Studying takes over the next few days. It’s easier to concentrate now that I’m on full rations, but I also find out how tired you get when you eat a full lunch. I decide to keep hungry enough to stay alert. Calm but focused, that’s the goal.
Every now and then, I drop in on Mason and Boc during a study break. I’m sure they’re watching me too. The way I see it, I’m simply returning the favour. Once I even catch them in the middle of an argument, Mason saying that it’s worth a try and Boc telling him it’s a waste of time. I’m not sure what the ‘it’ is, though.
I even have a go at meditating once, sitting on the end of the bed, concentrating on my breathing and allowing my mind to sink. It gives the sensation of tension trickling from my brain and into the base of my neck. It’s really refreshing, and I’m better able to concentrate after I finish.
Do I reach the point where time seems to slow?
No way. Not even close.
* * *
On the day of the test, Mum arranges to start work late and catches a train in with me. It’s not just for moral support. She hasn’t said it out loud, but I know she wants to be there just in case. I’ve double-checked the deets on the chip and we’ve talked through it all, but this is the first time it’s being tested for real.
We come out of the concourse at Southern Station, and it’s as if the city is being overtaken by thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds, moving in bunches of three or four, or sticking close to their parents. Everyone applying for a select-entry school has to sit this test; twenty-two schools in total now that Karoly High School opened last year. Pretty much everyone who thinks they have a chance is currently making their way to the Exhibition Building.
There was a time when these select-entry schools were only for the kids who couldn’t afford the traditional elites, but these days everyone’s desperate to get in. The game isn’t so much about who you know; it’s all about your contribution to the state. Or, in the case of everyone my age, it’s about how much you’re likely to contribute in the future. Your IP: intelligence potential.
Everything started changing around the time the ration system was brought in. And then when Christophe Eichmann won the Nobel Prize in physics, Mum says there was a huge jump in kids applying. He went to Nossal High, one of the first select-entry schools, and is the guy who invented the thermal inverter, which harnesses the hot winds that are whipped up during a heatwave and uses them to mega-load solar energy.
Everyone has to learn about Christophe Eichmann because he’s the goal we’re all aiming for, basically. His ration level would have been so high that no letter exists to describe it. He died in 2065 but I’m sure the entire country sends him a prayer of thanks on days when the world is a fan-forced oven and we get to flick on the air-con.
We make it to the entrance foyer with about a zillion other applicants and shuffle obediently towards the security gate. Most of the parents are already saying their goodbyes, but Mum stays close. We near the centre gate and I can see the photo IDs flashing up on a comscreen to one side as each person walks through.
Mum squeezes my forearm as my turn comes, then hangs back as I wipe my palms against my thighs and walk through the gate. My photo comes up, just like it has for everyone else. In it, I’m wearing a white shirt with a school emblem half chopped off at the bottom. Photoshopped in, of course.
The woman sitting at the entrance desk doesn’t even glance up and I find myself walking free, no longer crammed in with the crowd. I turn to look back at Mum, standing to one side on the other side of the gate, and almost cause a jam in the flow because I think I see tears in her eyes.
She raises her eyebrows. Keep going.
Still I hesitate, but by now she’s laughing as she shakes her head. Keep going already. I can’t help grinning as I wave at Mum one more time. No-one else would understand the mountain we just climbed. Of any test I’m doing today, the entrance gate was by far the largest.
With all the others, I head into the massive halls. So many desks laid out row after row, so many others aiming for the same goal. I don’t let the nerves spike. At least for once, I’m on equal footing. For the first time in my life, I have just as much chance as anyone else.
IT TAKES FIVE days before I receive an automated email from the selection co-ordinator: ‘Congratulations on successfully completing phase one of your application to attend Karoly High School in 2085. Please book an interview for phase two by following the instructions here.’
My heart lifts to the ceiling before slapping to the floor as I read on. The email also requests the contact details of a registered teacher who is willing to give a verbal reference.
Straight away, I hit Mum’s work number. ‘They want to speak to one of my teachers,’ I blurt as soon as she answers. ‘What are we going to do?’
A pause. ‘Scout, I’m with a client right now.’ Considering she’s at work, I should have expected that. ‘But I’ll … wait. You made it through?’
It gets a bit fun from there because the client who’s with Mum has a son who just finished year twelve at Nossal, so she joins in with the celebration.
Mum’s about to hang up, when she says, ‘And Coutlyn. We’ll talk later, okay?’
‘Yeah. Thanks, Mum.’
As the compad goes dim I breathe out and let my shoulders drop. I just did exactly what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t: asked Mum to solve a problem when I should be doing that myself. Maybe I can set up an automated voice recording, I don’t know. I have two weeks to work it out.
Mum’s so pleased about me getting an interview that we head into the city for dinner. She does her hair up in this fancy French roll and lets me borrow a work shirt and pants, which is the best we can manage in terms of dressing up.
The restaurant is amazing – Oceanic Fusion – but I can’t help noticing some of the other diners in here with us. Tight-cropped hair, cool linen slacks and fitted shirts. It’s not that Mum looks old compared to the other women in here, but she does look old-fashioned.
I’m already saving credits, so I add another line to my pact. Mum’s next birthday is a couple of months away and it’s going to make up for all the others.
We’re on the fast train, nearly at Footscray Station when Mum smiles over at me, rocking with the movement of the carriage. ‘Remember when you were six?’
‘Yeah. I remember. Made your life easy, didn’t I?’
She laughs. ‘You’ve come a long way since then.’
We shuffle through security then walk freer as the crowd spreads. Outside the station we’ve almost reached the crossing point when two figures walk up to us. They’re both in Murdoch High School uniforms. Mason and Boc.
They were looking at me, but something about the way Mum and I stop at the same time must make it obvious that we’re together, and it’s the strangest thing because for a moment it’s as if everything stalls and we’re all gaping at each other in slow motion. Each millisecond feels like a hundred as I try to work out what to do.
Mum takes my hand and goes to walk around them, just as Mason recovers and says: ‘Hey. I was hoping to catch you.’
Mum stops and looks at me quizzically.
I try not to cringe. ‘Um … this is Mason. And Charles. We met at the State Library. And they ah … gave me some tips about the select-entry test.’ A lie wrapped in the truth.
Mum’s expression shifts from wary to curious as her eyes travel over their uniforms. I’m acting as if this is no big deal. But inside, my heart is racing. What are they going to ask?
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Boc steps forward and offers a hand, tipping his head as he shakes. ‘We don’t mean to intrude.’
‘No, tha
t’s, ah … fine.’ Mum glances my way before turning back to Boc. Now it’s his hair that catches her attention, short and freshly cut. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
‘Likewise.’ Now Mason holds out a hand.
I should be annoyed with them for catching me out like this, following me still, but they’re both so polite, so clean-cut, that I actually get this weird sort of lift inside at being able to introduce them. As if knowing people like this makes me a better citizen, or something.
‘Call me Miya,’ Mum says, and finally finds a smile.
‘Listen, this isn’t a good time,’ I say as clearly as I can. Not in front of Mum.
‘It’s all right. I’ll leave you to chat.’ Mum as good as beams at Mason and Boc before turning to raise her eyes meaningfully at me. ‘I’ll check out some window displays while I’m waiting.’
‘Won’t be long,’ I tell Mum.
We’re all quiet while she crosses the street and wanders over to a clothing display window.
At least I know what they’re up to this time. Sort of. I lift my chin. ‘You have to stop following me.’
‘Sorry.’ Mason glances at Mum again. ‘You were on the train when I checked the grid, I didn’t realise you were with someone.’
‘Has that woman given you a place to stay?’ Boc jerks his head backwards over a shoulder. They would have seen Mum’s dot when they were watching me at home. ‘Who is she?’
I obviously can’t say that she’s my mum. It wouldn’t add up. The woman from the cave was time skipping when Mum was a kid. ‘Just a friend.’
‘Does she know how to jump?’
‘No.’
Mason makes a duh face at Boc and then sort of apologises at me, as if he’s sure we’re thinking the same thing. They would have seen gaps on her history map if she knew how to jump.
To be safe, I add: ‘She’s just giving me a place to stay, that’s all.’
Mason glances across the street at Mum then back at me. ‘Listen. I’m sorry. It’s just, I’m having trouble and I thought you might be able to help –’
It’s the strangest feeling, having something that they want. Power, or knowledge or whatever it is. Not that I actually have it.
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think I can –’
‘Just answer a couple of questions, that’s all I ask.’
Still shaking. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t.’
Mum finishes with the clothing shop and moves to the next one along, just as Mason steps forwards. But having her here forces me to face up to how exposed we are. If Mason and Boc work out I’m not that woman, they’ll work out I stole the chip. If I’m caught, it means jail for Mum too.
I take a step back the same distance that Mason just stepped forward, shaking my head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’ I dash past them and head straight for Mum.
* * *
I doze through the night, never fully finding sleep, but not exactly awake either. After a bathroom trip around dawn I try to meditate lying on my back in bed, but it’s hard doing that with so many questions running through my mind. What was going on with that woman? What do Mason and Boc want to learn – how to travel through time?
An idea comes to me as I open my eyes. Glancing over at Mum’s sleeping form, I get up carefully to avoid waking her. Then I slide the chip between the base of the armchair and its cushion. Anyone who happens to hack into the grid will think I’m sitting here and watching the news. Not thinking about anyone or anything in particular.
I leave a note for Mum and then make my way outside, along our street and towards Footscray Park. I wasn’t expecting how this would feel, back to the me that I’ve always known. It’s as if I can breathe again now that I’m off-grid, and I can’t help imagining Mason or Boc watching my dot, thinking they have me tagged at home when I’m not.
Just like so many other times before, I check for other people around and pick an early-morning jogger making his way towards me, increasing my pace to make sure I reach Ballarat Road at the same time he does. I have the compad with me, but I won’t need to use it. He jogs on the spot impatiently as we wait for the ping. As soon as the smartcars come to a stop, he sprints across the road and through the entrance to the park before disappearing down the path.
I follow at my own pace.
The whole park is on the side of a hill, sloping down to the canal. Early morning light rims the shapes and shadows. It’s thick with so many shrubs and trees that you can’t see from one winding path to another. They’re mostly natives these days, but a couple of big old oaks and even an elm have managed to survive the drought.
When I near the ghost gum that covers the entrance to the cave, I check out my usual danger points – places that I’ve worked out offer someone even a slim chance of catching a glimpse of me here. I’ve learnt to take my time, play it safe.
As soon as I’m sure that no-one can see, I tiptoe across the garden bed, keeping my hands lifted above the native grasses to avoid their stinging paper cuts. I’ve only gone a few paces when I stop, crouching low and hanging back from the entrance. I don’t want to go any further.
She’s still there.
At least, her remains are. My eyes travel cautiously over the long, narrow lumps of her legs beneath the blanket as cool air drifts from within the cave. The scene is so still, so terribly quiet. The loneliness of this place settles around me once more.
Why did I come? To check if she was still here, I guess.
Still crouching, I rest my chin on a knee. The blanket is threadbare with patches of mould and other stuff I don’t want to go near. She’s shrinking, slowly disappearing, beneath it.
Who was she? Where did she come from? How did she learn to do what she did? I’m not sure I’ll ever find any answers, but the questions help me make a decision.
Staying low, I back away from the entrance of the cave, crouching behind the spiky bushes to check whether anyone’s passing. There’s a voice calling out in the distance but I can’t see anyone near. I slip out onto the path again and make my way back home, back to where I’m meant to be on the grid.
Seeing her again has strengthened my resolve. Something began the night I found that woman, and it hasn’t finished yet.
Mum’s still asleep when I come in, one arm draped across her face, the bedcovers pulled high.
I switch the comscreen on but keep it dimmed and mute, checking for messages between Mason and Boc. A new message comes up as soon as I hack into Mason’s computer, then soon after, another. They’re talking right now.
‘We tried, Mase.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
Biting my lip, I type the message I’ve been rehearsing all the way home. ‘OK, we can meet. But I choose the time and place.’ Then I hit send.
Silence. The seconds blink past on my screen. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen …
Mason’s reply comes back: ‘???’
‘You know who I am.’
There’s another pause, but I know it’s just a matter of time. Boc’s the one who finally replies. ‘Where? When?’
‘Entrance gates at Footscray Park, 4pm Friday.’
SOMEHOW BOC HAS climbed one of the pillars at the park entrance and is sitting on the top of it when I walk up a few minutes after four on Friday.
They both turn my way at the same time, and I have to concentrate on keeping my movements relaxed, fighting back a sudden urge to turn and run. Be careful, Scout, I remind myself. Think about every word.
I’ve already swiped the chip’s history map clean, of course, but I remember the dates that used to be there pretty well. I’ve spent some time thinking it through: how many times she skipped, how old I would be for it all to make sense.
Mason stands away
from the gate and takes a few steps towards me. ‘Thanks for coming. Way cool you’re going to help us.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know if I can help, but I’m willing to listen.’ I speak slowly and meet his gaze.
He blinks with his mouth pushed to one side as if trying to hide the frustration. ‘Fair enough.’ It’s a start.
By now, Boc has manoeuvred his way down the side of the pillar with the skill of an acrobat. ‘Where to?’
‘Follow me.’
Together, the three of us make our way down the path and into the park. We catch up to a young couple with a toddler going in slow zigzags, passing them in silence.
‘So you know how to hack into messages, I see?’ Mason asks when we’re out of earshot.
‘A bit.’
‘How did you learn? I mean, the system was updated last year and you’re well up with the coding.’
My steps jolt so suddenly that I almost trip and somehow manage an awkward skip to recover. It’s something I haven’t even considered in my careful story creation. How would this person I’m supposed to be keep up to date on that kind of thing? ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ I say after a moment. As if I’m chuffed rather than caught unprepared.
They glance at me, expecting an answer. My mind races.
‘Yeah, it’s just … I have an amazing teacher.’ Alistair. I don’t even have to make this up. ‘He’s been coding since the twenties and he’s brilliant. Taught me everything I know.’ I don’t even glance at them as I talk, just having a casual chat. ‘Most of the coding languages you use today are based on old ones.’ This, at least, is true. ‘Once you get the basics, it’s just a matter of updating each time. You know?’
Finally I risk a peek sideways. Mason has his eyebrows raised, impressed. He bought it.
‘How much of our stuff have you seen?’ he asks.
It’s relief that keeps me casual. ‘Not much. You’re the ones who started watching me first, remember?’
Lifespan of Starlight Page 5
