Astra (58 page)

Oh.

‘Vishnu too? And Sorrel?’

Klor paused. ‘Darling, Vishnu and Sorrel have left Or. They’re living in New Bangor now and the children are spending weekends with Florence and Blossom. It’s a very difficult situation. And given Vishnu’s differences with Ahn, he’s not the right person to Shelter you.’

Vishnu knew about Ahn and Congruence
. She clung to that knowledge like she had once clung to Hokma’s hand. But Vishnu wasn’t allowed to see her, and no one else wanted to. She was determined not to cry. ‘Where can I go, then?’

‘Dr Greenleafdott has recommended a Shelter school, but you can only stay there until you turn eighteen. Then, if you still aren’t cured, you’ll have to come back here, or to another neurohospice, and IMBOD will take full control over your treatment.’

She wanted to scream – but she couldn’t blot this out; she had to listen. She had to
understand
. ‘How will the school know if I’m cured?’ Her voice trembled.

‘By your behaviour, partly – but also by brain tests, using an implant like the one you’ve just had to monitor your honesty and loyalty.’

She was silent. She knew she would never be cured, and she could never pass their tests. She was
glad
she’d damaged Ahn. If she ever did go back to Or, it would be to finish the job. But first she had to get out of this bed – and not to live in an IMBOD school. There
had
to be somewhere else she could go.

The sun was brightening outside. Beyond the freshly painted window frame, the steppes had vanished in a haze of white light. Slowly she began to realise the only thing she could do; the thing she was born to do.

‘What if I want to leave Is-Land?’

It was as if she’d fired a gun. Klor jolted in his seat. ‘Leave Is-Land?’

‘People leave sometimes, don’t they? They go to New Zonia, or Neuropa.’

‘I suppose …’ It had never occurred to him, she could tell, but, Gaia bless him, he was considering it. But then his face shut down. ‘No, it’s not an option. You’re not trained for any job yet.’

‘I can garden – I can cook. I can speak Asfarian and Inglish. Well, I could soon, if I was living in—’

Klor wagged his finger at her. ‘Taking a poorly paid job in a world of non-Gaians would not be sensible, Astra.’

She raised her voice a notch. ‘Klor, do you know who my Code father is?’

‘We’ve never known, sweetheart. And even if we did, we can’t ask him to—’

‘He was a Non-Lander. Hokma told me before she got taken away.’

It was as if Klor had bitten into something that was too spicy, too bitter, too sour, too hot. She’d never seen his face host so many expressions at once. ‘Good Gaia, child,’ he sputtered at last. ‘No, no he wasn’t. Hokma was very wrong to—’

‘He
was
. Eya told her. IMBOD can ask Dr Pollen.’ She held out her arm. ‘You can take my blood and test my Code.’

Now he was purely and simply aghast. ‘What have they done to your mind? Why on Gaia’s good earth would you want that kind of stain on your record?’

‘I’m half Non-Lander. I want to be expelled to the Southern Belt.’

‘Astra, you don’t know what you’re saying – oh Gaia, please help me.’ His voice was claggy and choked. Abruptly, he got up and went to the window and looked out.

She stared at Klor’s tufty back, sagging bum, wrinkly elbows. ‘What do you see, Klor?’ she asked, at last.

Without turning, he softly replied. ‘I see Is-Land, my darling. The land we Gaians brought back to life so that all our children could flourish here.’

‘I love you, Klor.’ She had spoken so quietly she thought he hadn’t heard her.

But he had. ‘I love you too, my darling,’ he said, still gazing out of the window. ‘Look at those beautiful pink cherry blossoms drifting across the garden. Oh my dewy meadow, you came into my life just like that, like a petal on the breeze.’

She gulped, and the words came tumbling out of her. ‘I’m sorry, Klor. I’m sorry I hurt you … Thank you for loving me … I wanted to be a great scientist when I grew up – I wanted to learn how to regrow your leg. That’s why I didn’t want to have the shot.’

He turned at last to look at her. ‘Oh, Astra,’ he said, his eyes shining. ‘Angel. Don’t ever worry about my leg. You regrew my heart.’

She gazed back at his craggy face but he looked away and continued haltingly, as if speaking to himself, ‘I knew I should love Peat, but Gaia forgive me, I didn’t. I knew he needed care, and he was amusing, of course, but I was numb to him. Then you arrived, and oh my dewy meadow, your little face was so curious. Your eyes followed me wherever I went. Sometimes only I could make you stop crying. You liked my rolling gait, and gripping the fur on my shoulders. I tried to resist – I felt I was being disloyal to Sheba. But when you laughed, somewhere far away I could hear Sheba laughing too. And so I thought I should make you happy, if only for her sake. Then … well, then I fell in love, in the way only fathers do.’

He still wasn’t looking at her.

‘I don’t ever want to leave you, Klor,’ she said, ‘but you can’t let them keep me here. Please, help me escape.’

He was quiet for a moment longer, then he turned back to the window. ‘You were never mine,’ he whispered, ‘just like Sheba was never mine. Look, my darling. The wind is taking the blossoms away.’

* * *

When he sat back down beside her, he was calm. ‘I’m going to try my best, Astra. I will tell IMBOD what you’ve told me and they may test you, I don’t know. If it’s true, then there is no future for you here, no matter what we try. But Astra’ – he broke into a plea – ‘you don’t have to go to the Belt to live with illegal squatters and violent criminals – why? I could petition IMBOD to send you to Neuropa.’

‘No. I want to find my father.’

He was silent as he sat, both hands resting on his knees. Then slowly, he said, ‘There was a time when Non-Landers came here to work. Some Gaians, the dissidents, argued that they were peaceful, respectful people. The dissidents were blind to the wider dangers of such attempts at assimilation, but I will give them this – I have myself met one such Non-Lander, an aglab with an extraordinary knowledge of fruit trees. Astra, for the sake of that man, I am going to grant your Code father the benefit of the doubt. But’ – he raised his palm to stop her interrupting – ‘but before I let you go to the Belt I’m going to do some research. If CONC can find a decent job for you, and if they assure me that with IMBOD’s permission you may eventually be able to work elsewhere in the world, I will recommend your eviction. But you need to know that eviction doesn’t mean freedom from IMBOD. You’ll be monitored closely in the Belt.’

She touched the back of her head. ‘With an implant?’

‘I don’t think so – not yet, anyway. But you’ll certainly have to report to an officer and stay out of trouble. They don’t have neurohospices or re-education schools there, darling. They have
prisons
.’

‘Klor—’ Her voice cracked. ‘Thank you.’

‘You might not thank me later, Astra. But it’s your decision, and I’ve always known I must one day live with some version of it. It’s natural to seek your Code roots. You grew up in the richest land on earth, but if you are cross-bred from a harder soil, you’ll survive the transplantation.’

‘Will you say goodbye to everyone for me? To Yoki and Meem and Peat.’ She paused. ‘And Nimma.’

‘Of course I will, my angel. Of course.’ As he reached to embrace her, his dear face crumpled up like a brown paper bag, and for the second time in her life, she saw the tears come glistening from his eyes.

Later, an IMBOD doctor visited the room. He said that her Shelter father had requested an investigation of her Code origins, so he needed to take a blood sample. While they waited for the results, her memory pacification treatment was to be discontinued. Instead she would be put on a light mood elevator and her Tablette would be loaded with a programme of gentle entertainment: nature films, Gaia hymns and games. There were other quasi-lucid patients in the hospital and if she behaved and didn’t upset the others on her wing, she could play chess and
hnefatafl
with them out on the balcony, exchanging moves by Owleon. She would need a little more physical stimulation now that she was no longer having treatment, so in the evenings her bed would be brought back into the room and she would be allowed to do yoga. She would also be given solid food three times a day.

‘Do you feel able to co-operate with this regime, Astra?’ he asked.

She nodded dumbly, proffered a vein and watched him suck a thick red jet of blood from her arm.

* * *

She was contemplating the courtyard when they came. Two caramel-feathered tumbler birds were bickering on the balcony railings, their beaks clashing and throats purring as they struggled to dislodge each other. As the officers stepped up briskly to the bed, the clicks of their heels startled the birds into flight. One soared briefly, then performed a double somersault before beating off into the trees. The other dipped and disappeared, then re-emerged near the trees, wheeting like a wren.

‘Astra Ordott.’ The first officer was not speaking, but reciting. ‘I am here to inform you that as a result of investigations instigated at the request of your Shelter father, your paternal Code identity as a Non-Lander has been confirmed. Eviction proceedings have begun against you and will conclude with your departure from Is-Land within the next three days. You will be taken to a holding cell where you will be made ready for your deportation to the Southern Belt. You will be provided with clothes and shoes, and with the permission of your Shelter family and in advance of your eighteenth birthday, the contents of your Is-Land child savings account will be released to you. Your Shelter father has made special petition that you be permitted to take up an entry-level position with CONC in the Belt, and that you be allowed to take certain items with you. In consideration of your Shelter father’s long service to Is-Land, the judge has granted these dispensations. You are to come quietly now with me. If you do not come quietly, you will be reimplanted and transported in fugue state. Will you come quietly?’

She nodded. The first officer reached beneath the bed to loosen the white belt, and the second officer handed her a metal box –
her
box, from her Earthship bedroom. She prised open the lid. Inside, nestled in a lacy woven red shawl, were Eya’s silver bracelet with its five blue lakes, Silver’s feather, her hipbeads, the cherrywood heart from the top of her Labyrinth staff and an old Gaia hymnbook like the ones she’d seen in showcases at schools and galleries.

‘Astra,’ said the first IMBOD officer, ‘it’s time to go.’

She replaced the lid of the box and swung her legs out of the bed. The soles of her feet met the cool marble floor and she stood. Her calf muscles spasmed, but took her weight. Gripping her Belonging Box, she stepped ahead of the officer, towards the open door.

I am deeply grateful to Bejan Matur for her generous permission to open Astra with an extract from ‘The Sixth Night
growing (up)
’, from the poem cycle ‘The Seven Nights’, translated from Turkish by Ruth Christie with Selçuk Berilgen and first published in
How Abraham Abandoned Me
(Arc Publications, 2012). Thanks are also due to Sarah Hymas, who alerted me to this beautiful book when she heard I was travelling to Turkish Kurdistan; and to Arc Editorial Director Tony Ward and his whole team, who continue to publish such fine international translations in a difficult climate.

An early version of
Chapters 1.5
and
1.6
appeared under the title ‘Or Daughter’ in the e-journal
MAMSIE: Studies in the Maternal
, 4(1), 2012. I sincerely thank the editors and peer reviewers.

My research for
Astra
was wide-ranging, including trips to South East Anatolia and Iceland where stays at the Kervanseray Hotel in Diyarbakır, the Hacı Abdullah Bey Konaği in Savur and the Kurdish village of Yuvacali; plus visits to the pigeon market at Mardin, the ash fields of Þórsmörk, the historic outdoor parliament at Þingvellir and the Geothermal Energy Exhibition at Hellisheiði Power Plant all made lasting impressions. I am also indebted to the Garbage Warrior and Earthship Creator Michael Reynolds and his team, who are constantly working on radical, sustainable biotectural solutions to the fossil fuel crisis; the Brighton Permaculture Trust 2012 Green Architecture Day, where I learned much about eco-communities in the UK; the Vanderbilt Center for Intelligent Mechatronics, whose revolutionary prosthesis designs inspired my descriptions of Klor’s leg; Dr Hillel Chiel and his
team, inventors of an endoscopy camera based on the principles of worm locomotion; the Dark Mountain Project, visionary organisers of the 2012 Uncivilisation Festival; Sally Buckland of West Sussex Falconry, who so memorably introduced me to the heart-shaped world of owls;
The Owl Who Liked Sitting on Caesar: Life with a Loveable Tawny Owl
by Martin Windrow (Bantam Press, 2014), which I read pre-publication thanks to the author and his agent, Ian Drury; and last, but far from least, the eye-opening document
GMO Myths and Truths (Version 1.2)
by Michael Antoniou, Claire Robinson and John Fagan (Earth Open Source, June 2012). Clearly, none of these innovators, researchers, gate- and raptor-keepers are responsible for any errors of fact or interpretation on my part in these pages.

When it came to writing the book I was enormously assisted by Arts Council England, who provided a grant that enabled me to concentrate fully on the final draft. I must also thank Jo Fletcher for her outstanding editing and mentorship; Nicola Budd for her ever-buoyant support; and John Parker and John Berlyne for enabling my ongoing relationship with JFB. Rowyda Amin, John Atkinson, Hugh Dunkerley, Fawzia Muradali Kane, Mike Kane, Judith Kazantzis, Catherine Lupton, Jennifer Beth Sass, David Swann and Irving Weinman all offered sound literary, scientific and/or eco-critical advice along the way, while special thanks go to James Burt, Rob Hamberger and Sarah Hymas for their extensive feedback on early drafts, with a starry mention to John Luke Chapman for keeping an eagle eye on the text during the last Kinbat laps.