Reunion in the Garden#

Three years after the Change, Sonia had been Henry Serrurier’s Sonia for quite a while now.

Walking through Geneva’s community garden, she admired the lush surroundings. This place, once part of the concrete wasteland of Geneva airport, was now a thriving green space. Every path and planting bed showed careful attention, order, beauty, and purpose forced into the same shape.

She noticed a group of young women approaching in the distance. They moved in perfect synchronization, marching in a precise double row. They were students from the École de Réforme du Nord-Ouest, a reformatory school in the northwest quarter of the city, near the former airport. The school was for young women who struggled to adjust to their Change.

The students wore immaculate uniforms: modest blouses with high collars, gray blazers, and ankle-length skirts that swayed slightly with each step. Their faces were concealed behind identical porcelain masks, and their hair was hidden under neat headscarves. The overall effect was one of strict uniformity, their only visible distinction the name tags catching the sun.

When they reached a designated area in the garden, the group came to a precise halt. With military efficiency they shifted into a single line, standing at attention with perfect posture as they waited for instruction. Their teacher, an older woman whose uniform differed only in the color and stripes at the hem of her skirt, began her inspection. She moved methodically down the line, her sharp eyes catching every small deviation. A slight correction here, a minor adjustment there, and the students were once again flawless.

Satisfied, the teacher signaled for the next phase. The students quickly pulled on green gardening aprons in coordinated, fluid movements. Two women from the garden staff arrived, pushing rolling carts filled with neatly organized tools. The teacher gave a series of hand signs, directing the students into pairs and groups of four. Tools were distributed, and the young women turned to their tasks with disciplined precision.

Working in the garden gave them a small measure of autonomy inside a tightly controlled setting. Here, among the greenery, they found purpose and the chance to contribute while the school kept their behavior inside the strict bounds society expected.

Closer by, Sonia noticed a small graceful figure moving between the beds. The woman’s movements were precise, almost like a ballet dancer’s. She wore a bonnet over her hair, and the cut of her blouse suggested a tight corset underneath, emphasizing her slim waist. She wore a crisp white Gobao Yoohoo with a high collar together with an Edwardian walking skirt in deep navy blue, covered by a gardening apron in a slightly brighter shade. There was no rank insignia at all on the hem of her skirt.

Every step showed the limits imposed by her clothing. Her gloved hands moved with precision as she communicated with the others in the garden. The gloves were elegant yet sturdy, suitable for work. What little could be seen of her face beneath the bonnet was hidden behind a porcelain mask. That made her hard to identify, but the elegance of her movements felt familiar to Sonia.

Sonia watched the woman move through the beds and the work teams around them. She corrected one girl’s hand position on a tool handle, redirected another with a quick sign toward the greenhouse path, and had two men checking an irrigation plan within minutes without ever seeming to give an order. That ability to shape outcomes without visibly claiming them reminded Sonia of Mara’s strategic brilliance.

Mara Delacroix, once called Mara the Merciless, had been a corporate lawyer before the Change. She had helped Sonia identify key figures behind the virus. Then Sonia had gone to Shanghai, the world had lurched forward without either of them asking permission, and by the time she came back, Mara had vanished from the legal world.

After watching for a while, Sonia decided to approach. She took a breath, stepped forward, and tapped the woman’s shoulder. The woman turned, and though her face was masked, Sonia sensed recognition at once.

Mara? Sonia signed tentatively. It is Sonia. I was… Sonia Becker. She hesitated before signing her pre-Change name. Using it felt wrong. I am Henry Serrurier’s Sonia. Long time. You well?

Mara’s gloved hands paused, then answered with formal precision.

Henry Serrurier’s Sonia. I am Philippe Beaumont’s Mara.

Then her signing softened.

Good seeing you, Sonia. I am well. Thank you for asking.

Relief and joy lit up Sonia’s face, her smile visible in her eyes even behind her own mask.

Thought I recognized you. You have done amazing work here.

Mara’s hands moved again, fluid and precise.

Thank you. This garden is labor of love. I am glad you approve.

Sonia looked around, taking in the thriving greenery and the quiet sense of order.

It is beautiful. Truly. But how did you manage all this, after everything changed?

Mara’s hands moved with calm confidence.

It has been journey. Much changed, including me. But I found new ways to contribute. The garden reflects commitment to sustainability and community.

Sonia nodded.

Would like hear more. Maybe we walk and sign?

Mara tried to nod, found the motion difficult, and gave a shallow curtsy instead.

Would like that very much, Sonia. Much to share.

As they began to walk, Mara signed, After the Change, I found I could not continue legal career. And I needed find guardian.

She hesitated, and Sonia understood.

Sonia understood that pressure well enough herself, the constant scrutiny, the demand to conform, the way the world now kept asking women to become easier to manage.

Mara continued.

I found Philippe, and he took me as ward. He suggested I find project aligned with social values. Community garden came from that.

Sonia took that in.

What you have done here is amazing, Mara.

Mara’s signs became more formal again.

I only helped make it happen. Community did the work.

As they walked, a young woman in uniform approached, looking uncertain.

Madam Mara, she signed. Need help with compost area. New bins arrived, but not sure how set them up.

Mara responded immediately.

Of course. Get Camille. She knows setup and will teach you. I check later.

The young woman nodded and hurried off, visibly relieved.

As they kept walking, Mara resumed her story.

Garden also place for learning and rehabilitation. Young women come here when adjustment difficult. Work helps.

They paused beside a group of women tending a herb bed. Mara gently corrected one woman’s technique with a few precise signs. The woman’s gratitude was obvious.

Farther along, they came across two men in tailored suits, clearly important figures. Sonia stepped back at once, curtsied, and waited, as was expected of her.

“Madam Mara, if you have a moment?” Councillor Laurent said with quiet authority.

Mara curtsied and signed her greeting.

“We are discussing the garden expansion. There are concerns about funding and logistics.”

Mara’s eyes brightened behind her mask as she answered.

Councillor Laurent, appreciate your concerns. Might be able offer solution, if it suits planning. Minister Jacques Laborde provides National Sustainability Fund.

She produced a slim binder from within her skirts.

If you kindly check paperwork, will find prepared proposal for review. With your approval, it could go to ministry.

The other man, Councillor Dubois, looked interested.

“A National Sustainability Fund? That could solve our problems.”

Mara continued.

Yes, Sir. Proposal shows the garden meets fund goals, making it eligible for seventy-five percent funding. Securing grant would highlight your commitment to environmental initiatives.

Laurent took the proposal from her and glanced through it.

“This could indeed show our dedication to sustainability. We will review it thoroughly.”

Mara curtsied more deeply.

Thank you, Sirs. Here to support community any way I can.

As the men walked away, Sonia admired how smoothly Mara had handled them.

You manage them very well, Mara. Like orchestrating everything behind the scenes.

Mara answered with the same humble restraint.

Only offer guidance. True credit belongs to community.

As they walked on, Sonia could not shake her awe. Mara had adapted to Changed society and found a way to thrive. Her ability to influence and guide without visibly overstepping was remarkable. Yet it was clear that the Mara Sonia was speaking to was, in part, still a persona built for navigating society.

Even so, Sonia was deeply impressed, and more unsettled by that than she wanted to be.

Mara, you are amazing. Glad found you again.

Mara’s hands moved smoothly.

And glad you are here, Sonia. Together…

Her hands froze in mid-sign, and she made a muffled sound behind the mask. Then she stopped completely, a subtle tremor passing through her posture.

Need go, Mara signed quickly, her hands trembling slightly.

Sonia’s eyes widened with concern.

Mara, all right?

Mara signed back, her movements now smaller and more controlled.

Yes, Sonia. Brought this on myself. iGuardian switching discipline mode because I am late. She paused, then added, Please do not worry. Will be fine.

Sonia watched Mara glide away in short steps, her hard heels clicking rapidly on the paving slabs. Even in obvious discomfort, she held herself with poise that spoke of years of training and adaptation.

Understanding came to Sonia all at once. She had heard enough about the iGuardian to know what discipline mode implied, and what it meant that Mara was still moving with that much control while it was happening.

A young woman approached Sonia and curtsied.

Excuse me, Madam. Can help you with anything? Saw you with Madam Mara.

Sonia smiled and signed back.

Thank you, but I am fine. Madam Mara had attend something urgent. I was only admiring the work here.

The young woman nodded, pride visible even through her mask.

We all very dedicated to garden. Madam Mara’s guidance invaluable.

Sonia’s heart warmed.

It is truly impressive. Dedication and effort remarkable.

The young woman beamed with her eyes and excused herself.

Sonia drew a deep breath against the restriction of her corset and stood for a moment without moving. For all the strictness of Changed society, the garden held real energy. Mara had cultivated more than plants. She had cultivated a functioning world inside the larger one, and Sonia felt a dangerous flicker of wanting that world to make room for her too.

Meanwhile, Mara hurried through the garden paths. The iGuardian was relentless, driving her onward with painful impulses deep inside her and sharp corrective signals in her breast electrodes. The stiff collar of her neck corset, integrated with her mask and gag, prevented her from turning her head at all, forcing her to rely on a narrow field of vision.

Each step was a struggle against escalating correction, close to unbearable by then. She had only herself to blame. She knew better than to be late to Philippe. The reunion with Sonia had carried her away enough to make her lose track of time, and now the device was teaching the lesson back into her body. The mask restricted her breathing, the gag filled her mouth, and the electrodes kept up their punishing rhythm while she hurried on, graceful to anyone watching, suffering to the core.