There’s another gap, except …
My head tilts as I realise. This gap is in the other worm. It’s only seven minutes but still unmistakably a gap. Boc?
Impressive, if it was one of his first.
Strange that he’s in the exact same spot where Mason used to sit for his time skips.
Now that I think about it, the worm with the long jump was sitting on the couch. Mason never skipped from there when I was around. I realise that I’m not entirely certain that the first worm I tracked was actually Mason. I tagged them both when they first followed me but never added names, so I just assumed that the one jumping had to be him.
My hands move quickly, tracking back to a time when I can see for sure who is who. Mason would have been alone in his bedroom on Saturday night, so I tag that dot with his name.
I return to the dots yesterday afternoon, and my mouth falls open as I gape at the screen. I was right. Mason wasn’t the one who jumped for so long. It was Boc.
* * *
If I can make it into Mason’s house without triggering the alarm, I’ll be able to get the chip back. I pick a day that Mason stays after school for band practice and his parents are both at work. Don’t think I’ll need that much time, but I head over as soon as it’s safe in the morning. In and out, that’s the plan.
Mason’s bedroom is upstairs, so first I check out the fir tree growing outside his window. It only takes a minute of squinting into the sunlight to decide that the branches are way too thin to carry me. I’ll definitely have to make my way in at the ground floor instead.
I find a place in the garden out of sight from the neighbours and start searching on my compad for the security system. The air is heavy and warm, even though I’m in the shade; the heat is thick with dust.
Now that I’m within the zone, it’s easy to see what’s going on. It’s just a simple old electrical circuit set to trigger an alarm if any doors or windows are opened. I might be able to just cut the power, but there could be a backup battery that catches me out. Better to play it safe and disable it completely.
It’s slow going, partly because I don’t know what I’m doing and partly because I don’t want to leave any traces that I’ve been messing around in here. Once I make it out with the chip I’ll need to return the security system to the way it was. I work methodically, making sure I have a record of each change I make. Can’t leave any dumb surprises that give me away.
It’s about an hour before I’m ready to go in. The alarm even gives this little ping when it disengages, so I know for sure that all is clear.
Instead of working on the front entrance, I head around to the garage. It’s hidden from the street, but it’s also familiar territory, I guess. This almost used to be home.
It takes only a second to do a manual override.
I’m pushing the door open when three clear crunches of gravel sound behind me.
A sharp intake of air as I spin around, heart pounding.
It’s Mason, in school uniform and just standing there, casual as anything. As if we’d organised to meet here in the middle of the day.
He crosses his arms. ‘You took your time.’
I’m so unprepared that I actually let out this weird, awkward laugh. I have a strange flash of being happy to see him.
Mason doesn’t smile back. ‘I thought you’d come ages ago. You’ve been getting around stuff by hacking all your life, haven’t you? That’s why you’re so good at it.’
I swallow. It wasn’t a question. All I can do is stare down at the path between us as I find my way back to the place we are now. ‘But how? I mean how did –’
‘I set up an alert to tell me if someone was tampering with our security system. Figured it was only a matter of time.’
Of course. The program I found on the main grid must have been added by Mason.
No idea what to say, where to look. He’s caught me out. I cling desperately to the knowledge that he could have called the police weeks ago. There must be some reason why he hasn’t.
‘Come on.’ Not even a sideways glance as he strides past me, pushing the door open the rest of the way and continuing inside. When he reaches the opposite side of the room he stops to turn back my way. ‘Seriously?’
I’m still here, barely inside the garage space, hovering nervously.
‘If I was going to turn you in, don’t you think I would have done it a long time ago?’
‘I know. Sorry.’ I shake my head.
Creases appear on his forehead before he turns to keep going.
Still, I don’t move. I call after him: ‘Why haven’t you?’ I have to know.
Mason stops but doesn’t turn and I’m left staring at his back. His head turns so that his face is in profile. ‘I don’t know, Scout. No freaking idea.’ The words come sharp. Hard.
Okay. So that’s where we are.
Mason continues into the house, and this time I follow him up the stairs to the main house, then up a second flight of stairs to the bedrooms.
When I make it to the doorway, Mason already has the shirt draped across both hands as if taking care not to wrinkle it.
He stretches his arms towards me, still refusing to meet my eye. As I step forwards and take the shirt I can’t help smiling. ‘Thank you. I mean … I can’t tell you …’ He’s given me my life back.
Already I’m feeling for the slip of paper wrapped around the chip. Mason drops his arms and strides away from me, ending up beside the window, as far away from me as possible.
My fingertips find the familiar lump inside the paper and my whole being lets out a sigh. So good to have it back. And now that I have the chip I’m reminded once again of the woman. I’ll make it count for something, I promised her once. I hope I can still make good on that promise.
Mason hasn’t moved, one hand holding back the curtain as he stares out at nothing.
‘So what now?’ I ask.
A glance my way. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well.’ So many questions. What next with time skipping? What about us?
‘Do I need to be worried?’ I ask.
Back staring out the window. ‘No.’
‘What about Boc?’
Mason doesn’t move. ‘You don’t have to worry about Boc.’
‘You sure?’
‘Scout, the minute anyone tracks that chip, they’ll find the gaps in our history maps. We don’t want to be answering questions any more than you do.’
He’s right, of course. But I didn’t realise until yesterday that Boc has gaps in his grid map as well.
I can’t help going there. ‘Boc jumped for eighty-three minutes? How did he manage that so soon?’
My reaction seems to help bring Mason out a little. ‘Told you, the guy knows no fear.’ Our eyes meet for the first time since he found me out and it almost hurts, being seen this way. I force myself to stare back. There’s softness in there, deep down and hidden. He hasn’t forgotten.
‘How long can you stay away these days?’ he asks.
‘Nearly ten minutes.’
Mason goes quiet again, but the tension’s eased. ‘Have you tried to go further?’
‘Yeah.’ I shift my feet. ‘But it’s like I’m being held back or, I don’t know, I’m scared I’ll get lost if I go in too far.’
Mason doesn’t reply, just clenches his jaw. He’s quiet for a while and I expect him to ask more questions, because I have questions too. Has he found the same changes to his sleep patterns that I have? Does he find that he doesn’t need so much food when he skips?
‘Better get back to school,’ he says, to the window.
At first I don’t move. I’m not ready for it to be over.
He stays staring out the window, so I force myself
to turn and make my way out of the room. I’m not expecting him to follow but when I head out and into the sun, I glance back to find him close behind.
He starts tinkering with the security system and I’m left hovering, wondering. The door shuts with a shht.
Mason turns my way, lifting a hand to shield his face from the glare. ‘She’s your mother, isn’t she. Miya?’
I’m working out the best way to answer, the best way to protect her, when he snorts and lets out a dry laugh: ‘You look totally alike.’
‘Yes. But she never knew about the chip. That was all me.’ No matter what else happens, I have to keep her safe.
It’s as if he hasn’t heard, staring into space and shaking his head. ‘You know what really gets me? I had no idea. Never guessed once.’ He shrugs. ‘Stupid, hey?’
‘Not stupid.’ I take a breath. ‘You just believed what you wanted to believe.’
‘Tchyeah.’ He’s not just angry with me, he’s angry with himself for not realising.
‘Mason, that’s just human nature –’ How often do we hold onto an idea that we wish was real rather than face the truth?
He’s not listening. ‘And the woman? Did she say anything before she died?’
‘She was barely conscious.’
‘What about her deets? Did you see anything before you wiped the chip?’
I tear a strip of dry skin from my fingernail as I try to remember. ‘I don’t think they were real. Maybe time skipping messed around with the records.’ There was nothing on there that you’d expect from an old woman and the insertion stamp was too recent to make any sense.
Mason pushes his hands into his pockets. ‘I can’t help thinking, if I’d been there when she came back. I knew what she was capable of doing, and I wasn’t there. So many questions I could have asked. And now –’
He shakes his head, eyes narrowed. As if it’s my fault.
I think I understand. Everything that happened between us, in Mason’s mind, was meant to have been with someone else, a strange mash-up of that woman and me. A person who doesn’t exist. The kiss, the synchronised time skipping, none of it would have happened if he knew who I really was.
Even though it smells stale and old, I slip on the shirt. This is the best way to keep it safe. The bike stand takes a second push with my foot before it clicks back.
‘Thanks,’ I mumble, and bite my lip. ‘For not turning me in.’
No reaction.
Guess I wasn’t expecting any. I swing my leg over the seat and roll towards the road, blinking away the tears.
THE MOOD IS one of stunned relief when I show Mum the chip. No celebration. We came too scarily close to a future without it.
The credits have been clocking up this whole time, but we’re still thousands short of the hundred thousand we need to have the chip inserted. Mum goes to visit Dr Ryan anyway, asking if there’s any way we could have the procedure done now and pay the rest back in instalments.
At least the answer isn’t difficult to understand: Payment upfront only.
I’m disappointed when I hear that but it doesn’t slow Mum. As soon as we hear back from Dr Ryan, Mum shifts to her plan B: a veterinarian willing to accept cases like us on the side. The vet is even more expensive than Dr Ryan, but she’s willing to do the procedure straight away. It’s just a matter of paying an extra fifteen thousand credits as interest. I almost refuse to go ahead with it when I hear that; she’s taking advantage because she knows we’re desperate.
But as Mum points out, we are desperate.
On a Sunday afternoon only a few days after I got the chip back, I find myself in a doctor’s surgery in the city. No idea how a black market vet came to have access to this surgery. Of course, I don’t ask.
The veterinarian is tiny, her shoulders so narrow that she reminds me of a child. At least, she would if she weren’t so terrifying. Maybe it’s the way she holds her mouth or the way she talks to the space just above my head, but sitting in that surgery begins to make me feel way more invisible than I’ve ever felt by being off-grid. If I do ever get caught and this insertion is traced back to her, I have no doubt that her blood pressure will stay completely steady as she tells the police she’s never seen me in her life.
Most people would turn away, I guess, rather than watch their flesh being sliced open. But I find myself transfixed, sort of horrified at the blood and the thickness of white tendons, and also amazed at the difference between this and the first time I saw the chip.
It’s only when I’m hit with the memory of cutting that woman’s wrist open that I have to look away from the chip, trapped between titanium tweezers as it’s lowered into my wrist.
How strange. That was the last time I’m ever going to see it. My flesh will grow around the chip just as it did for the woman who died. I’m not just using her credits now. From now on she’s quite literally part of me.
We make an appointment to return in three weeks for the fading procedure once the wound has healed. Then I simply walk out of the surgery, a normal citizen whose wrist has been strapped because of a sprain. No need to look twice; nothing unusual here.
The doors slip open as I approach, no different from when I used to keep the chip tucked inside a pocket, but as I stride through, my steps feel stronger, bedded to the earth.
I’m really here, a citizen. I’ve arrived. The doors shut behind me automatically and I continue to the station, expecting an easy and safe train ride home just like everyone else. I’m happy and relieved but also keenly aware that I’m shackled in a way I’ve never been before. Everything is different now; there’s no going off-grid anymore.
I conjure up my gratitude for everything that’s been made possible by the piece of metal and plastic now residing in my wrist. The best news of all is that I made it just in time for orientation day.
* * *
Karoly High is a distance out of the city. I read somewhere that it was designed nearly ten years ago but you wouldn’t know that from walking through the grounds. It’s sleek and modern with triple-glazed windows everywhere. There’s a huge oval with a running track around the outside, and although I know the grass is fake – it has to be – the colour seems so real and it sinks so naturally under my hand when I test it that it’s hard to believe it’s not real, live, water-guzzling grass like they have on display at the Botanic Gardens.
You can tell the kids who are here for orientation, not just from the way our uniforms are spotless and just slightly too big, but also from the way we all stick together, nervously shuffling along in packs.
After the initial tours, there’s assembly and a pep talk from the principal. Then we’re sorted into mentor groups. Kess is in mine, thankfully. I’m not sure what I would have done if we’d been separated; our shoulders have been as good as glued since we climbed on the train at Footscray this morning. I told her that I’ve been injured, that’s why I’ve been out of contact, and she seemed to believe me. We’ve pretty much picked up from where we left off.
The mentor teachers take us through the timetable, study expectations and what to do if we hit any trouble. Then it’s time to visit the specialist teachers. The science block is huge and broken into various departments: medicine, chemical engineering, nanotechnology. A whole corner of the school has been dedicated to crop beds of wheat and vegetables for testing bioengineering techniques. The further into the day we go, the more I keep thinking how amazing it is that I made it here. How close I came to having it taken away.
A bit before lunch break, I’m called in for a full medical check-up, my biggest risk for the day. I’ve already prepared answers about the bandage on my wrist, even practising my ouch if it’
s touched. But the medic seems more interested in testing my fitness and metabolism than checking a sprain. She asks a bunch of questions about my sleep patterns so I give her answers based on the way I used to sleep. Before time skipping.
I’ve only just walked out of the med lab when there’s a ping on my compad. A whole heap of files have landed in my school account: when I should go to bed; how much I should eat; times of day that I’ll study best. So many resources focused on me being my best, one of the chosen ones, with the future of the nation resting on our shoulders.
Kessa catches me rubbing the back of my wrist during the lunch break, still tender after yesterday. I’ve already told her it’s a sprain.
‘You okay?’ she asks, a loaded fork hovering. ‘Is it hurting?’
‘No, it’s all right.’ I grasp a can of water with my good hand and gulp.
‘How did you do it?’ she asks and takes a bite of spinach.
Carefully I place the can back on the table, swallow, and summon the words I’ve already prepared about tripping on a tree root.
Before I let them out though, I glance over at Kess and find her watching me so closely that the words evaporate and I’m left only with dry air against my tongue.
How long will I have to fake my answers like this for? My entire life?
A pool of tiredness rises in me and for a second, I let myself imagine how it would be if I dropped a hint, maybe something about a secret. I could start by talking about illegals or something. Test the waters, I guess.
Then I get a flash of the way Mason last stared past me, the distance in his expression, and my mouth shuts. I already have the answer to my question about how Kessa might react. I’ve known for years how real citizens think of illegals.
Kessa’s watching me as she chews, waiting patiently. She’s so open, so quick to trust, that before I realise what’s happening my eyes brim and tears threaten to spill.
It happens so fast that all I can think to do is drop my gaze, saying the words in my mind that I can never say out loud: I can’t tell you what happened, because I have too much to lose.
Lifespan of Starlight Page 15
