Juno of Taris (6 page)

I jumped the three steps onto the verandah. Grif’s roses dripped petals and perfume. I picked up a petal. Red velvet. How I would love to wear velvet. To see it even, in something other than a historical documentary. Then the cooking smells distracted my thoughts. I was hungry. I raced into the kitchen, grabbed an oat biscuit and bit into its hard stickiness. ‘Have you heard yet?’

Grif tapped a finger on a loaf of bread, testing it, then set it back in the oven to cook some more. ‘All in good time, young Juno. Don’t be in such a rush.’

Everyone was on edge, but even so, Leebar hadn’t forgotten about the swimming lessons and she dragged me off for another one.

We returned before the end of the recreation hour.

‘Well,’ said Dad, smiling at Mother, ‘shall we go? Might as well get it over with.’

None of us had any hope left that the decision would be for them. They came back before we could start to worry. Dad shook his head. ‘They say it will be later.’

We went to our afternoon work, where the talk was all questions and no answers.

We were to dine together at Grif and Danyat’s house that evening. I helped prepare the meal and worried about my parents, waiting to be called into the Governance Office to be given the news.

The meal was ready, but still they didn’t return.

Neighbours dropped in. I was pleased to see Vima, who grinned at me, but didn’t add her voice to the questions filling the room.

‘Have you heard yet?’

‘Most unusual.’

‘Why is it taking so long?’

Questions we couldn’t answer.

Vima winked at me and stood up. ‘I’m going home to eat,’ she said, her clear voice cutting through the speculation.

One by one, the people followed her. Would I have such presence, such authority when I was just nineteen? Might as well wish to go and live Outside.

I jumped up as the door shut behind the last visitor. ‘I can’t stand it! I’m going to meet them.’

Bazin’s voice hauled me to a stop. ‘Juno!’

I’d got as far as the door. ‘Think,’ he ordered. The others watched me, sympathy in their faces, but determination as well.

‘Oh.’ I sank to the floor, all the purpose drained from me. ‘Thought before action.’ I dropped my head in my hands. Living in the ruins of storms, pestilence and war would have to be better than living here where I had to guard every action.

Grif pulled me to my feet. ‘You wouldn’t like living Outside, you know.’ She dropped a kiss on my bald head.

Grandmothers! Did they always know what went on in your mind?

She smiled at me. ‘I’ve done more writing for you. Go and look.’

The others frowned but I ran from the room and pulled the book out from under the spare bed where Grif kept it. I turned the linen pages, running my hands over them. That was another thing I yearned for – to hold a real book, an Outside book with smooth pages and small, even print. I’d even searched for writing on my computer at school, but had found no other script than the pictographs. Grif’s words were large and struggled on the rough surface.

Today’s words were difficult. I settled down, concentrating.

‘You shouldn’t do it!’ Danyat’s voice from the other room broke my concentration. I crept to the door to listen. ‘It’s dangerous, Grif. Dangerous. D’you hear?’ Isn’t one enough? Do you have to …’

Grif interrupted. I shivered as I listened. I never argued when she used that voice with me. ‘Ignorance is dangerous. Juno’s no fool. She’ll guard herself well. And I will not have an illiterate grandchild.’

Leebar said, ‘Our own children are illiterate.’

‘Exactly,’ said Grif.

A silence, then the door was opened and I tumbled through, a blushing tangle of arms and legs.

Bazin hauled me up. ‘What have you learned, young Juno?’

I thought of quoting Grif’s writing to them, but one glance at their faces changed my mind. I spoke slowly, choosing my words with care. ‘I have learned what I always knew without the words being spoken.’

‘Speak them now,’ said Danyat. His face was wrinkled like a dried fruit but there was nothing old or soft in the look he fixed me with.

I struggled to put into words the knowledge that lay inside me like a second skin. ‘Grif is educating me. She has given me the written form of words because …’ I shook my head. I wasn’t entirely sure. I just felt the strength of her purpose every time she read to me, wrote for me, got me to read and write for her.

‘You have told your parents?’ Bazin asked.

I shook my head.

‘You know it’s dangerous?’ Leebar asked.

I nodded. ‘But I don’t know why.’

Danyat said, ‘Just to know is enough right now.’

I struggled with my thoughts. They watched me and I felt their sympathy but also the strength of their will. ‘Why can’t you tell me? This is Taris. Nothing is secret.’

Grif smiled at me, her face softening. ‘Some things are more open than others. All this time, you’ve kept the secret of your writing. Do it still.’

I stared at her. I had, of course I had. But somehow I’d never thought of it like that.

‘Put the book away now,’ she said.

I slid it back into its hiding place and ran back to the main room. ‘Listen!’ Bazin held up a hand.

It was the sound of running feet. We wrenched open the door and launched ourselves into the night. ‘What news? Have they decided?’

My parents leapt up the steps and grabbed us, whirling us around. ‘It’s us! We’ve got permission to have the baby!’

The seven of us hugged, tried to get through the door and fell in a heap of laughter.

‘The genetics?’ Leebar asked once we’d sorted ourselves out.

‘From the Outside store,’ Dad said. He bear-hugged me. ‘But we don’t care. Look what we got from that store last time.’

We laughed, cried, hugged some more. I couldn’t believe it – my goodness and compliance had worked. Now I could relax. But swift upon that thought came the knowledge that I couldn’t – not yet, not until my sister was born and maybe not even then. What if they took the baby away from us? What if they thought our family an unfit family? Had such a thing ever happened before? I didn’t know – on Taris, we did not speak of our history.

I would have to be good. I would have to be compliant. I wanted to weep in the midst of all the joyousness.

Neighbours came running. They brought food, wine and laughter. A party, they shouted. We must have a party!

Vima, a flask of wine in her hand, sat down beside me. ‘You’re not happy about the baby?’ she asked, her eyes searching my face.

I glanced at my happy parents in the centre of a laughing throng of people. ‘I am. Of course I am. It’s what I wanted for them, and I’ve tried so hard, been so good …’ I couldn’t go on.

She reached out, grabbed a couple of beakers off the table and poured wine into each of them. ‘Drink up. You can behave any way you like tonight. It’s a party. Nobody withdraws from anybody at a party.’

‘I’m not allowed wine yet,’ I said, taking the beaker.

She glanced around, looked at my parents, then at my grandparents. ‘Don’t reckon anyone’s going to stop you, but you’d best go easy on it if you’ve never had it before.’ She grinned at me. ‘This baby – we’ll make her a techno-nut.’

I choked. Wine! Why drink it? It was worse than medicine. ‘No, not a techno-nut. She’ll be …’ My voice died. Why wish her to be like me? Being me wasn’t comfortable. Why wish it on somebody else? To have company, whispered my mind. I choked on another gulp of wine. Well, it wasn’t up to me what she’d be like and probably just as well.

Creen plopped herself down between Vima and me, wriggling to make room. ‘I might be there at the birth, young Juno. Just think of that!’

I stared at her. ‘But will you know enough by then? Isn’t there much to learn?’

‘The baby will come whether she’s learnt enough or not,’ Vima said. ‘And you know what Trebe’s like – her apprentice will have to be perfect.’

Creen screwed up her dainty nose. ‘Better than perfect. But I’m learning so much. More than I did at school.’ She dug Vima in the ribs. ‘You must find the same?’

Vima laughed at her. ‘We’ve been apprentices for less than a week! Personally, I’m already missing the freedom of school.’

Creen stared at her. ‘It’s not so different. What do you mean?’

Vima sighed. ‘It’s the responsibility, I guess. I know that if I don’t learn all I can, if I don’t master the technology, then Taris could fail. And …’ She stopped and shrugged. ‘This is a party; let’s party.’

Creen poured more wine for her. ‘And what, Vima? Tell me.’ They’d forgotten me. I sat still and breathed shallow breaths.

‘We’re going to need different systems soon,’ Vima said, almost to herself. ‘What we have is old and tired. And it’s not doing the job as well as it should. Aspa wants me to work on creating something new.’ She stared at Creen, her face bleak. ‘It’s a heavy responsibility, Creen. What if I can’t do it?’

Creen put down her beaker and hugged her. ‘You will! You’re brilliant.’ She pushed the wine flask at Vima. ‘Drink up. Forget your troubles.’ She leapt up and ran to talk to Mother.

I touched Vima’s arm. ‘Maybe it can’t be done. Not by anybody.’

She jumped and her wine spilled. She stared at me, her eyes drilling into me. ‘Interesting,’ she murmured.

‘What?’

‘How old are you? Eleven? Any other kid on this godforsaken island would have fainted from fright to hear all that. But you offer me comfort.’ She shook her head. ‘All the same, you weren’t meant to hear it.’

‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘I didn’t.’

She chuckled. ‘Judging by the wine sloshing down your throat, you’ll have forgotten it by tomorrow anyway.’

But I hadn’t. In the morning, at the same time as usual, Dad woke me up. He was red-eyed and half asleep himself.

‘My head hurts,’ I groaned. ‘I’m staying in bed.’

Mother came in and she laughed. ‘Too much celebrating is what’s made your head hurt, my child. Up you get.’

I muttered and grumbled all through breakfast. What was it about wine, anyway? It tasted foul and then it made your head ache. I hoped this sister would be worth it. And worth all the compliance I was going to have to practise for the rest of my days.

I hoped it wouldn’t kill me to be a model citizen of Taris.

That girl is dangerous. I’ll have to …

I shivered. Maybe it would kill me not to be a model citizen.

I
plodded along the path towards the schoolrooms. Never party on a school night – that should be one of the unbreakable rules of Taris. I climbed the four steps at the bend and there ahead of me, gossiping flat out, were Silvern and Brex. Good. I forgot my aches, put on a burst of speed and caught them up. ‘Have you heard?’ I asked. ‘Are you pleased?’

Brex hugged me. ‘Very pleased. We’ll be able to play with her. Share her. You’re so lucky.’ Her brother was three years younger than she was and she couldn’t really remember him as a baby.

‘Silvern?’ I asked, determined to make her say something.

‘I think you’re very lucky too.’ Her words had a whole different emphasis from the way Brex had said them.

‘Thank you.’ I took them at face value which made her flounce. I ran ahead of them into the schoolroom.

Justa came and hugged me. ‘I’m very happy for your family. You deserve it. All of you.’ She smiled at me.

All the others too, were happy for me. Marba grinned and said, ‘I was wrong in my prediction – I thought they’d pick Jov and Sina. But I’m happy for you.’

I didn’t ask him why he had picked Jov and Sina because I had a fair idea. I smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’

He leaned over and prodded my arm. ‘But don’t think this means I’ll let you beat me in the swimming races.’

I pulled a face at him and didn’t tell him I was swimming faster now thanks to Leebar’s coaching.

Justa called us to order and we began the day. ‘Today we will study genetics, inheritance and the way in which we can now manipulate a child’s genes in order to enhance various characteristics.’

It was difficult to concentrate. My mind wanted to wander off into far more interesting channels. I found myself thinking about my genetic parents. My biological mother should have had Silvern for a daughter; they would have suited each other admirably. Her Hope Statement didn’t warm my heart.

It would be selfish to have a child with the world in this
sorry state. Also, I don’t want to interrupt my work of
contributing to the creation of a healthy, peaceful world.
This is why I have chosen to donate to the Taris
project.

Her name was Sofia Preston, and she was a geneticist.

My biological father’s Hope Statement was worse than Sofia’s. He had been an astrophysicist called Abraham Lucas.

It is important that those of us with superior genes pass
on those genes, however I do not want to have a child. By
donating to Taris, I am able to fulfil my societal
obligations.

I was lucky indeed to have been born to my Taris parents. But my genetic parents probably hadn’t even met Outside, so I wouldn’t have been born at all. Or if I had been, I’d have been dead by now because they had lived two hundred years ago. It made my headache start up again. I was relieved when school finished for the day.