Firebirds Rising

by Sharyn November

  The next day was Saturday, rest day, and Mav took me at my word; whenever I came out of my bedroom, he ducked back into his room. I heard him leave the suite about midday.

  As soon as I heard the front door slide shut, I commed Kyle and organised to meet him at the University basketball game at eight. Then I hotfooted it over to Lisa’s quarters to borrow more clothes. She lent me a soft, sexy red jumper and red heels, then made me promise I’d go clothes shopping with her later in the week. I didn’t mention my fight with Mav—he was wrong, but Lisa had a bad habit of looking at both sides of a situation.

  At about a quarter to eight, I left our quarters. Mav was still out. We usually spent Saturday nights together at the Buzz Bar, catching up with our friend Lenny Porchino, the bar owner. Was that where Mav was now? In Lenny’s private booth, listening to the house blues band? Sometimes I’d jam with the band on my blues harp and Mav would harmonise my line with intricate humming. We always got encores. It felt strange not being there with him.

  I hurried over to the huge, central gym. The basketball game was between the University team and their old adversaries from Monash Uni. It was already crowded when I made it into the stadium. I scanned the seats for Kyle, but couldn’t see him. This was one of the times when not wearing an armscreen backfired. Maybe I’d have to get one, now that I wanted someone to contact me. I saw Chaney and Jorel in the top row, throwing chips down at four big guys crammed together in the small seats: Liam and his friends from Tarrah’s party. They already looked wasted. And now they also looked pissed off—Chaney liked to live dangerously.

  I still couldn’t see Kyle. Had he decided not to come? I pushed down a hollow feeling and studied the rows, one by one. Finally I saw him guarding a spare seat in the far corner. A few girls were looking back at him, trying to catch his eye, but he was obviously on the lookout for me—bad luck, girls. I couldn’t help grinning as I made my way across the bleachers.

  “Hey, just in time,” he called when he saw me climbing over legs and bags. He stood up to let me pass. As I brushed past him, I smelled hot man and citrusy cologne. It made me want to drag him out of the stadium.

  I’m sure I cheered our team in the right spots and yelled at the refs’ decisions, but I can’t really remember. All I noticed was the energy between me and Kyle. He held my hand the whole time, softly stroking my palm, sometimes my arm. I pressed my thigh against his, and then my hip, until the whole of our sides were touching, the heat from our bodies only partly due to the crowd around us. By the end of the game, I felt like my whole body was vibrating against his and I knew, from the dark intent of his eyes, that we weren’t going to be hanging around for the victory party.

  By the time we made it out of the stadium, most of the crowd had cleared.

  “It’s still early,” Kyle said. “Did you want to get a drink or something?”

  I stared him in the eyes and shook my head slowly.

  “No,” I said, and smiled.

  He grinned back. “My roomie has gone to stay with a mate,” he said. “Want to come back to my place?”

  “Why, thank you, Mr Sandrell. Don’t mind if I do.”

  He laughed and squeezed my hand. “Let’s cut through the science buildings. It’s faster.”

  We started running, hand in hand, across the stadium quadrangle, leaving behind the last stragglers of the basketball crowd. Kyle led me in between the tall, dark science buildings, through a deserted arched walkway, and down a steep set of steps.

  “Wait,” I panted, laughing. “I can’t run in these silly shoes.”

  I dragged on his hand. He stopped and we stood for a moment in a dark alleyway. I pulled him closer, angling my face to kiss.

  The small space suddenly echoed with a sharp cry and the scraping sound of struggle.

  I pulled back. “What’s that?”

  “Dunno, but it’s from over there,” Kyle said, turning towards the far end of the alley.

  We started towards it, the sounds of heavy breathing and pain-filled gasps more insistent. I rounded the corner into a shadowy courtyard. For a second all I saw was a dark mass on the far edge. Then it became four heavy guys kicking two hunched forms on the concrete. Liam and his mates belting the screte out of two kids. Even before I saw the night-bleached flash of red curly hair, I knew it was Chaney. And Jorel.

  Chaney covered his head with his arms as Liam savagely kicked him.

  “Don’t ever call me a freak again, you little bastard,” Liam said.

  I started forward, but Kyle’s hand dug painfully into my arm, pulling me back.

  “Don’t,” he whispered.

  “What do you mean? We’ve got to stop it!” I jerked my arm away.

  “It’s not our fight.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  Kyle’s face was set. “You know Chaney and his friend were asking for it.”

  I stared at him. “You can’t just walk away from people getting hurt.”

  “It’s the only thing those type understand,” he said harshly, stepping into the shadows of the alley. “Leave it, Joss. Don’t get involved.” He went to grab my arm again, but I jumped back.

  “No, we have to do something. They’re getting creamed.”

  “Look, I’ll call Security,” he said.

  “They’ll be too late.”

  He took a step back, shaking his head. “I’ll call Security.”

  “Don’t knock yourself out,” I said as he disappeared down the alley.

  I turned towards the fight, suddenly feeling very alone. One of the rugby thugs was down, writhing on the ground. Nearby, Jorel was lying very still on the concrete. Chaney was curled into a ball with the other three thugs on top of him.

  “Oi,” I yelled, running towards them. “Get off him.”

  Liam looked up. “Get lost.”

  He turned back to Chaney. His mistake. I punched him in the side of the head. My mistake. I should have gone for his gools.

  “Bloody hell,” he roared. And swung. I jumped back. He only grazed my shoulder, but it felt like a sledgehammer.

  “Didn’t I see you last night?” he demanded.

  All three of his mates turned their attention to me. Not so good. On the ground, Chaney groaned, one side of his head covered in blood.

  “So?” I said, slipping off my shoes. I couldn’t fight in them and they had handy heels. Two of the guys had got up and were circling around me.

  “You’re comp,” Liam said.

  “So what?”

  “So, these guys are lousy bigots. We’re just teaching them a little lesson.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re bashing the screte out of them. Leave them alone.”

  “You’re going to stop us, are you?” the thug on my right asked. He swung another kick into Chaney.

  “Too right,” I said. At least my voice was steady.

  I felt the warmth of a body behind me just as Liam rushed me. I should have kept an eye on Left Thug. I zeroed in on Liam’s crotch and kicked. Liam buckled as pain burst through my toes. Then I felt Left Thug’s arms tighten around my chest.

  “Silly bitch,” Right Thug yelled.

  The rush of adrenaline masked the pain of his first punch to my stomach, but it didn’t soften the ground or the kick into my side. I heard Liam moaning near me, and saw Chaney try to get up and pull one of the thugs off me. Mav! I needed Mav! I strained every fibre of my being towards his mind, screaming as the burning pain in my body matched the orange fire in my head. Hear me! Mav, hear me! The edges of my sight faded into grey haze as I gasped for breath. Something heavy on my chest. Can’t breathe. Mav! I pushed against the human weight. Pushed against the confines of my mind. Screaming inside. Outside. Until there was no more breath.

  Joss? His mind voice was startled, jubilant, darkening into anxiety. I come.

  And then I knew why Mav wanted to be joined all the time. Waves of Mav, of everything that was Mav, broke over me, filling me with the certainty that I was not alone, would
never be alone. A swirling, dizzying closeness, understanding, acceptance. Joss melding into Mav into Joss, a merging of minds and spirits. A joining of stories, thoughts, emotions, dreams. We flowed together; pasts, presents, futures fused into a rolling, endless stream. We were Pair.

  We will be there soon. We will stop the pain. We will be together. We are Pair.

  No!

  Deep down, part of me struggled for separateness. A bolt hole of isolation. Nothing but the bare essence of Joss. Alone. Human. One.

  I don’t know if it was that, or the punch in the face that suddenly blacked out the world.

  I heard humming. Insistent, annoying humming. I licked my lips. Dry. I tried opening my eyes. Bright, painful light. Antiseptic. White walls.

  Hospital.

  I focused on a hand hovering over my face. Two thumbs.

  “Mav?”

  The humming stopped.

  “Joss-partner. I am here.”

  Mav’s double-barrelled smile appeared in front of me.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I croaked.

  “You are bruised on your face and body and have one rib broken,” Mav sang. “All will be well.”

  “Can’t feel anything,” I said. Must have been full of Alpheine. “How are Chaney and Jorel?”

  “They both live,” Mav sang somberly. “Jorel is still unconscious. He is injured inside and is now in the place of special care. Chaney is cut and swollen on his face and also has ribs that are broken. He is much grateful to you.”

  “What about Liam and his friends?”

  “Those who attacked you? They are with your law enforcers. There is loud shouting and anger about comps and noncomps.”

  I tried to nod, but the effort was too great. The comp trouble had finally come.

  “Kyle Sandrall wishes to see you,” Mav sang. “He waits outside, asking about your health.”

  I closed my eyes. How did I feel about that? An image of Kyle disappearing down the alleyway flashed through my mind.

  “All right, let him in.”

  Mav touched the wall panel and the door slid open. He motioned Kyle inside.

  “Hi, Joss,” Kyle said hesitantly.

  He was holding a posy of flowers.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to summon up a smile. I shifted in the bed as my body remembered his arm across my shoulder, the warmth of his lips against mine.

  Kyle looked across at Mav then back at me. “Could we have a moment alone?”

  Mav’s opaque eyelids flicked shut, shielding his eyes.

  “I’d like Mav to stay,” I said.

  Kyle’s face tightened. “Okay.” He looked down at the flowers. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “Why’d you take off like that? You left me there.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I did call Security, though.”

  What had Tarrah said about him? Always sidestepping the issue?

  Mav crossed his arms. “It was not proper courting behaviour,” he sang stiffly.

  Kyle nodded. “Joss has got a lot of guts,” he said.

  “It is not only guts,” Mav sang, his ears high. “Joss has much generosity.”

  Kyle frowned. He didn’t understand. He probably never would.

  “Well, thanks for coming by,” I said, suddenly feeling very tired.

  He held out the posy. “Still friends?”

  I took the flowers and laid them on the bed beside me. “Sure, Kyle. Maybe I’ll see you round.”

  He smiled—he was still gorgeous, but something was missing. Honour, perhaps, or maybe empathy. Mav had been right about my instincts, after all. Not that I’d ever tell him that—I’d never hear the end of it.

  Kyle walked out, the door sliding shut behind him.

  Mav flicked back his second eyelids. “There is still much to like in Kyle Sandrell,” he sang gently.

  I blinked, trying to clear my eyes.

  Mav peered at me. “You are weary. Shall I go?”

  “No, stay.” I swallowed against a dry ache. “Got any water there?”

  Mav picked up a glass and held it to my lips. I took a small sip, the coolness slipping down my scratchy throat.

  “Thanks.”

  He put the glass down.

  I squinted with effort, trying to focus my mind. And thanks for help.

  You called me. I came. His mind voice was bright green, pulsating with joy. You called me!

  “I know. It was amazing,” I said, picking up his hand and closing it around my fist. The closest I could come to the Chorian friendship clasp right now. “I feel honoured to know you in that way.”

  “It is my honour.”

  “But, Mav, I can’t have you in my mind all the time,” I said slowly. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. Humans are separate. I have to think my own thoughts, narrate my own life.”

  Mav sighed. “I know, Joss-partner.” He sat forward, his thumbs tightening around my hand. “But now you call me. We will make our own joining. And sometimes we will make a paired story. Is this good?”

  Yes, it is good.

  ALISON GOODMANis the author of Singing the Dogstar Blues, a science-fiction comedy thriller, which won the 1998 Aurealis Award for Best Young Adult Novel and was listed as a 1999 C.B.C. Notable Book. It was published in the United States in hardback by Viking and in paperback by Firebird, and was named an ALA Best Book for Young Adults.

  Alison lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband, Ron, and their two exuberant Parson Russell terriers, Xander and Spike. She holds a master of arts and teaches creative writing at undergraduate and postgraduate level.

  Alison is currently working on Eon/Eona, a fantasy duology based upon Chinese astrology; the first volume will be published by Viking in 2007.

  Visit her Web site at www.bssound.com.au/goodman.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  When Sharyn invited me to write a short story for Firebirds Rising, I jumped at the chance to continue the Joss and Mav story that I started in my novel Singing the Dogstar Blues. In the process of writing a novel, there are always interesting tangents that an author can’t follow due to the necessities of plot streamlining or character development. One of the tangents I had to leave in Singing the Dogstar Blues was a short scene where Joss first meets Kyle Sandrall and decides not to accept his invitation to a “comp kid” party. “The Real Thing” grabs that small interplay between Joss and Kyle and runs with it, taking Joss into a minefield of love, lust and prejudice. I was also keen to write about Mav’s interest in human courting rituals—I loved writing his puzzled study of the strange processes that we humans go through when we fancy each other. Sometimes they puzzle me too! “The Real Thing” also expands on some of the questions raised in Singing the Dogstar Blues, such as what might happen to a society where some members have been engineered to be “better”? Would engineered people feel entitled? Would nonengineered people feel threatened? Science fiction specialises in asking “what if?” which is why I enjoy writing it. I believe that when we start thinking about the future, we are on our way toward understanding our present.

  Charles de Lint

  LITTLE (GRRL) LOST

  Scritch, scritch, scritch.

  There it was again.

  T.J. had first realised that something was living in the walls when she’d see the cat staring at the baseboards in her bedroom. It was as though Oscar could see right through the wood, and the plaster behind it.

  Back when she still thought it was mice, she kept him out of her bedroom and didn’t tell anybody. She liked the idea of mice sharing this new house in a new subdivision with her family. If she mentioned it, the traps would come out, just as they had in the old farmhouse where she’d grown up, and her brother, Derek, would be waving little dead mice under her nose again. Ugh. They were so cute with those big eyes of theirs. But they were also dead and gross.

  So, no. Telling anyone that the new house had mice was right out.

  Instead, she listened to the scritching at night, while lyi
ng in her bed. She’d flick on her bedside light, but of course the sound immediately stopped when she did that. It started up again shortly after the light was turned off, but it was impossible to see anything in her shadowy room—even with the curtains open and light coming in her window from the streetlight outside.

  So tonight, after Mom and Dad had come in to say their good nights, she pulled her sleeping bag from under her bed and rolled it out beside the part of the wall where she heard the sound most often. Grabbing her pillow, she’d snuggled into the sleeping bag and waited, almost falling asleep before the now-familiar sound brought her wide awake again.

  Scritch, scritch.

  Except it wasn’t really like the sound of mouse claws running around inside the walls. This close…she leaned her ear right up against the baseboard…it sounded an awful lot like voices. Which was stupid. But then she remembered a story her uncle had told her once about how sometimes, when you heard crows in the forest, they could almost sound like human voices. Like real voices, but distant enough that you just couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

  That’s what the scritching sounded like.

  Oh, right. Like there were crows living inside the walls.

  There were a lot of things she didn’t like about this new house in the suburbs, but she didn’t think she could logically add wall-dwelling crows to the list.

  Distracted, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She could obsess for hours on the unfairness of having had to move from their farmhouse outside of Tyson to this stupid subdivision, where everything looked pretty much the same from one street to the next. From one house to the next. The first time she’d gone out riding her bike, she’d actually found herself pedalling up the wrong driveway when she was coming back home. Could you feel more stupid?

  So that was a big reason to hate being here.

  Nobody was very friendly either. All the kids pretty much ignored her—when they weren’t making fun of her accent. But she could live with that. The friends part wasn’t totally bad. Sure, she’d had to leave hers behind, but she and Julie could instant-message and e-mail all day long, and Tyson was close enough that they could theoretically take the bus to stay with each other on the weekend, though they hadn’t yet.