~ TEMA ~

The small hours of the morning found Tema stood in front of the small mirror in her attached bathroom. She was bleary-eyed and tired, already awake for nearly two hours. Sleep was barely a memory. Tasha’s words had brought the clenched fist back to Tema’s stomach, and it gnarled there. For hours she tossed and turned and tossed again, until sheer exhaustion brought her some rest. And then came the nightmares. They woke her, and the grip of dysphoria was a fraction stronger, and the process began again.

She yawned, her shaking hand painting a wayward line of mascara up her forehead. Get a cloth and wipe it off. Start again. Her make-up had to be perfect. No room for errors. Barbara assured her that she didn’t need to go all out, she was pretty enough. Her fortnight with Lieutenant Bennett’s oblivious soldiers proved Barbara right. That didn’t matter. Tema couldn’t allow even a whisper of masculinity to show.

If she did, there’d be a lot more people lining up to echo Tasha. One insidiously crowing voice was enough. Had Tasha understood that her words didn’t leave Tema’s head? They stayed there forever, and the hurt slowly built. One day there’d be nothing left but the hurt—and then what?

At least she was back to hospital work. Being out in the field was interesting, sure, but she hated the uniforms. The fatigues they made her wear hid all the curves she’d dreamed of having. She hated them. In the hospital she could dress the way she wanted to.

Today’s dress was white cotton, standard issue, but with jade trims instead of the customary lilac. She was a doctor, not a nurse—and that meant she could vary the colours, if she chose. The skirt, covered by a pouch tied about her waist, fell just below her knees. Once, barely old enough to talk, she’d gone with her parents and Aunt Danyer to the hospital on the bluff. Her grandfather was ill, or perhaps it was her grandmother. The nurse on duty was wearing a dress just like it. Tema had been smitten at once. She recalled tugging on the hem of the dress, spitting out some of the few words she knew. “Pretty. Want. Let touch.” She’d tried to ask the nurse to give her the dress, but her limited vocabulary allowed her to say only “off” while pointing a stubby finger at the poor woman’s clothes.

It made her cringe to look back. No doubt the poor woman thought she was being accosted by a pre-pubescent sexual predator. Aunt Danyer had taken Tema outside, and they’d shared an iced snack while they waited for Mother and Father to join them. “Do you like the dress?” Aunt Danyer had asked her. Somehow, she always knew everything. When Tema had nodded in response, Aunt Danyer had agreed that the dress was very pretty.

By the time she was finished in front of the mirror, her morning had gone. She swiped a package of dry biscuits from her sidetable, stuffing them into her mouth as she jogged for the hospital.

Barbara Flower was on the reception desk to greet her. She was always a welcome sight. She’d been Tasha’s friend, first, but when Tasha dropped out of Raconesta, Barbara had come to Tema. They’d been thick ever since. Barbara was the one to welcome Tema to sisterhood, and help her navigate all the tricky things. She was more a sister than Tasha had been of late.

The hairnet she wore told Tema she was just filling in for somebody else. Barbara was proud of her hair. She liked to wear it long and straight. When she was on reception duty, she brushed it smooth and let it hang, shining tresses of tiger’s-eye brown. When she was on the wards, she bunched it all up and stuffed it beneath a net. It made her look a bit like Mad Moira the gut-ripper.

Barbara looked up. “Morning, Tema,” she said. “Look at me on reception again. It’s the funniest thing. When I went to sleep last night I was Barbara, but it seems I’ve woken up as Delphine.” She swivelled in her chair and prodded a piece of paper tacked haphazardly to the wall behind. It was the duty sheet for the day. Barbara was indeed on ward duty. Reception was supposedly being manned by Delphine Janley, who wasn’t exactly known for her reliability. On her previous posting, a spell on an orbital base near Malindei, she’d developed a habit for deserting the desk to have a quick encounter with one of the men on duty—to the point that the rota was specifically arranged so she was only ever working alongside female staff. Not that that had deterred her, if the stories were to be believed. She’d just started having relations with the women instead.

I wonder who she’s screwing at the moment.

Tema swiped her badge to clock on, and headed for the hygiene room. It was a little nook just behind reception, across from the administrative areas of the hospital. Eight sinks and four showers. Every member of staff was required to wash their hands upon arrival, and policy dictated that any time they came into contact with a patient’s bodily fluids, they were to take a thorough shower at the earliest convenience.

As she entered the room and ran the tap of the nearest sink, she heard a gentle moaning, and a slightly louder cooing. The curtains were pulled over all four showers, but only one was moving about. Through the thin fabric, she could see the shadow of a shock of jet-black hair. “Good morning, Delphine,” she called, deliberately loudly, and chuckled at the ensuing muttered “oh shit”. Then the showers fell silent. Most of the doctors would have had stern words with Delphine, and Doctor Maynard in particular would probably want her disciplined severely, but Tema couldn’t bring herself to care all that much. It wasn’t as though they were awash with patients that needed urgent treatment.

She finished washing her hands and turned off the tap. Then, she made to leave the hygiene room, taking care to make each step as loud as she could. Rather than actually leaving the room, though, she leaned against the door and watched. A minute or so passed before a whispered conversation began in the shower.

“Is she gone?”

“I think so.”

A manicured hand pulled back the curtain, and Hannah Thorne stepped out. She caught sight of Tema straight away, and her eyes bulged. She squealed something, but the noise stuck in her throat.

Tema smiled. “Enjoying yourself?”

Hannah looked as though she no longer had any concept of what ‘enjoying yourself’ was like, but nodded her head nonetheless.

“Good. Make sure you wash your hands before you come out to work. Same for you, Delphine.”

A familiar voice filled Tema’s ears as she left the washroom, strangling her amused chuckles in their cradle. Tasha.

Her sister was leaning against the reception desk, her hair pulled up into a messy bun and baggy clothes hanging loosely off her body. Tasha had a ladiesmaid, a woman paid specifically to make sure she looked beautiful every morning. It had been a conscious effort on her part to look frumpy and frazzled. She was after something. By the way she was sweet-talking Barbara, whatever she wanted was something she couldn’t get.

“What do you want?” said Tema, not caring if she sounded blunt.

Tasha looked at Tema, and her eyes sparkled. Barbara, by contrast, seemed apologetic, like she’d somehow betrayed Tema merely by talking to Tasha.

Poor Barbara was forgotten immediately, as Tasha focused her attention on Tema. “Temmi. Dear sister.” She had a saccharine smile as real as a silverwing’s tear.

Tema wasn’t in the mood. “Am I your sister today?” she said. “It’s good to know you’ve come around.”

Barbara slipped out of her chair and took herself off to the farthest point of the front desk, burying herself in the admissions ledger. Tasha brushed a stray hair from her face. “There was a man here the last time I came,” she said. “A patient. Who was he?”

“You know I can’t talk about other patients, Tasha. Whether you’re family or not.” Tema folded her arms. “I know the academy was too hard for you, but the oath of the medick is week one stuff.”

“He called me ‘mama’,” said Tasha.

Tema shook her head. “And he thought I was a bluebird. The man was delirious,” she said. “Don’t read into what he did or didn’t say.”

“He’s my son. I know he is.”

Tema winced at the audacity of what Tasha was trying to imply. “You were barely more than a child when he was born, Tasha. You’d remember if you’d pushed a baby out of your peach.”

“Don’t talk like you know what a vagina feels like,” Tasha spat. “I’m a woman. It doesn’t need to make sense for me to know he’s my son. He must have gone back in time or something.”

Tema had to laugh. She ignored the scowls coming like daggers fresh off the grindstone from Tasha. “Listen to yourself, Tash, you sound completely insane. More than your usual insane. Time travel? Do you want me to fit you in for a scan? There might be something pressing on your brain.”

Tasha reached out a hand and dragged it along the desk, pushing two pens and a folder full of paper onto the floor. “What a messy place you keep,” she said.

“Grow up.”

“Ha,” said Tasha. “You telling me to grow up? I’m having a baby. I’m married. You’re still playing dress-up.”

“Watch it, Tash,” said Barbara, her interjection easily discarded.

Tema became very conscious of what she was wearing. A hand fell to the hem of her skirt and tugged at it. At Raconesta, the men and women alike had worn bland scrubs. By comparison, the tunic she wore here looked conspicuously feminine. It was the sort of thing that Tasha would feel antagonised by. The fact of the matter was that right now, Tema looked more like a woman than her sister did. That had obviously upset Tasha. She’s just lashing out.

“You wouldn’t let me have a scan when I came in before,” said Tasha, all haughty. “Never mind that you specifically told me to come in. I sat in that ward for an hour before someone had the decency to tell me you were too busy.”

“Nobody asked you to cause a scene,” Tema retorted. “It was your decision to let yourself into a ward you had no business going on to. Doctor Ballard could have had the Constabulary come to arrest you, if she so chose.”

“I’ll have one now.”

“Maternity doctor’s not here at the moment,” said Tema. She called over to Barbara. “When’s Doctor Sinclair in next?”

Barbara flicked through a sheaf of pages. “Day after tomorrow,” she said. “But she’s fully booked for a week after that.”

“How can she be fully booked?” Tasha thundered. “Nobody else is pregnant.”

Tema held up her hands. “I don’t make her appointments. Pop back in a couple of days and perhaps we can get you booked in then.”

“There’s no way you can arrange something for me? Is there a nurse who can do it?” Tasha had switched to begging.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Tema shook her head. Some of the nurses were probably more than capable of doing a prenatal scan, but Tasha didn’t need to know that. “There’s nothing I can do, I’m sorry.”

Tasha flipped on a copperhead then, her face falling. “You look ridiculous, you know. Dressed like that. Mother would have palpitations.” And she swanned off, not even deigning to glance back as she stormed out of the hospital.

Tema watched her go with mild amusement, then turned to Barbara with a wry grin. “You didn’t have to play along, you know. Tasha’s your friend as much as I am.”

“She’ll get over herself,” said Barbara, returning to her seat. “But it doesn’t hurt for her to not get her own way for a little while.”

Tema ran a hand down the side of her dress, all the way to the hem. “Was she right? Is this a bit much?”

Barbara laughed. “It’s uniform, isn’t it?”

“I worry it looks like I’m trying too hard.”

“No,” said Barbara. “Nobody will see it that way. How many people here know about your past?”

“Other than you and Doctor Ballard? Not a soul.” Tema looked to Barbara. “So people don’t care?”

“So what if they do?” Barbara shrugged. “They’re not in charge of you.”

Long as the shift was, it was good fun. Hannah Thorne flushed red every time she made eye contact with Tema, which was thoroughly entertaining. There was no such joy with Delphine, however—she remained resolutely unashamed. It was admirable in a way. She wished she could flaunt herself so, and not get caught up in what others thought.

The hospital was painfully quiet, so much so that she almost caught herself hoping for a disaster, to bring patients to her. There was Jem, slowly declining and always bleeding, but there were only so many times she could stand over his bed and watch him sleeping. And yet there was precious little else to do.

At least she wasn’t the only one at a loss for things to do. “Another boring one,” said Viola Watling, exactly four hours and two minutes into the eight hour shift. Viola had long hair in dark waves that Tema was profoundly jealous of. For some reason, she always wore a hat, tight and shaped like a bell. That struck Tema as absurd. If she had hair like Viola’s, she’d always want to be showing it off. Viola was mad. She was also young, still a student, so Tema had to bite her tongue and be polite. She had complimented Viola on her nails the first time they’d met, but since then they’d hardly shared a word. The fancy paint had given way to uncoated fingernails now, and the wide-eyed excitement that had been etched into Viola’s face in those early days had hardened. “Here’s me counting down the minutes.”

“You just wait,” said Tema. “Once we start getting busy, you’ll be wishing for a shift full of restocking cabinets.” Once upon a time she’d been just the same as Viola. Her placement was a small hospital near the munitions town Balking. Superstitious as they were, most ordinary people chose not to live near Balking. She passed her placement on long boring days, never seeing more than the odd chemical burn. A patient with a broken arm had been the highlight of her first year. Like Viola, she learned to count the minutes until her supervisor would set her free.

Then the munitions factory caught alight. Within the hour it had exploded in a fiery maelstrom. Overnight the empty little hospital became full to bursting, and there weren’t even enough beds. The triage nurse had broken down in tears after a few hours of choosing which inpatients were worth saving, and which had injuries too severe to waste resources. The dead had been in four figures. Tema didn’t get to properly relax for a fortnight. And after it had all died down she never counted the minutes again.

“I don’t see it ever getting busy here,” Viola scoffed. “It’s not like they let the weak of constitution travel on a colony ship.”

“There’s a lot of people here. The minor injuries aren’t ever going to stop. A few people get long-term illnesses, and it’ll quickly stack up. We might even have to open up some of the other wards.”

“Where will we go to doss around then?”

“You won’t,” said Tema. “You’ll have to work. And then you’ll be so tired, you’ll sleep all the way through to your next shift.”

“No downtime?”

“Sometimes you’ll have to go without. That’s the life we signed up for. But I tell you what, it’s completely worth it when you see someone up and walking whose life you helped to save.” Tema’s was a man called Albert, who in his convalescence kept on thanking her for her efforts. His wife had just given birth to a little girl. He held Tema responsible for his being able to go back to her.

Viola laughed. “I’ll have to get double the drinks in now. While I still can.”

“As long as you’re sober before you’re back to work.”

She spent much of the remaining hours with Viola. They divided their work with gossip and laughter, none of it of any real substance. It passed the time well. And it wasn’t like they were leaving work undone; it really was ninety percent administrative tasks, busy-work, stuff contrived to justify their spending all that time in the hospital, so that they wouldn’t be caught short if an emergency happened.

Come the end of the day, she was back in the company of Delphine Janley. Delphine still didn’t seem embarrassed to have been caught earlier. In fact, she seemed proud of it. “It’s biology,” she said, as they walked towards the way out. “And it’s fun.”

“I’m sure it is,” Tema agreed. “It isn’t what you’re paid for.”

Delphine just shrugged. “It pays for itself.”

The reception area was just about empty when they reached it; Barbara Flower was sat still behind the desk, clicking a pen repeatedly. She scowled at Delphine. “Five minutes, you said. That was an hour ago.”

“Desk duty’s boring,” said Delphine. “And you’re so good at it.”

Barbara ignored Delphine, and returned to clicking her pen.

“Tema. Just the woman I wanted to see.” Doctor Ballard was stood in the doorway, her hair a contrast in auburn up against the walls of white. It filled Tema with envy. Years of growth and anti-androgens had arrested the baldness which had brought with it so many tears, but she’d still not managed to get her hair to come down below her shoulders. And it was greasy, no matter what she did to it. She couldn’t help but take it as another reminder that she was less woman than her peers. And then to work with Caroline Ballard, whose hair seemed to cascade down her neck in effortless locks, each shiny wave screaming femininity.

She forced a smile and bade Delphine good day. Inside, she was certainly not smiling. Doctor Ballard knew. She’d been there from the start, Tema’s rock through the difficult days. It meant she knew everything. All of Tema’s darkest secrets had been laid bare in those darker years. She wondered what Doctor Ballard was planning to use against her.

“There’s no need to be worried,” Caroline cooed.

“Who says I was worried?”

“Tema, your face is a book. Look, I know you’re looking over your shoulder all the time. I can’t say I blame you—without naming names, I know plenty of people who’d throw you under the bus if they knew you were—”

“Doctor Maynard.” She had to say the name.

Caroline blinked. “I don’t want to name names,” she said. “Regardless, you don’t need to worry. At all. I’ve got your back. You know where I stand on the matter—I have eyes, I can see you, I don’t need some outdated file to tell me I’m wrong. And the Governor agrees with me.”

Tema’s heart sank. “The Governor knows?” So much for starting afresh.

“He’s married to me, sweet,” said Caroline. “There’s no secrets in our marriage.” She must have seen the cloudy expression on Tema’s face, because she suddenly began to grovel. “Look, I know it’s not my place to tell... I hope you can forgive me. It won’t go any further, you have my word on that.”

“Your word? How can I trust your word?”

Caroline grimaced. “I don’t suppose you can take my word for it?”

She shook her head.

“Tema, I don’t blame you if you’re upset. Hell, I would be too if somebody started telling people about me.” Caro clasped Tema’s hand. “I count you as a friend. I don’t want to lose that.”

“Why did you tell the Governor about me then?”

“That’s what you do in a marriage, Tema—you tell the other person everything that’s happened to you. It simply doesn’t occur to you to keep a secret. You’ll have that one day.”

“Will I?” Her whole body was shaking. Feelings long buried had caught a glimpse of the surface, and they were clamouring to rise there. Caroline let go of her hand and stepped away. “Look at me. You know what I am. I’m servant-class, a servant who thinks she’s a doctor. Might as well call me Goodwife Tema, and do away with the pretences. If that. I might be a woman by name, but that doesn’t make me a woman to society.”

She felt Caroline’s hand on her shoulder, an arm around her. The hug felt nice, even if she didn’t want it. “I look at you and I see a woman. I see a doctor. Because that is what you are, Tema.”

“And what man will agree with that, when it comes down to it? I can’t bear children, not ever.”

“Neither can I.” Caro spoke as softly as Tema had ever heard. The hug dissolved.

Someone coughed in the next room over. Tema blinked, as though that might dissipate the sudden onset of tinnitus.

“What did you say?”

“I can’t have children. I can’t get pregnant. I did once, for a time. Since then nothing will make my womb quicken, and the Gods will testify that we’ve tried.”

And suddenly it was Tema’s turn to pull Caro into a hug, squeezing her so tight she might have choked. Unacknowledged tears smeared on the shoulders of her tunic as Caro buried her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, between sniffles. “You’re the one who’s angry. Who am I to make this all about me?”

Tema shook her head. “There’s enough tears for two of us. It’s not a case of one or the other.”

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry. It’s my fault for not thinking hard enough.”

In that instant, Caro’s face bore the reflection of its younger self, the face of the Doctor Ballard who had called Tema into her office years ago, to tell her that she knew, and that she didn’t care. The Doctor Ballard who had given her the courage she needed to actually be herself. The moment was just a passing snowflake, there and gone in the blink of an eye. And in that blink her whole mood melted.

“Forget about it. I overreacted.”

It was clear that Caro didn’t believe that, any more than Tema did. The women looked at one another for a second, then Caro nodded, a nod of acknowledgment more than anything that the conflict was passed.

Tema suddenly had a thought. “What is it you wanted to see me about? You never said.”

Caro stopped in her tracks. “I think you’re a very capable woman, Tema. You’ll go a long way in life.” For a few seconds then she was silent, as if she was unsure of what to say next. “I won’t be in charge here forever. I’d like you to take over when I’m gone.”

“When you’re gone? Are you sick?”

“No, sweet. I just like to be prepared. I have some extra work, important work. I need to be sure it’ll carry on even beyond me. Look, I’ve no right to ask this, not after what I’ve done, but can I trust you?”

She was half-tempted to tell Caro that no, she couldn’t be trusted. Why were Caroline Ballard’s secrets more important than hers? Instead, she faked a smile. “Of course.”

“I’m glad,” said Caro. “It concerns Foresleepers.”

Foresleepers. Something from legend. “What of them?”

A wave of uncertainty passed over Caroline’s face. She pulled Tema aside, to the empty seats at the corner of the waiting room, and there whispered to her. “I’m one.”

Tema laughed in Caroline’s face. It quickly became clear that Caro wasn’t sharing the humour. She remained solemn. “I thought they were made up,” said Tema, apologetic. “Just a convenient excuse to get rid of people who weren’t pliable enough.”

“It would definitely be an excuse to get rid of me, if the wrong person found out,” Caro nodded. “You’ll know exactly what that’s like, of course. We’re very real, though—unfortunately for me. I’m alright. I don’t need help, I don’t need a shoulder to cry on. I’m not embarrassed about myself. There are others, Tema, here on Essegena. People more delicate than me. People who can’t go it alone. I can’t promise I’ll always be around.”

“Tell me you aren’t planning on leaving.” Tema’s heart sank.

Caroline smiled. “I’ll be here till my body wears out,” she said. “My husband will try to tempt me into an early retirement in the name of chivalry, but fuck him. What would I be if I wasn’t a doctor?”

“Well-rested,” quipped Tema, and Caro chuckled.

“I get plenty of rest,” she said. “I’m worried I might be something of a target. I’m the Governor’s wife and I’m one of those dirty Foresleepers—there’s plenty who’ll hate me for that. The guards are good, but it only takes one. One madman with a concealed blade and I’d be dead before anybody could intervene.”

“You mustn’t speak of things like that,” said Tema.

“I have to be prepared. Tema, if anything happens to me I want to know that the hospital is in safe hands. I get to nominate my successor—a perk of being the Governor’s wife. I don’t plan on picking someone who’ll comport themselves poorly. Nobody should fear to go to the hospital. I want you, Tema.”

“With all due respect, Doctor Ballard, I’ve only been on the job five years. There are others who are more qualified.”

“You’re thinking of Doctor Staniforth, I bet. He might have the bits of paper but he doesn’t have the heart. He scares people, I think. And anyway, I’d like to think you’ll have been on the job forty-five years before I need replacing,” said Caroline. “This girl, the one who’s a Foresleeper, could be in danger if I hand her identity over to the wrong person. I know you’re the right person. Tema, you’ll go to her, if I die? If something happens to me? You’ll make sure she’s safe?”

It wasn’t a decision. “Of course I will,” said Tema.

“You promise?”

Tema nodded. “I promise.”

Caro looked around to make sure there was nobody about. “She’s a stablehand,” she said. “Her name’s Bessily. That should be enough for you to find her.”