~ TEMA ~
Tema found herself alone in the washroom, sat on the cold wooden benches with time for her thoughts. Her mood had been a great one as she’d arrived for her day’s work, but it had soured as she was clocking in. The nurse on the desk was one of the young girls brought to Essegena to serve the colony in lieu of their final year of study. She was a quiet girl, usually keeping herself to herself. Tema wasn’t even sure she’d ever learned the girl’s name. Today, as Tema was signing in, the girl had asked about Tasha.
The line of questioning had caught Tema off guard. What did the nurse want to know about Tasha for?
She wished she’d been a bit more dignified in her response. “Is my sister any of your business?” she’d snapped. “Should I pry my nose into your affairs too? Or would you prefer privacy? Privacy, I bet. Tasha’s a rat, and if you needed me to tell you that, you’re probably a rat too.” She knew as she was speaking that she’d gone too far. The nurse had reddened and turned away, sniffling; she’d excused herself and called Lily Day down to cover for her, and Tema had been left feeling rotten.
All her life, she’d been bad at apologies. It was the natural consequence of rarely needing to say sorry. Throughout childhood it had been the other way around—Tasha would often take some liberty, and Goodwife Jaina or Mother or Aunt Danyer would force Tasha to apologise. Tema would get to enjoy the two seconds of power she had over her sister, then things were back to normal. But she was never the one to be dragged by her ear until she was contrite. She was always a good girl. She didn’t do wrong.
So now she was in the strange position of knowing she needed to say sorry, but not knowing how. Caroline Ballard was a good boss, an understanding boss, but even she was bound to take the side of the student nurse who’d been reduced to tears, over the emotionally unstable junior doctor. Tema would do the same in her position.
She heard footsteps on the tiles, and a knock on the inside wall. “Doctor Caerlin? Are you in here?”
“I’ll be out in a second.” Tema allowed herself until the count of five to pull herself together. She couldn’t spend forever moping. Any longer would be taking liberties with the time of somebody else.
At the door, she found the young nurse waiting for her. Far from looking sad, the nurse had a youthful grin on her face. “There’s a patient asking for you, Miss Tema,” she said. “I could have patched him up myself, but he wanted to talk to you specifically.”
Tema followed the nurse as she practically skipped towards the wards. All the time she thought she should say something, but the moment didn’t come. It wasn’t right to apologise to the back of someone’s head, was it?
“You’ll think me terribly rude,” she said, eventually, “but I’m afraid I’ve never caught your name.”
The nurse turned. “Don’t worry, nobody ever does. I’m Janna.”
“Janna, I owe you an apology.” Tema coughed to cover the hesitation as she scrambled to think of what to say next. “I was a beast, going off on you like that. I’m sorry.”
Janna gave her a look of bemusement. “You’re a doctor, Miss Tema, and I’m just a mouthy trainee. You’re allowed to scream at me as much as you want.”
“Who told you that?” Tema tried to speak softly.
“It’s what all the tutors say. They told me I talk far too much for my own good.” Janna didn’t miss a step.
Tema couldn’t imagine Janna talking too much. She was by far the quietest of all the hospital’s staff. A gossip like Delphine Janley or Eddie Brigstock might have been often told to pipe down, but not Janna.
Their path to the wards led them up the main staircase, in the grand atrium closest to the heart of the Eia. It was built to be the centrepiece to a busy hospital, a beautiful piece of architecture which had no business being in the middle of a spaceship. The stairs were finished with marble, and artificial waterfalls dropped into gilded pools on either flank. Blue sky and wispy clouds had been painted onto a backlit ceiling above the atrium, giving the impression of open air.
The whole thing was a waste of time. There weren’t nearly enough patients to keep it busy, and most of the time the staff preferred to use the smaller stairwells and the lifts that went closer to where they wanted to go. As a result, the main staircase was almost always completely deserted. Today there was only Betsy Clanackan, polishing the bronze banisters. She smiled as they passed, her round face beaming, then returned to her work.
Most of the wards on the upper floors were as yet unused. What was the point in them? While inpatient numbers were so low, it only made sense to make use of as few wards as possible—and the closer to reception, the better. There was a solitary exception. Nobody had seen fit to make sure the lower levels were equipped with a magnetic imaging scanner, so when one was needed the upper level was the only place to go.
Janna took Tema to the ward nearest to the scanner. There were only two people here. One was a woman with a long face who’d come in with a broken finger. Tema didn’t know her. But the other, sat on a chair intended for visitors and grinning at her, was Sam Preston. She’d not seen Sam since the Governor’s party.
“It’s just a bruised ankle, Miss Tema,” Janna explained. “I know I’m just a trainee, but I can’t see why he can’t be discharged today.”
“I’ll find you if I need you, Janna,” said Tema, waving the young nurse away. “What have you been up to, Sam?”
He laughed. “Falling off things. Mainly solid ground. You know me, Tema—I can’t be trusted to do anything.”
“Janna tells me it’s not a serious injury. You can go, if you want to.”
Sam nodded. “Happy to. But she said Doctor Caerlin was around somewhere, and it would be rude if I left without saying hello.”
Tema smiled. There weren’t many people who’d go out of their way to seek her company. “Since you’re here, I’ll have to do a cursory examination. Just a few questions. I have to have a paper trail to account for my actions, or the boss will think I’ve been slacking.”
“You’ve got a hard-arse for a boss too?” said Sam. “I’m with Lieutenant Bennett again, up at the new fort they built by where we made our camp. Plateau Watch, it’s called. Well, I’m supposed to be there. I’ve not actually made it that far yet. Did my leg on the way.” He reached and tapped at the bruised ankle. “Clearly there’s not a bone in my body hates Bennett more than this one.”
Tema raised an eyebrow. “All the stories you used to tell, I figured it’d be a different bone.”
Sam pretended to be shocked, and gestured at the woman in the bed next to him. “Watch it. There’s a lady present.”
It was clearly meant as a light jape, but it stung. Oh, it stung. It cagged at her with barbed points. But she needn’t be mad. Sam was only seeing the joke from his side. He didn’t know how it would hurt.
“I got lucky,” Sam continued. “Macel’s copping off with a stablegirl—you remember Macel? I got a ride down the hill in her cart.”
The long-faced woman sniggered, and Sam raised a finger in expletive. “That’s not a euphemism. There’s no need to be filthy!”
“A stablegirl?” Tema remembered the promise Caroline had extracted from her—the Foresleeper girl who needed to be kept safe. Wasn’t she a stablegirl? What was her name? The chances were slim that it was the same one, but it was worth asking. “By chance, was her name Bessily?”
Sam frowned. “How did you know that?”
How did she know that? She couldn’t very well start spouting off about Bessily’s secret. It would be a bad look to betray Caroline’s trust, especially when she’d made such a thing of Caroline sharing her secrets.
“Lucky guess,” said Tema.
Sam nodded. “Very lucky. When I get myself back to Plateau Watch, I’ll let her know you said hello.”
“No,” said Tema, “there’s no need to do that. She wouldn’t know who I was anyway.”
They talked no more of Bessily the stablegirl, and when she was done asking Sam questions she left the ward. She was sure to find Janna as she went. The nurse had made the correct judgement—Sam was free to be discharged whenever. Exactly when that would be, Tema would leave to Janna’s discretion.
By the end of the shift, Tema had come to be working in the company of Viola Watling. Viola was in need of a senior member of staff to serve as her mentor and to write a recommending letter once her training period was complete, and she seemed keen to have Tema fill that purpose. They were laughing at some absurd joke as they made their way past the admin block, bound for reception and home.
“Tema, can you come here for a moment?” Doctor Maynard was stood in her office doorway. She was smiling, but her eyes were quite clear: Tema didn’t get an option. What had she done wrong? She couldn’t think of anything.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” said Viola. She nodded, and her friend headed out of the hospital.
Doctor Maynard clicked the door shut behind Tema. She pressed a button on a panel beside the door, and at once the faint sound of chatter from outside disappeared. The soundproofing, Tema knew. She’d had an office just like this while she was working in the hospital at Jagbridge. How many times had she sobbed behind the soundproofed walls?
“Have a seat.” Maynard pointed at a metal-frame chair in front of her desk, and clicked her fingers. “Quickly, now.”
Tema did as she was asked. Doctor Maynard walked across to a set of aluminium cabinets against the back wall. The medical records of everyone aboard the Eia. She opened one of the uppermost drawers. ‘BYF-’ to ‘CEN-’, the label read. Tema knew her own record would be in there. Maynard leafed through the files for a while, before picking one and pulling it out of the cabinet.
She knew it was hers even before Maynard threw it onto the desk in front of her. “I’ve been reviewing the records,” Doctor Maynard said, “and I couldn’t help but notice some discrepancies in yours.”
“Why?” Tema felt like asking. “Why have you taken it upon yourself to read these files that aren’t remotely relevant to you?” Instead she grunted something she couldn’t even make out herself. It didn’t matter why, not really. Doctor Maynard was senior staff. She had every right to view any files she saw fit.
Maynard took her own seat, across the desk from Tema. Hers was a comfortable chair, with a padded back and proper supports for the arms. She looked at Tema like a teacher, consoling a child who has just been caught out. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” The way she simpered made Tema sick.
“I know what my file says,” Tema nodded. “I don’t see where the issue is.”
Maynard raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you don’t? Well then, let me explain.” She pointed a grotty finger at the basic information at the top. ‘CAERLIN, Tema Octavia,’ it read. And below that, ‘GENDER: M’. “This is a workplace, Mister Caerlin, not a masquerade party. There can be no further uniform violations.”
“Uniform violations?”
“That dress. It doesn’t conform to Unity standards.”
Tema laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emmeline. It’s a Unity-issued uniform.”
Doctor Maynard bristled. “As I’ve already informed you, this is a workplace. You will as such address me in the correct manner. As for your dress, you’re correct that it is issued by the Unity. As part of the uniform for female staff—not you.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The air had gone from her lungs. There were a million things she wanted to say, needed to say, but it was all she could do to manage a silent scowl.
Maynard continued undeterred. “I don’t want you to think I’m against you,” she said. “I am sympathetic to your plight. I have a nephew who is now a woman. But law is law, and the law discriminates between men and women.”
“Do I look like a man to you?” Tema asked, her old earthy tenor creeping back.
“I’m not here to judge your appearance,” Maynard said.
“And yet here you are, doing just that.” Tema’s head was spinning.
“At such a time as your reconfirmation is complete, and your records tell me you are female, I will happily hold you to the appropriate standards of uniform. Until then, it makes no odds how much powder you plaster onto your face. The sex between your legs does not lie. For now, I have no option but to issue you with a formal reprimand for uniform violations. Tema, by the time of your next shift, I will expect to see you properly dressed.” She smiled at Tema, a smile that showed her teeth. Tema wanted to reach over and knock them all out. “Another thing: I won’t have my staff being lied to. Your deception will stop. If you won’t tell the truth about yourself, I will do it myself.”
Saliva gathered in her throat, and dried it out. “You can’t.” The words came out as a rasp. She spoke out of desperation, not knowledge. Surely there must be something to protect her, some statute that might curtail Maynard. None came to mind.
Maynard regarded her with a single raised eyebrow. “I can’t?”
Then it came to her. “No. You can’t. It’s Unity law. You’re bound to respect my confidentiality—the contents of my file are not yours to share.”
For a second she had her victory. That was the gotcha, the killer blow. And then Emmeline Maynard began to laugh.
“I admire your conviction, Tema. You’re right about the laws of the Unity, but you’ll find that we’re not in the Unity. Don’t look so upset, I’m trying to protect you.”
“Doctor Ballard doesn’t see an issue—”
“As is her prerogative. Doctor Ballard is away on council business. I’m in charge in her absence, and I do see an issue. It’s nothing personal. I just want you to be safe—and there are others here who might not see that as important.”
It was hard resisting the compulsion to run out of the hospital. She did her best not to cry—oh, but these were angry tears she was holding back, not sad ones. There was a pit where Tema kept all the people she hated, a dark dungeon in the depths of her mind. Emmeline Maynard had a spot reserved just for her. Who did she think she was? Caro hadn’t died. Tomorrow she’d be back, and Maynard would be just another of Tema’s cohorts, with no power. She couldn’t follow through on her threat even if she wanted to.
And besides, Tema outranked her. Tema was second in seniority. She said as much: “Doctor Ballard nominated me as her deputy. I’m in charge while she’s gone.”
“Tema, I can see you’re upset,” Maynard sighed. Formal address was apparently no longer important. “Doctor Ballard won’t always be around to protect you. Truth be told, there are some who’d have her gone sooner than we’d all like. Doctor Staniforth will keep at it until Doctor Ballard’s out of her job, and then he’ll turn to you. If I go easy on you now, I’ll just be adding my name to his list. I love working here, Tema. There’s nothing else for me. If I got the sack...” In a bizarre reversal, now it was Maynard who looked upset, her lip quivering stubbornly. “I’m not as clean as I’d like to be. Staniforth would have an easy time blacklisting me if he chose to. You understand, Tema? It’s not out of hate for you.”
Bollocks it wasn’t. “Why bring it up?” Tema asked. “If you’re acting out of fear, just put my file away and pretend you’ve not looked at it. It’s only an issue because you’ve made it one.”
Maynard grimaced. “It would be nice if things were as easy as all that. Why don’t you set up a practice out in the town? Somewhere out of Staniforth’s domain? Doctor Ballard would sign off on it.”
“You’re kicking me out? I outrank you.”
Maynard shook her head. “I’m not kicking you out. I just don’t want there to be trouble. And there will be, if Staniforth finds out about you. You know there will be.”
Tema sighed. “And how long have I got to hide? I spent a quarter of a century pretending to be somebody I wasn’t, hiding who I was because I feared what the world might say. I’m not exactly jumping for joy at the prospect of going back to that.”
“I’m sure it won’t be forever,” said Maynard. “Think about it, Tema. Please.”
Tema refused to dignify Maynard with another word. She strode out of the hospital, ignoring the cheery greeting from Cherry Aspwell on the front desk, past the waiting Viola, and marched a quickstep all the way to her chambers. Somehow, she didn’t start crying until the door shut behind her.
Once she’d wiped her face clean and changed into a comfortable nightdress, Tema took to her bed with a bottle of chartreuse for company. The liquor burned her throat as she drank from it but at least the burning stopped her thinking about Doctor Maynard. A bit of pain was preferable.
At some point during the last third of the bottle she passed out. Dream took her. First it was the aromatic lilac that filled her nose, and then colours returned to her. She breathed in a light air. This was what paradise must have been like.
With its underscore of gently burbling water, the grove was a tranquil oasis. The statue at its heart had stood there for many years. White marble had chipped and cracked and overgrown with green moss and creeping vines. She was a lonely soldier, this old goddess, standing vigil over a lost land. Tema knew her name once. It was something beautiful, the sort of name that flows off the tongue and nestles itself deep within the speaker, lingering in the marrow of the breastbone. There was a similar statue at home. The same goddess, with the same wide-eyed expression on her face, hands cupping forever at water that slipped through their grasp. Even the decay seemed the same.
Something shifted in the grove. Things seemed to shine brighter for a moment, like the sun had been allowed its first access, and then they faded darker. Tema hunched her shoulders tight and walked on, keeping her hand held outstretched before her so she might touch the stone skin of the deity.
And she knew it was the goddess, telling her her name.
“I know this place,” she blurted. It sounded smarter in her head.
“Am I at home?” It did seem familiar. Surely it was too much of a coincidence for this statue to have the same blemishes as hers. And now she said it, there was a grove in the grounds, wasn’t there? And wasn’t that Jaina’s specialty pie she could smell, wafting over the grasping pines and sentinel furs?
The statue regarded her coldly.
A chill washed over her. The breeze cut deep, soaking into her skin, weaving its way inside every fold. She reached for her clothes, in which to wrap her hands, but grasped only bare skin, soft as a baby’s. Naked. She was wearing clothes just now. She would never walk around naked, not even when she was at home. To be naked was to look at that treacherous body that called itself hers.
She looked down at herself. Her breasts were plump, fully formed, and farther below was a cleft. Womanhood, and it was hers. Her body was perfect.
“I’m dead.”
“This isn’t my body.”
So she had to go back. Brilliant. Delphine had the right of it—there’s nothing a god can be counted on more than to give a glimpse of paradise and take it back again.
“Am I dreaming then?” In the stories, sometimes, profound moments of self-actualisation came to the heroes in their dreams. A bit of self-actualisation would be very handy.
“Then what?”
A message? What did that mean?
Probably nothing, she told herself. Just because the intangible goddess told her it wasn’t a dream, it didn’t necessarily mean that it wasn’t a dream. Dreams weren’t obliged to confess themselves as such. Though it did feel real.
She looked back down at her body, just to be sure of what she was seeing. When the morning came, she’d wake up, and this would be at most a fragment of happiness for her to reach out desperately for.
The gentle flapping of wings distracted her. A pair of doves had swooped to land on the shoulders of Fréreves. They chittered and sang, and nestled their beaks in each other’s feathers. “Hello there,” she said, and they looked at her. One, its head glowing with roseate plumage, cooed at her, and returned its attentions to its mate. “Suit yourself,” she laughed, and crouched beside the goddess.
All of a sudden, the very earth seemed to shake. She looked around, frantic. “What’s going on?” But there was nobody to answer her. The birds, the trees, the whole garth seemed oblivious to the clangour. Fréreves the stony goddess was silent. She thought she heard a man’s voice on the wind. It was so faint she could scarce be sure she heard it at all. The words, if any, were long dead before they got to her.
And then a pop. A cylinder of hewn stone had popped out from a nearby boulder, like a cork from the bottle. From the gap it left, water was pouring out. A trickle quickly became a flood, drenching her, making her recoil.
The birds fluttered. One, with its feathers a drab beige, squawked abruptly. Its call was cut off by the rushing of a jet of water, which ripped it from its perch. The pink dove sang a mournful cuccurou for its lost companion. It looked at Tema. Your fault, it was saying. You did this.
“I didn’t do this,” she told the bird. It didn’t make any attempt to move, nor to disavow her of her assertion. Of course not, she thought. Birds couldn’t talk, any more than they could understand. This bird had no blame for her, and nor should it.
In time she became aware of a heavy weight on her foot. She looked down and recoiled at once. A baby lay there, pink and wrinkled, half-formed. It was more akin to a demon than a human being. Smears of blood covered it, and pooled on the floor beneath it. The baby caught her eye, and at once it began to cry.
“No. Don’t do that.” She looked around the grove once more, and there was nobody to help. Only the pink dove who could not understand her. What do I do now? Babies weren’t her area. Doctor Sinclair had trained in midwifery. Viola Watling’s first placement was in a maternity word. They would be able to handle the baby, to soothe it. Tema didn’t know what to do. She crouched down towards it, but when she went to reach out a hand she found it repulsed her. Everything about it was wrong. The flesh was spongy, almost liquid. The blood with which its entire surface area was doused was viscous. “Please be quiet,” she begged it. “Please, I’ll do anything, just shut up.”
And then the baby stopped crying. Its rocking stopped. Its eyes looked at hers with accusatory iciness. No sounds came from it, not even the faint rattling of breath.
Clutched tightly in her hand was a knife. When had she picked that up? She dropped it instinctively, letting it crash to the ground. It wasn’t her knife.
It wasn’t her hand either. It was somebody else’s, a man’s, hairy and warty with grubby fingernails.
“How can I stay calm? How?” That’s it, Tema, you’re doing great, girl. Yes, you’re yelling at a statue, but so what? Everyone’s done it. You’re keeping together great.
Fréreves had an answer for Tema.
Unhelpful bitch.
Her feet were wet. Where had the water come from? The grass was gone, replaced by a pool of water never less than two inches deep. In places it sank further, plumbing depths known only by the darkness. She shivered at the idea. Down in the deep and gloom, nothing good was found. All that lingered there was the abominables of the ocean, the ghosts of centuries-lost shipwrecks.
Here at the surface of this pool, a different ghost lingered. This one was cold and clammy, a beauty sleeping with blue lips and orange hair. Caroline.
Tema grabbed at Caro, but her hand came up empty. How could that be? She was only just below the waterline. Tema reached again, and again her hands scooped only water.
The pink dove called again, an urgent plea in birdsong. The grove was suddenly dark. Had night fallen? Did this place have night? But up ahead, the sun was at full height acrest an azure sky. It was noon. Noon, and the darkness was encroaching.
Yes, it was getting closer. On all sides, she could see, the shadow crept in. The trees were swallowed already, and the leaking boulder. Gone from her view, the rushing water suddenly made no sound.
“It won’t hurt, baby. I promise.” There came Fréreves, speaking in a different voice, an indistinct voice. Tema thought it was one she’d heard before, but she couldn’t be sure.
She was distracted by a sudden searing pain. Her arm was burning. She looked for the fire. There was only shadow, and darkness, licking at her arm. “It really hurts,” she complained, stepping out from the shade.
By now the shadow was at the statue, and closing in. Fréreves spoke again. She was distant, an echo, faintened by the oncoming night. “It’ll all be over soon. Just close your eyes.” The dove squawked an anxious squawk, and then it was gone, given to the dark, and with it the statue. The baby too was gone.
What do I do here? If this was a dream, she’d better wake up soon. If not, she wasn’t prepared for a situation like this. How do you fight the darkness? Caroline didn’t wake up when the shadow swallowed her. She lay still beneath the water, a ghostly angel. Tema watched mesmerised as bit by bit she was taken. When there was nothing left of her, the shadow turned to Tema. It was only her now, alone, on a tiny spit of drowned land.
She couldn’t back away. Darkness was on all sides of her.
This is going to hurt, she thought. She braced herself. But the pain was of a kind she could not have anticipated. If ever she was going to experience the ravages of being flayed alive, this must surely be it. Every fibre of her being was rent apart, tearing and tangling. She wanted to scream, she could not scream.
And then she was not—neither man nor woman, human nor animal. There was no place in the universe for her, and nor could she reside outwith it. There was no pain. As the shadow took her whole, she saw a woman lying in her bed, fast asleep. The woman had the body of Tema Caerlin, and Tema’s name too.
And the shadow in the form of a man standing over her bed went nameless. He watched the woman with the body of Tema Caerlin, and he reached out to touch her. Behind the ear he stroked her. He played with her hair. He whispered unheard words to her.
In a sudden rush, Tema was again. The pillow was soft and cool beneath her. She opened her eyes a crack, just enough to see the bedroom. Every mundane item had an evil shadow in the night-time.
She smiled despite herself. A dream, she thought. The grove was a dream, and everything in it. Just her warped mind messing with her. She could sleep easy now.