‘Come on, that’s laying it on a bit thick. I’ve only been gone a week.’ I carefully wiped the harp down and layed it back in its case.
‘Seems longer. How’s it all going? How’s that new partner of yours?’
‘Okay. Have you heard anything about Suka?’
Lenny shook his head. Rocky arrived with the coffee. Thick and black. Lenny smiled approvingly and waved him away.
‘Do you think the anti-alien lobby could have hired her? There’s a lot of them hanging around outside the uni,’ I said.
‘I haven’t heard anything from that direction. Seems unlikely to me. They wouldn’t have the bucks or the contacts. Don’t you worry. I’ve got a few people sniffing around. They should dig something up soon.’
‘But what can I do to protect Mav?’
I sipped at the coffee. Whoa! Caffeine explosion.
‘I heard the Centre has doubled its security,’ Lenny said.
I nodded. Lenny looked thoughtful.
‘With Suka around that’s probably slashin’ in the wind,’ he said. ‘The ideal scenario is to get the alien out of the city, quietly so none of the ratters know. Otherwise as soon as you move, Suka’s gonna hear about it. I can arrange it as soon as you want. When can you get away?’
‘Not in the next six years. I’d have security and Camden-Stone down my throat before I could get him out of the grounds.’
‘Okay, then don’t let your partner out of your sight. Let me handle this from my end. I’ll contact you when I get something.’
The kitchen door opened and Porchi walked into the bar. He had been beaten up. Looked like about twelve stitches down his face.
Lenny sniffed. ‘That son of mine is an idiot.’
I’d known that all along, but I didn’t say anything.
Lenny leaned back in his seat. ‘He goes and gets himself involved with that Pino. Very dangerous man, that one. Now I gotta bail him out.’ He turned on the light at the side of the booth. ‘Hey, Porchi. Come over here. See who has come to visit.’
Porchi slunk over to us. I wondered who had done the beating: Pino or an annoyed Lenny? Porchi slid into the seat beside me.
‘Hi Joss.’ He didn’t even try to cop a grope.
‘This stupid idiot is lucky to be alive. Aren’t you?’ Lenny demanded, poking Porchi in the shoulder.
Porchi nodded miserably.
‘You’re just lucky your father knows the likes of Pino.’ He leaned over to me. ‘I know how to look after you children. I told Cross and Lee to look out for this fool.’
‘They don’t look like they did much of a job,’ I said.
‘How does that joke go,’ Lenny said, ‘you should see the other guy?’ He laughed, slapping the table with his hand.
Porchi winced. His head must have been killing him.
‘Cross tells me you fought well, but don’t ever forget about the arm-sheath,’ Lenny said.
‘I won’t now,’ Porchi said glumly.
‘Don’t worry, Porch,’ I said. ‘The girls will love the scar.’
‘How about you?’ he asked.
‘Nah, scars turn me right off.’ I winked at Lenny.
‘It is Joss’s birthday tomorrow,’ Lenny announced. Porchi took the hint and wished me happy birthday, suggesting a rage on the town. Not likely in his condition.
‘Thanks, but I’ve got to get back to the uni.’ I leaned over to Lenny and whispered ‘thank you for everything’ in his ear. Then I kissed him quickly on the cheek. It was about the only time I’d ever done it and it caught him by surprise. He grabbed my forearm for a moment. The closest he could come to a hug.
‘What about me?’ Porchi asked. He obviously wasn’t as bad off as he looked.
I pushed him towards the edge of the seat.
‘I wouldn’t want to hurt you,’ I said.
Lenny was still laughing as I walked out of the door.
Happy Birthday to Me
Mav was working on his console when I got back to the suite. The lounge lights were dimmed to the same level as his bedroom. He’d also lined up three pads of tissues and wrapped himself in the thermo roll. Cold overkill. I threw the visitor’s wrist-band I had collected from the locker on the side table and stretched out on one of the couches. Thank God tomorrow was a rest day.
Mav sneezed.
‘Bless you,’ I said.
‘Did you like the bar by yourself?’ he asked.
‘It was just business,’ I said.
‘There was an announcement when you were not here. Your Elder called Sunawa-Harrod has passed away. What does that mean?’
‘It means he died.’
‘Ahh. Refmol will be sad.’
‘Why?’
‘Refmol was chanting Sunawa-Harrod. Refmol does not like to lose the life threads.’
Mav walked over to me and gently touched my ear.
‘The minds of Sunawa-Harrod will be greatly missed. May his line continue,’ he said formally.
It was a graceful way of putting it. I had never met Sunawa-Harrod, but I also hoped his line continued.
I leaned my head back against the arm of the couch. Another rotten headache was brewing. Maybe the doc was wrong and I did have some kind of fruz after-effect. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. The pain got worse.
‘Joss. Try the thought cube. You said you would try.’
I opened my eyes. Mav was standing over me, holding out the cube. At least he was blocking out the rest of the dim light.
‘Sorry Mav, I’m going to bed,’ I said, carefully swinging my feet onto the floor. ‘I’ve got a killer headache. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Mav said, his ears dropping.
Even after two pain patches, I still couldn’t get to sleep. A bath, some Ravel and a classic comedy re-run didn’t help either. I turned to the Reader.
I scrolled through until I found an article about Chorian mating habits. Just the thing for a sleepless night.
Apparently the most important thing to a Chorian pair is its bloodlines. They don’t mate in the pot-luck way we usually do (not counting manufactured kids like me). Chorian breeding partners are chosen according to the talents needed in their society. I suppose that’s one of the benefits of your whole race being able to tune into one another. If society needs a few more doctors, a number of bloodlines that have produced good doctors are invited to mate. I wondered if they sent out gilt-edged cards: Dear so-and-so, how’d you like to snork?
Probably less awkward than the way we do it.
However you can’t just have a good genetic bloodline to breed on Choria. You also have to win some kind of mind challenge to prove your worth. When I think about some of the guys I’ve fancied, they wouldn’t have had a chance in a mind challenge.
The scientist who wrote the article got pretty excited about the way the bloodlines challenge for the honour of breeding. She started going on about artistic spatial equations which nearly cured my insomnia. But from the way she was describing it, the mating challenge is a favourite Chorian spectator sport. Having your whole society check out the way you snork seems a bit weird to me. But live and let live. Or in this case, live and let’s watch.
After all the negotiations and challenges have gone down, the two winning Chorians impregnate each other so that a birth pair is born. The one who actually pops the baby out is called the Sulo. The impregnator is the Sulon. Each baby gets its Sulo name first, like Mav, and the Sulon name second, such as Kel. Mavkel is from the Mav line, Kel gene pool. Its birth pair is Kelmav who is from the Kel line and the Mav gene pool. Or at least it was.
The next morning, I woke up eighteen. Mav was knocking on my door.
‘Are you awake, Joss?’ he sang loudly. ‘I am giving you a breakfast treat.’
‘Computer, unlock the door,’ I said, rubbing my temple. The headache was still hanging around.
The door slid back.
Mav came in singing a harmonised version of Happy Birthday. It actually sounded good. H
e was struggling to balance a tray of food and a package wrapped in white paper.
‘Look. Your favourite meal. I searched much on birthdays and the Net said that favourite meals are made. And presents are bound in paper. This is right?’ He dumped the tray on my legs, thrusting the package at me.
A plate full of trifle slid dangerously near my knee. I stopped it with one hand, catching the package with the other. It was wrapped in toilet paper.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said, moving my leg to prop up the tray.
‘Now you open the present. There was no brightly coloured festive paper with many coloured ribbons like it said. I could only find this dull one. No ribbons.’
‘The paper’s fine.’
‘Open the present. It is the thought cube.’
Maybe I was wrong, but I thought he’d already given me the cube. Obviously the Net hadn’t covered the new occasion equals new present rule.
‘You’re not supposed to tell me what it is. It ruins the surprise,’ I said. Might as well start teaching him for future birthdays.
‘Ahh. That is why the paper, yes? To hide the present. Another of your human secrets.’
‘That’s right.’
I pulled the thick wad of toilet paper off the cube.
‘You’re right, it’s the cube,’ I said. ‘Thank you very much. And for the special breakfast.’ I looked at the trifle leaning over on the plate — packed full of breakfast nutrition.
‘Try the cube. Try it,’ Mav urged.
‘How does it work again?’
‘Focus on a memory and look into the cube. Like this.’
He grabbed the cube, staring into it until the cube darkened. A tiny 3D of him trying to wrap my present wavered then solidified. The Net hadn’t told him about sticky-tape either. No wonder he had gone through three toilet pads. Then he broke concentration and handed me the cube. I turned it over feeling its slimy smooth texture. It was quite heavy.
‘Mav, how come you can make this work, but you can’t use your mind to talk with your people?’ I asked.
‘The cube is simple,’ he sang, the harmony subdued. ‘We give them to the young pairs to practice their minds. I can do this. I can do simple scans. No more than that.’ He looked away. ‘For more I need a pair.’
He straightened up.
‘You try the cube.’
‘I doubt if I can get it to work,’ I said.
‘Try.’
I took a deep breath and concentrated on the cube, struggling to keep a single memory in my mind. I swear Mav was holding his breath, too. Nothing happened. Nothing, except the pain in my head throbbed fast for a second as I strained to form a picture.
Mav’s ears were lower than I’d ever seen them before.
‘Sorry, but it makes my head hurt,’ I said.
He didn’t stir.
‘Hey, when’s your birthday?’ My voice was fake jolly. Even I hated it.
He picked up the cube.
‘We do not celebrate the day of births. We celebrate the joining day.’
‘What’s that?’ A change of subject would do us both some good.
‘It is the day when a young pair joins their minds completely. It is the time of shared knowledge.’
Great, this could only remind him of Kelmav. Next subject, please.
‘This has been a great birthday treat, Mav. Thanks.’ I kicked the cover off my legs and wriggled off the bed. ‘I’m just going to get dressed. I’ll be out in a minute.’ It was a cop out, but I didn’t know what else to say.
Suddenly Mav lunged at me, wrapping me in a hug that verged on spine-snapping. Screte, he was strong.
‘A hug and kiss is also traditional, yes? Happy birthday Joss-partner.’ He kissed me carefully, keeping his secondary mouth closed. It was like being kissed by a mild-mannered vacuum cleaner.
‘Thanks, Mav,’ I said, patting him on the arm. At least his ears were a bit higher now.
I stayed in the bather a bit longer than usual, choosing a fragrance cycle rather than my usual dirt-off-get-out program. I decided to try a bit of make-up too. Lipstick and maybe a bit of eye stuff. It didn’t look too bad although my hair could have done with a cut.
Mav was concerned when I came out of my room.
‘Why has your mouth changed?’
I looked in the wall mirror, just to make sure the lipstick hadn’t worked it’s way up my nose or something.
‘It’s just make-up,’ I said. Maybe they didn’t have make-up on Choria. ‘It’s body decoration to make you look good. Make you attractive to other people.’
‘I have studied what humans think is look good. The information was not very exact, but you come into the parameters of acceptable without extra colour.’
I think that was meant to be a compliment.
‘I have an incoming message for you, Joss,’ the computer said.
‘Okay, I’ll take it at the main screen.’
‘Well, well, well if it isn’t the birthday girl,’ Vaughn said, leering. ‘Many happy returns. I’ve got a couple of packages for you here at the front desk that have just been cleared.’
He was still leering when I got to the front desk.
‘I hear you’re eighteen today,’ he said. ‘You can get into the sex-space now, hey? I can tell you where the good programs are. Maybe we can link up.’
What an innocent. Most people got into the Net sex-scapes before they were twelve, let alone eighteen. Vaughn probably thought I hadn’t been kissed yet, either.
‘Unlike some people, I’ve never needed to resort to VR sex,’ I said. ‘Can I have my packages, please?’
He handed me two packages: one small and square, the other flat and large. One was from Lewis.
‘If you’re not nicer to me, I’ll tell you what’s in your pressies,’ he said. ‘I saw them on the scan.’
‘It’s too high a price,’ I said.
He flipped me the finger just as a man entered the building. The visitor frowned.
‘What would the Major say?’ I whispered.
Vaughn had already turned to the man, yes-sirring and no-sirring stiffly. The back of his neck and his crew-cut scalp was bright red.
I opened the packages back in the suite, Mav hanging all over me.
‘You do not know what these are, yes?’ he asked.
‘They’re a complete surprise,’ I said, struggling with the tight packaging on the smaller parcel.
Lewis had packed it in Outerlock, so I just about needed a blowtorch to get it off. Whatever was inside had to be fragile. Hopefully, it wasn’t a vase.
It wasn’t. It was the newest, slim-line, ‘do everything except breathe for you’ armscreen. I’m sure it was very expensive, but it was exactly what I didn’t want. Armscreens made you available to anyone, anytime. At least I would get a good price for it at Boney’s pawn shop.
The card read:
Happy 18th Birthday, Joss, love Ingrid.
Short, to the point and written by Lewis.
‘Who sends you this?’ Mav asked.
‘My mother’s secretary,’ I said.
‘You are friends to mother’s secretary?’
‘No.’
Mav sat back, confused.
I ripped away the top layer of packing off the flat parcel. It had an insurance sticker on it, but I didn’t recognise the writing. After the third layer of spongy packing, I was beginning to get interested. Who had sent this?
Finally all of the packing was gone. Mav whistled with excitement. The final package was decked out in very bright paper with loads of slightly squashed ribbons all over it.
‘Festive paper and ribbons,’ he said, fluffing up the blue and pink bows.
I pushed his hands away. This was getting more and more interesting. The paper and bows tore off easily. It was Ingrid’s Ledbetter original.
I picked up the card. It read:
I thought you might like this now that you are living in the Ledbetter suite. You chose well. Love, Ingrid.
It wa
s handwritten with two little crosses under her name. I scrabbled through the packing until I found the outer layer. She had even written out the insurance sticker. Lewis probably didn’t even know about it. Ha.
‘This is a good present? You smile a lot,’ Mav said.
‘This is a great present,’ I said, slipping the card into my waist pouch. ‘It’s from my mother.’
‘Joss, it’s ten-fifteen,’ the computer said. I’d asked it to remind me so that I wasn’t late for Louise.
‘Okay,’ I said, ignoring the little lurch in my gut.
After a bit of a struggle, I managed to hang the painting up in my bedroom in place of the pale print. Mav stared at it for a while then agreed it looked good, although he couldn’t see the use of it. Then we packed all of the Outerlock into the recyc bin and vacced it away. It was ten-thirty. If I didn’t get going I would be late. Louise had always said being late for an appointment showed disrespect. She was always early. But not this time. This time she was six years late.
The Red Hat
I bit the bullet and took the Venturi to Mall 14. It was running on time so I got to Mario’s five minutes early. Louise hadn’t arrived.
Mario’s is a monument to hard core coffee drinkers. Even when coffee got blamed for Gosfords Syndrome, Mario’s ignored the medical warnings. For a while it was one of the few places you could get blistering short blacks and real cappuccinos. Now that coffee drinking was back in favour, I was lucky to score the two seats at the front window bar.
I took Ingrid’s card out of my pouch. Not only had she remembered I’d chosen the painting, but she’d also remembered I was living in the Ledbetter suite. Maybe I should start believing in Santa again. I smoothed out a slight crease in the left corner of the cardboard. It was already getting wrecked. I’d have to find somewhere safe for it. I slid the card back into my pouch, keeping it flat against the stiff front-piece of the bag.
Louise was now five minutes late. Maybe she wasn’t coming at all. A guy in one of those awful cling business suits was eyeing up the spare stool. I took my jacket off and dumped it on the seat. He clicked his tongue, moving away.
Louise was out of breath when she walked in the door. She smiled at me as she slid a babypack off her shoulders. Her kid was asleep, it’s head flopped to one side. She manoeuvred the baby, a huge bag and a fluoro green hat box neatly around the tables towards me. I stood up.
Singing the Dogstar Blues Page 11
