What now?” said Daphne as they stepped back out into the dazzling sunlight, sunshades firmly in place. It might not have been Zada’s imagination that the early summer air was hotter than it had been this month the year before, and the year before that. She tried not to think of Carine, so desperate for an explanation that she was willing to risk Extrication. Some years were hotter than others. That was all.
Zada glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. “It’s like I outlined before,” she said. “You mentioned the sisters keep records of everyday citizens?”
“I did,” said Daphne. “They do. Detailed.”
“Then we check your Gem, pick a hundred randomized matches off the list, and then another several hundred concentrated in the last few years—let’s say three. We mine the nuns’ archives for any clue about the success or failure of those marriages. They likely won’t have information about everyone, but we keep going until we have a large enough sample of people we can get data on. That should give us a picture of how effective Heartsong has been, and whether there’s been an increase in, ah, faulty matches recently.”
“Sounds good,” said Daphne. “Well, no, it sounds like amind-numbing amount of work, but I don’t have any better ideas.”
“Assuming the nuns can be trusted to be, um, discreet?” They crossed the street, Zada dodging a malfunctioning horse that had lurched into traffic.
“Careful,” said Daphne. “And yes. No question.”
The Sisters of Perpetual Reflection were a spiritual order in name only. Organized religion had no place in New Ionia. There simply wasn’t room for it. The people of New Ionia lived according to the guidance of the Core, and that was enough.
Zada only knew a little about the sisters. They devoted themselves to a life of service and swore off any technology beyond what they saw as strictly necessary—no SmartGems, no lenses and accompanying earrings, no electronically modified instruments, and no hyper-carriages. And strangest of all, the sisters declined the place in society that the Core offered them. They refused to participate in the Heartsong program or even accept their assigned jobs.
The continued presence of the order was a matter of some controversy in the city. For one, their rejection of Heartsong meant there would inevitably be a few young people in each year left without a match.
Anyone of any gender could join the order, but it was generally frowned upon and hardly seemed appealing. Who would want to live without Heartsong, without a career chosen especially for you, without your life perfectly tailored to who you were meant to be? Not to mention how incredibly dull it must be to not have the feed a blink away. Shrouded in their kelly-green habits and perched on their solar-powered carts, the sisters drew attention to themselves without trying.
Despite their strangeness and their disruption to New Ionian society, the sisters were tolerated. They provided authentic artisanal goods created the old-fashioned way, by hand. Their order supported itself by selling luxuries like lace, carved cameo jewelry, fine jams, and pottery at weekly craft fairs all over New Ionia.
Zada and Daphne strolled past office buildings and Counseling centers, wedding planning businesses and photography studios offering 3D mementos like the one from Flora’s wedding.
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Instant nostalgia.”
“I think it’s lovely that we can give people the opportunity to linger inside of their best moments,” said Zada.
“Yet another chance to live in the past,” Daphne muttered, kicking at a loose cobblestone.
“Are there no memories you’d want to relive if you could?” Zada said, and Daphne fell silent, no doubt thinking of Flora.
Eventually, they reached the closest installation of nuns, at the North Saline Street Community Center. The building was low-slung and without frills, outside or inside. It resembled a train station from history class, constructed before New Ionia’s various transportation advancements.
Zada had never seen so many nuns in one place before. She had also never seen them behave so casually. They crossed the room in twos and threes, talking amongst themselves. A few were even laughing, the echoes bouncing off the tile floors and bare walls.
Daphne flagged down a passing novice and requested a meeting with someone called Sister Patience so smoothly that it left Zada wondering if Daphne regularly consorted withthe nuns. Maybe she did. Zada had no idea what Daphne had gotten up to in the time since they stopped being friends.
“Is Sister Patience an acquaintance?” Zada whispered as the novice scurried away.
“Not at all. Novices adopt names based on whatever virtue they’re trying for. There’s always a Sister Patience.”
The sister in question emerged from a back room a few minutes later. She was a stout, no-nonsense woman in her fifties with an intensely likeable air.
“Right then, what can I do for you?” she asked briskly.
“We won’t trouble you for long,” said Daphne. “My friend here is engaged to be married in a couple of months, and she’s a fiend for history.”
Zada nodded, trying hard to project an air of deep studiousness. “I was wondering if you could allow us to visit your archives. I’d like to read more about the beginning of the Heartsong program to situate myself in the context of the matches that came before mine.”
“It’s justsoromantic.” Daphne sighed. Zada cut her a glare. Daphne was overdoing it.
But Sister Patience didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she gave the two of them a calculating look. “I suppose we could lend you the keys to the archives for a few hours this evening. In the meantime, how do you two feel about doing some volunteer work?” The labor was clearly part of the bargain.
“We would love to,” said Zada.
They began their volunteer shift in the community center’s large but worn kitchen, assembling kits full of food.
