The First Sister - Linden A. Lewis

The First Sister is a sci-fi debut from Linden A. Lewis, and, just to get this out of the way now, it’s really rather good. The characterisation is absolutely stellar. The world is interesting, populated by interesting little details and a fascinating history, and the narrative was compulsive reading, and left me wanting more. Basically, it’s a fun read, and one I can wholeheartedly recommend.

So, that world I was talking about? It’s a world in conflict. Interplanetry war is real, and here to stay. One faction of humanity has spread its metaphorical wings, and moved to the orbit of Mercury, where the discovery of a super-material has allowed them to build a high-tech society in which many of humanity’s basic needs and wants are satisfied. That said, the utopia may not be all that it seems, and a price may still be paid. But the Icarii, as they call themselves, are apple to make use of technological weaponry beyond the grasp of most, including swords made of matter that forms at a thought, and implants that allow their elites to shunt away pain, or fear, or doubt. They stand astride their world like deities, facing down the outer planets. For Earth and Mars are a hegemony, driven by war, by religion, and by the need to capture Mercury’s technology to drive the regeneration of their own dying planets. Both societies have the well-worn texture of the real, from the cool, clinical corridors of the Icarii military command, to the claustrophobic corridors of an Earth cruiser, via the remnants of community being rebuilt after conflict on the moon of Ceres, with all the discrete corners, forgotten people and horse trading that implies. This is a universe which has its own sacrifices, its own edges, one which is different enough to surprise, and familiar enough to ground its horrors in reality. These are people we see here, living their lives in the shadow of war, or in the rigid anxiety and gentle terror of encroaching oppression.

And onto this stage steps First Sister, to take hold of it, humanise it. As the first of her sisterhood on an Earth cruiser, she acts as a means of comfort and confession for its captain; the sisterhood are as religious icons to their crew, but also as comfort women. Subjugation and reification mixed together in a headily toxic brew, in a society geared for war, where young men are sent to die, and technology is prized. Where war machines stride shattered cities, and the role of women is ambiguous at best. The Sisters have their power, a power of shared secrets and intimacy, though it’s wrapped around by the power of the Aunts, those who can speak for the Sisters. Quite literally, as the Sisters have been rendered unable to speak. So they serve in silence, signing to each other, forbidden to write, knowing that when their youth and vitality fade, they’ll be moved into a servant class. These are less lives of quiet desperation than they are just regular desperation, and our First Sister shows that. Because while she is fiercely intelligent, driven to succeed, and talented, she lives in fear. The fear that what she has will be taken from her at a whim, at a word. First Sister lives in a world of delicate power dynamics, where one mis-step could end in disaster, surrounded by hungry eyes mouthing faithful platitudes. But oh, she’s a joy. In that environment, she flourishes, she fights, she works to survive and turn things her way - and does so while facing down her inner demons and crises of conscience. This is a book, in a lot of ways, about what we will allow. About what people will convince themselves needs to be done, and about where they’ll draw the line. First Sister has to make choices, decide which prices she’s willing to pay, what lines he’s willing to cross, and what she wants. To know what sort of person she is. A woman without a name, she’s seizing hold of life, refusing to be buffeted by fate, trying to choose her own path in the face of both personal and institutional pressure. I cheered her on every step of the way, and  was delighted that her story, with its intimacies, with its relationships (and points for some wonderful LGBTQIA+ representation), with its betrayals and lies and friendships and affections, could show off so much about the human condition. Because the First Sister is a person, like all of us, and comes off the page to stand before the reader as she works and struggles her way toward the life she deserves - which may or may not be the life she thinks she wants.

Which brings us to Lito. While First Sister showcases the Gaean (Earth and Mars) society for us, Lito shows us what’s going on for the Icarii. And Lito is drowning. Teaching cadets at a military academy, one half of a partnership torn asunder by war. Lito is one of the elite, having fought to join it from a background less than salubrious. Lito has fought and killed, been physically injured, and then left to recuperate without their partner, Hiro, whose absence is a deep seated anguish, an emotional amputation. I have to admire Lito for their obvious devotion to their partner, their desire to find them, to get them back from whatever hole they’ve fallen into, and for their quiet idealism. Lito isn’t unaware of the truths of the world they grew up in, of the point of privilege they now occupy, of what it took to get them there. But they’re struggling with their image of themselves, and with whether the society they’ve paid a cost to maintain was worth it. We do hear from Hiro as well, and, as an aside, the non-binary representation in the text is a joy, but it’s Lito’s story that comes to us and stands beside that of the First Sister, showing a physical power restrained by social oppression, by a military that looks on Lito as (at best) a tool, one which can be broken - and replaced. And like First Sister, Lito fights, struggles, drives forward trying to become their own version of themselves, something they can live with. The text puts them both through the wringer, and it’s agonising and wonderful at once.

I don’t want to get into the story, for fear of spoiling some fantastic reversals and revelations. But it was a truly gripping read. Each chapter left me at the edge of our couch, excited to see what the other characters were getting up to, and also desperate to see what happened to the ones I was switching away from. It’s a work of art, this story, art that kept me guessing all the way through about motivations, costs, and how it was going to end. This is a story about people, and about relationships, about systems and the way those can become less a means to help people than to hurt them - and about what happens when people decide they won’t take that sort of treatment any longer. It’s a story of treachery, and blood. It’s a story with more than one gruesome moment, of psychological or physical horror. But it’s also a story with bravery, and kindness and love at centre stage. A story about the voiceless finding their voice.

 And in the end it’s a damn good story, one I think you should read.