Convergence
Page 1
First published in Australia by Harbour Publishing House 2017, www.harbourpublishing.com.au
Text Copyright © Marita Smith
The moral rights of the writer have been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, placed in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form including the internet, electronic scanning, photocopying, or by any other means without the prior written permission of the copyright owners and the publisher of this work.
This is a work of fiction.
Cover design by Design For Days designfordays.com
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia
catalogue.nla.gov.au
Author: Marita Smith
Book Title: Kindred Ties: Book One, Convergence
Source ISBN: 9781922134158
Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9781922134349
Subject: Fiction
The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.
- Isak Dinesen
To my one-of-a-kind family.
Contents
Cover
Copyright
Title Page
Quote
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
About The Author
1
Sheet Dreams
“The program has come under scrutiny. Some of the directors think it is unnecessary now we’ve found the boy.”
“You mean Vulcan wants to axe it.”
“It’s not about Vulcan. It’s about the objectives of the Institute. It’s been eighteen months, Brock. They’ve found nothing.”
“There’s something about her, something I can’t explain.”
“We need results, Brock, and the program hasn’t delivered them. You are blinded by your sentimentality for the girl.”
“I could say the same for you. If any of them are going to crack this, it will be Robyn.”
“We’ll see.”
“That is bullshit, and you know it. You need this more than anyone.” Kara’s Doc Martens flattened against the wooden floor with a thump and Robyn flinched at the sound. A wave of startled glances washed over them as Robyn swirled the dregs of her coffee and tried to disappear further into the chair. She really did want to finish processing her samples. She didn’t have the insatiable social appetite of her best friend. Loud music and alcohol weren’t really her thing, but Kara was probably right. She needed to get out more. She spent more time with chromatographs than real people.
Kara tipped her head back and let out a low, irritated growl. The cafe was full; it was one of those ten-minute, prime-time windows between lecture end and beginning. Another set of heads turned and Robyn felt her ears grow pink.
“Are you even listening to me?” Kara drummed her fingers on the table, her own mug long empty. Double shot, three sugars. Diabetes in a mug.
Someone cleared their throat a few tables down. A guy in a scarf, even though it was barely autumn. Plaid.
“Yeah, okay,” Robyn had reluctantly resigned herself to her fate. Toga Party, the highlight of Orientation Week. “I’ll help you at Toga.”
Kara almost chirruped. “Good,” she beamed. “You done? We’ve got heaps to do.”
Robyn chugged the now-bitter coffee and grimaced. “Ready.”
Campus was quiet as she followed Kara over to the law building, students having once again scattered to lecture halls or hunkered down in libraries. She didn’t miss the gruelling undergraduate timetable – early lectures, late labs, rushed sandwiches in between. Kara was glued to her phone, tapping away. For a law student, she spent a lot of time writing code.
“You’re going to have a great time, trust me.” Kara hopped across the stepping stones set into Sullivan’s Creek. Robyn followed more warily, envying her friend’s natural grace.
“What are you doing, anyway?” Robyn asked as she navigated the mossy rocks.
Kara shrugged. “Just working on a couple of projects. You know, the usual.”
She didn’t know. Kara always had her secret projects. They shared clothes and the occasional toothbrush, but Kara’s projects were taboo.
A wedge of a shopping trolley moved with the sluggish current like a rusty iceberg. Robyn grimaced. There was no way she was falling into this particular microbiological soup. She wondered how many drunk, sheet-clad undergrads the creek would claim at sundown when the punch started flowing. Kara seemed to read her mind.
“I’m staying at the law building. Someone else can fish the college kids out of here.”
Robyn nodded. “Ditto.”
“So you’re staying, then?” Kara didn’t give up.
“Haven’t made up my mind. I said I’d help you set up, I didn’t say I’d be here until midnight.”
“Whatever, Cinderella.” Kara pocketed her phone and jogged up the slope.
The sandstone building was up above the creek, a temple wedged between the weird arty buildings placed in the seventies that someone had probably long been fired over. A group of guys in dress shirts hovered in the soaring entrance hall. Probably single-handedly keeping Abercrombie and Fitch in business, Robyn mused.
The mannequins turned as one. Robyn couldn’t help staring, but in the same way an anthropologist might observe an exotic tribe. No-one wore proper shirts in the evolutionary genetics wing. Yellow guy wore a variation on the same yellow tracksuit every single day and smelled of grilled cheese. A haze of cologne choked the air as one of the mannequins waved.
“Hey, Kara.”
Robyn took a shallow breath through her mouth. She didn’t think it was necessarily an improvement over Jarlsberg.
Kara nodded and Robyn kept her head down. Her definition of micro and macro didn’t fly here. The squat evolutionary genetics wing where she spent her time couldn’t be more different to this place. The law courtyard was peppered with bronze plaques donated by old money. Her building was blighted by mould instead. Who knew, maybe the next penicillin was crusted outside her office window.
Kara clipped across the central courtyard toward the sound of scraping tables, and Robyn hurried behind her. A throng of potential yacht owners straightened collars and stepped back to admire the long impromptu service counter. A girl in a red dress waved at Kara. Robyn froze, mentally searching for her name. She’d met her maybe four times, on the myriad different committees Kara insisted on being part of, and which Robyn invariably got dragged into.
“Robyn, thanks for helping out,” the girl said. She was just showing off now, remembering her name. Robyn chewed her lip. Lily? Or was it Lexi?
“Kara was quite persuasive,” she managed.
“Jesus,” Robyn muttered.
“Thanks, Lisa,” said Kara, dragging Robyn over to the gleaming cauldron. Robyn desperately tried to commit the name to memory. She’d been so close. Lisa. She played through images in her mind. Saxophone. Lisa Simpson. Lisa. She could remember complex compounds at the drop of a hat, but apparently two-syllable names were beyond her.
“Looks like you’re staying, Ms Responsible,” Kara said, counting spirits and mixers with a hovering finger.
“Just for a few hours.” Robyn ran an eye over the liquor on the table. There were at least a dozen bottles of high-end vodka, champagne, and vibrant green and blue spirits she didn’t know the name of. If she were a typical 24-year-old, she would probably have memories of nights punctuated by blue-tinged vomit by now.
“Got enough alcohol?”
Kara’s hand stopped mid-count. “You’re right, I’ll tell Lisa to get more. Less of this mixer crap.” She gestured at the lemonade and cola with a frown.
“I was kidding.”
Kara put her hands on her hips and chewed her lip. “I’m not.” She clapped her hands together, her mouth forming a little ‘o’. “I’ve got an outfit for you, too. I almost forgot.”
Robyn blanched. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Kara looked her up and down. “This,” she waggled a finger, “is daytime PhD student. You need after-hours toga babe.”
Robyn looked down at her Converse, then her faded jeans and t-shirt. “I thought I was Ms Responsible,” she muttered.
That was how she found herself wound in a sheet, ladling punch into a steady stream of paper cups. The fabric itched where it rode up under her armpit, and she wondered if Kara had bothered to wash it after snagging it from Vinnies. Probably not. Robyn tried not to dwell on it as she scanned the crowd. She thought she recognised the Abercrombie and Fitch crew, but she couldn’t be sure. The writhing amorphous, slutty mass in front of her was a far cry from the Acropolis in Athens. She ladled on autopilot, missing wavering cups as the undergrads clutching them swayed. She wasn’t sure if it was in time to the music or just gradual loss of motor skills. Maybe both. The dull bass beat had penetrated her skull hours ago, and the burnt veggie patty sat uneasily in her stomach. Her favourite Converse reeked of liquor. She wanted to be home an hour ago. Toga Party, just as fun as she remembered it.
“Robyn? Is that you?” The voice was slurred but familiar.
Robyn turned to the next person in line. She cringed.
“Travis.”
She felt Travis’ eyes sidle up her body. It was different than when Kara did it, throwing a dress at her before a party, or blocking the door until she switched her solvent-stained t-shirt for a blouse. Predatory.
She hated it.
Robyn slopped punch into his cup, deliberately overflowing it. Liquid spattered across his chest. “Sorry.” Her heart was pounding as she willed her face into a placid mask. Travis swayed, and Robyn noticed the girl by his side. Her grip on Travis’ arm was as firm as a sailor’s knot. Travis slopped more punch onto his date’s arm, but she didn’t budge despite the deluge. Weatherproof.
Robyn watched him disappear into the crowd.
“Having fun?” Kara yelled in her ear.
Robyn shook her head, nauseated by the memory and the alcohol fumes. “I’m going to head home,” she said.
Kara bopped to the beat. “What?”
Robyn thrust the ladle into her hand. “Home,” she yelled.
Kara nodded. “Meet anyone interesting?”
“Saw Travis.”
Kara stilled. “That bastard? Where?”
Robyn pointed vaguely at the surging mass before them. So Travis still liked them thin. Robyn shuddered. Maybe she should have pulled the girl off him. Go home, she would have said. You don’t need him.
“I know it was last year, but what he said to you was totally out of line. Just because you didn’t want to sleep with him …”
Robyn shook her head. “It’s fine. Honestly.” Her backpack was calling her name. Her dry responsible clothes.
Kara grabbed her arm. “Hey, I’ll come with you. Let’s grab pizza or something.”
“No, it’s cool, I …” Robyn felt her throat swell. “I’m good. Just tired.”
Kara released her arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up all of that.” Kara pulled her phone out of her bra and waved it in Robyn’s face. “Call me the moment you get back.”
“Will do.” Robyn grabbed her backpack and headed for the toilets to change.
The acetone-laced air of the lab hit her like a comforting embrace. Shucking her backpack, Robyn leaned against the cool benchtop and surveyed her dominion. The shoebox lab wasn’t much, but it was hers. The gas chromatograph hummed in greeting from the bench by the window, the sound more than welcome after her immersion in the discordant DJ set. The dull throb in her skull had levelled into a persistent ringing, pre-empting the headache she’d have tomorrow. Probably shaved a few hertz off her hearing range in the process. The glamour of university life.
The chromatograph screeched as it switched vials. Robyn kicked her backpack under the desk and was rewarded with a rancid whiff of liquor. Ew. She’d have to dump the toga sheet or it would make the whole bag reek. Plopping onto the stool, she skimmed through the data output. Another forty-five purified samples idled in the loading rack. Almost two months of analytical work neatly contained right there in front of her. She should have been thrumming with anticipation, but instead she just felt drained. The effects of the afternoon’s coffee had well and truly faded.
Travis. It was funny how a chance encounter could dredge the bed of memories and bring them rising to the surface in a muddy cloud. Maybe everyone had their dating epochs.
Sean in seventh grade didn’t really count. She held his sweaty hand at recess, as mandated by the unwritten rules of the playground. She still had the silver necklace with the letter ‘R’ he’d given her, somewhere in the back of a drawer.
First had been Levi. The cute boy in calculus. Dinner and a movie. He had two mums – one used to be his Dad. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Levi took a different girl to dinner each week. The post-Levi era had been a terrible one of self-assessment where Robyn came up wanting in every algorithm. Then Travis, the geology student who surfaced in chemistry class to whisper a joke in her ear and stayed late at lab sessions to walk her to her bike. It had been easy, convincing herself he cared. Until he didn’t.
It wasn’t a great track record.
Maybe she was cursed or something. Everyone else seemed to have cracked the code, seemed to be one half of someone else. Except her. Robyn sighed and ran a finger across the ridge of skin that bisected her right eye – a thin line above with a mirror reflection underneath. Like a scarecrow. The birthmark had been removed with laser surgery when she was seven, but she could still feel the puckered skin. Marked, cursed. Were the two so different? Logically, she knew they weren’t related, but the thought lingered.
The mechanical arm stilled, the silence loud in the wake of the party. The heating procedure kicked in and Robyn watched the temperature climb for a moment before cupping her hands against the window to peer out at the winding paths, the maze of poorly-lit buildings. At least she could control what happened in the lab, cursed or not.
Too many nights were spent in the camp bed under her desk, but she liked the confined space, and the early starts it afforded her. Tonight, she couldn’t face the cycle home to her apartment.
She pulled her sleeping bag out and called Kara. Her friend picked up on the third ring.
“I’m all good. Have a fun night, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Uh, hey, Robyn.” Kara sounded distant. “Great, cool. Night.”
Robyn brushed her teeth, locked the door behind her and settled into her sleeping bag.
It wasn’t until she was drifting to sleep that she realised she had heard Kara perfectly. No crescendoing screech or bottomless bass drop. There was no way she was still at the party.
2
Discovery
“She’s sleeping in her office, at least three nights a week. I’m worried about her.”
“Dedication? That’s hardly troubling. I would have thought you’d be pleased.”
“She’s running herself into the ground.”
“For all you know, she could be close to the breakthrough that will change everything.”
“Ow.” Robyn grimaced as she banged her head on the underside of her desk. She reached out for the phone and cut off the shrill blasts.
“What?” It was still early, too early for anyone to be calling her.
“Breakfast?” Robyn groaned at Kara’s chipper voice.
Robyn scooted out from under the desk feeling groggy, even with the rising egg on her head. “Sure. Usual place?”
“Yeah. Kate’s coming, you mind? She’s got a craving for pancakes.”
“Cool. Give me five minutes.” Robyn sniffed at her t-shirt, then pulled open the desk drawer to investigate her clothing options.
Kara sighed. “Did you sleep in your office again?”
Robyn pulled a blue shirt from the pile. “Maybe.” She could almost imagine Kara rolling her eyes. “It’s not a big deal, honestly.”
Robyn heard someone else mumble in the background.
“Kate says that if you’re there, she could use another Erlenmeyer flask. Apparently there was an accident involving her last one.”
“Let me guess. It involved gravity and a hard surface.” Robyn wrinkled her nose as she tossed the toga sheet into the bin and shimmied out of the sleeping bag.
“Something like that. She says her morning OJ just isn’t the same without that tapered, illicit glassware.”