken into IMBOD custody today. Officers arrived at 1 p.m. and escorted Dr Pollen from her offices. Colleagues say she is a private woman, well respected for her work on radiation-resistant wild rice, which entailed frequent trips to the dangerous Southern Belt. An IMBOD spokesperson stated that Dr Pollen is being detained for questioning on a highly classified matter.
‘That name sounds familiar,’ Klor mused.
Nimma replied, staring at Astra, ‘Don’t you remember, dear? She’s Hokma’
s Birth-Code niece. The friend of Astra’s Birth-Code mother.’
Cora. The name turned around slowly in Astra’s mind: yes, Cora was Eya’s friend in the story. The story she had loved as a child but hadn’t heard now for years. Was Hokma still in touch with Cora? If so, she thought with a surge of hurt, why hadn’t she ever said anything about her to Astra?
‘Astra? Was Hokma sending Helium to Dr Pollen?’ Nimma’s voice scraped like a steel nit comb over Astra’s scalp.
‘I said, I don’t know,’ she muttered, folding her arms. ‘She never talked to me about Cora, or Eya. You told me that story.’
She was controlling her temper, but Nimma was shaking. ‘I’m trying to get to the bottom of something very very serious and you are being insolent, Astra. Why do you always talk back to me? I see you, don’t think I don’t – even if your lips aren’t moving, you’re talking back to me in your head. The others never do that. Klor’ – oh for Gaia’s sake, her voice was trembling now, she was going all little girlie, like she did when she wanted Klor to put his arms around her and make like she was a friggin’ pink princess – ‘what’s wrong with her? They were supposed to be lovely, like little fawns … Why does she hate me?’
‘Nimma, darling—’ Klor sounded as shocked as everyone else looked. Meem and Yoki had sidled to the corners of the sofa and the whites of Peat’s eyes were gleaming on the screen. ‘Astra doesn’t hate you. We’re all just very upset, that’s all. It’s stress, playing havoc with our emotions. Even the Sec Gens get stressed under extreme circumstances. Isn’t that right, Astra? Yoki?’
Nimma was looking up at the mantelpiece. Here it came: the ultimate comparison. Well not this time. Frig Nimma. Frig Klor, always trying to calm everyone down. It didn’t matter if she was calm or angry, Nimma would find a way to get at her. She wasn’t Sheba, that was the problem, wasn’t it? She wasn’t Sheba who had died before she could do a single thing wrong.
‘I don’t frigging hate you!’ Astra yelled, jumping up. ‘I just hate being the suspect around here all of a sudden. First Ahn, and now you – you’re my frigging Shelter mother. Why don’t you just try believing me for a change?’
