Lifespan of Starlight (17 page)

So I push my lips together and lift my head. Trying to show that I’m okay about it
all. I can be cool about these things too. With legs crossed I take my place beside
him, the whiteboard between us. ‘One minute?’

His eyes lower. ‘One minute.’

I draw in some air and shut out the room. My focus is all about getting to the other
side of this skip. Maybe it will be good for us, a way of connecting again.

It’s peaceful inside the tunnel, the absence of all worries.

When I pull out, my breathing comes fast. I’ll never grow tired of that rush. Only
a minute has passed and yet we’ve entered a whole new time.

Mason’s not back and a change of atmosphere hits me straight away. I’m not sure how
I pick it up but there’s a clear difference between then and now. I catch a whiff
of honeysuckle in the air that I’m sure wasn’t there before.

When the seconds continue past and Mason still hasn’t returned I peek over the screen
to find nothing there, not even clothes.

My heart skips hard, faster now as I fumble beneath me for my clothes, leaving the
blanket untouched. None of this feels right.

If something went wrong with Mason …

Underwear, shorts and singlet on. My shirt isn’t here. This is so
not
right. I’m
crawling in a desperate circle when I sense movement from behind the coffee table.

‘Looking for this?’ A figure stands from behind the comscreen.

It’s Boc, holding my shirt. From the hardness in his face, I see in an instant.

He knows what he’s holding, hidden in a pocket seam.

Beside him is Mason. In the seconds it takes him to stand and turn to me, I’m hit
with a slap of truth.

Mason’s been here all along. He let me skip on my own so they could watch what happened
on the grid.

They know.

I
T’S BOC WHO
says it. ‘You’re not chipped, are you? It’s hidden in your shirt.’

My head shakes, but no words come. What can I say? They would have watched me disappear
while the chip stayed in full view on the grid.

Mason steps from behind the comscreen and stops beside me. One hand rests against
my shoulder blade before falling away. ‘You were born before they started chipping
babies, way back in the 2020s. That’s why it’s not in your wrist.’ He pauses and
gestures towards Boc. ‘Tell him, Scout.’

When Mason turns back to me it’s with such certainty, such trust that my heart lifts
and wedges in my throat. He’s waiting for me to say that all is okay, what happened
between us was real, I’m still the person he thought I was.

But, of course, I can’t.

It’s hard to even meet his gaze and, strangely, Boc is the one I turn to now, maybe
because he has already guessed the truth. He’s watching me calmly, patiently. But
I see victory there too.

Boc’s eyebrows lift in question, but all I can do is shake my head.
Please don’t
make me say it.

‘Admit it. You’re illegal,’ says Boc.

His eyes track across to Mason and narrow in a way that makes me think they’ve been
arguing about this. But somehow that’s even worse: Mason would have been defending
stuff that doesn’t add up because that was easier for him to contemplate than the
idea of me being illegal.

‘Scout?’ Mason whispers.

I can’t even look at him. What could I say to make any of this okay?

All I can think is that the reason they were able to find me in the first place is
in Boc’s hand. And that it’s also the only way the police would be able to track
me now.

And that gives me an idea.

A single wipe of my palms against the sides of my jeans, and I make a dash for the
door.

Boc’s closer than me and reacts with crocodile speed, blocking my way. His chest
is pushed forwards, filling the space about him.
No you don’t.

I spin back to Mason for help, but this time his face shadows and he turns away.

No wonder. Trying to escape was as good as admitting who I am. Boc crosses his arms
and I realise there’s no way out.
The answer is there, on the grid, and hidden in
the shirt in his hand. Nothing I can say would explain any of this.

Nothing except the truth.

‘I found a woman at Footscray Park.’ My voice is weak but I push through, and keep
going. Just keep going. ‘It was the night she returned from the two-year jump. She
was sick … dying. I wanted to go for help, but she stopped me.’ A pause. ‘I was with
her when she died.’

I’m looking at Boc but my attention is on Mason as I speak, sensing his reaction
as he realises where this is going, feeling the space between us grow as he steps
back behind the comscreen.

When I’ve finished telling the whole story, Boc says, ‘So … you never knew how to
time skip? You learnt …’

‘… because of you.’ But of course, I’m speaking to Mason. And now that it’s out,
a wave of frustration comes behind, rising as hot tears that I wipe with my palm.

In the silence that follows, I find some small hope and slowly lift my eyes to Mason.
He’s staring at the space just in front of me, as if trying to make sense of my words,
searching for a way to reconcile them with who he thought I was.

Without looking at me, he moves towards Boc and mutters something I don’t catch,
their heads bowed together. I don’t have to hear it to know what they must be talking
about. They have decisions to make: what to do about all this; whether to turn me
in.

It’s enough to absorb their attention, just for a moment. So I take my chances, making
for the door to the main house and
doing a manual override as I hear a cry of surprise
from Boc behind me. The catch disengages as I hear the end of Mason’s reply. ‘…
her go.’

In seconds I’m up the stairs and out the front door, headed straight for my bike.
I’m barely in the seat before I’m pedalling down the driveway.

Leaving the chip behind.

The city streets blur with tears.

I wipe them with the back of my hand only to find that I’m also blinded by rage.
It grows with each push of a pedal. How could I be so stupid? I was trying so hard
to prove I knew how to time skip that I didn’t think what the chip not being in my
wrist could mean to anyone watching on the grid.

And now, everything’s lost: my chance at school, a normal life. Food rations. Mason.

Can’t think about Mason. My head fills with other losses. Kessa won’t be able to
message me anymore. And after all that she’s risked for me, all that she’s gone without,
how am I going to tell Mum?

Mum.

I’m already halfway home when I realise my mistake. Still not thinking straight.
I skid to a stop, turning back the way I came to take the Flemington path and soon
I’m pedalling hard for the city, clear about where I have to be.

Use your head, Scout
. There’s no time to curl up and cry. Now more than ever I have
to think my way out. I was speeding towards a place to hide, but I’m not the one
who’s in danger.

I’m already off-grid. I could survive on the water from my underground spring, maybe
try growing food again to trade with illegals beyond the city limits. But even if
I escape, the history map of that chip will always lead to our room. The minute I
brought it home, I put her at risk of being caught. The one in danger is Mum.

I think about messaging her with the compad but decide against it. Anything like
that could be intercepted and read. By Mason and Boc. Definitely the police. My only
advantage is keeping my next move off-grid.

When I make it to her work building I stash the bike but of course the doors won’t
open for me anymore. To the system I’m invisible again. It’s such familiar territory
that I fall back onto my old tricks like pulling on a worn old coat. I used to use
them just to get by, now I need them to survive.

Patience. That’s my way to make things happen. For twenty minutes I bide my time
until I’m wandering nonchalantly past the entrance at the same time a delivery drone
shows up and we just happen to go through the double doors together. I make it to
reception in its wake then turn for the stairwell. I’m ready for a manual override
but when I test the door I find it unlocked, swinging free with barely a push. Must
be the fire escape, too.

She doesn’t like me coming to work but I’ve done this before,
turning up when I was
so bored that Mum telling me off was a reasonable way to fill the day.

I climb two steps at a time, coming out again on the sixth floor, forgetting for
a moment which way to turn and spinning a full circle before I remember.

She’s alone in her office, tapping at the comscreen. I slide the door shut as soon
as I’m through, glad that her clients need privacy because now, more than ever, we
do too.

‘Coutlyn?’ Annoyance is not far away, until she sees the state I’m in.

Mum is already with me as I crumble, still coming to understand what I’ve done.
I thought it was my risk to take; didn’t think about the risk for her.

‘What happened?’ She holds my shoulders, crouching beneath my bowed head. I’m too
ashamed to say it but I have to because the police might be coming for her. ‘Something’s
happened?’

I nod through the tears, but there’s no time for crying. ‘They … they know. They
have the –’

She cups her hand over my mouth. ‘Shh. Don’t say it.’

Mum leads me to a chair so that we’re face to face but when she goes to lean away
I grab her wrist. ‘You have to dig it out. It’s the only way.’ It’s the only way
I can keep her safe.

‘No.’

‘We could live with the illegals, I could get water for us.’

‘Coutlyn.’ She untangles her hand from my grasp. ‘No.’

‘The grid is going to lead them to our room … to
you
. You have to dig it out.’

‘I said
no
.’ It’s sharper this time. Harder. She takes a breath. ‘Tell me what happened.
Quietly.’

At that, the tears slow. I’m suddenly numb inside.

‘Mason and Boc,’ I begin carefully because it’s hard even to say the names. ‘They
know I’m illegal. They know I stole a chip.’ The first would simply have me transported
out of the city, but the second is way worse.

‘And they’re going to the police?’

‘I don’t know.’ Even now that he knows the truth I can’t believe Mason would do that
to me. But Boc is another matter.

Mum glances at my singlet top, just briefly but long enough for me to see the way
I’m dressed through her eyes. Normally I wouldn’t go out like this; I’d throw a shirt
on too. I twist away from her in the chair, arms shielding my stomach. It’s not what
she’s thinking. Although in some ways, it is.

Mum leans back, closing her eyes as she rubs her temples. ‘So they have the chip.’

I pull out the compad, hack into the grid and zoom in to Mason’s house. I’ve never
done this in front of Mum before but she leans forwards to watch without speaking.

There’s no-one in Mason’s garage but when I pull up to the rest of the house I find
two dots in Mason’s room. Him and Boc, I think at first. Then I recognise only one
is tagged from when they followed me, and my breath catches. My shirt. He must have
taken it up to his room.

I have to clear the lump in my throat when I see that, although I’m not sure if it’s
with hope or because of what I’ve lost.

Mason’s not the one who most scares me, though, so I track back to when I was last
at the garage, find Boc and follow where he went since I left. He stayed with Mason
for about half an hour, and then went home.

‘No contact with the police, from what I can find,’ I say, scanning quickly through
their recent activity in another window. But for how long?

‘Okay. Let me think.’ Mum stands and tests the lock on the door before turning my
way. ‘So we don’t know for sure that they’ll say anything.’

I shake my head, more at the frustration than agreement. ‘But if they do –’

‘Then we’ll deal with it.’ A pause. ‘I could have run away to live with illegals
once before,’ she says evenly. ‘But I’ve chosen a different path. I’m not living
without a chip unless I have to. Now more than ever we’re going to need the rations,
the credits. Okay?’

No. Not okay at all. ‘So … what? We just wait for them to come and arrest you?’

‘No. We wait and make plans. We use our heads.’ She drags her chair closer to mine
and sits, our knees almost touching. ‘But most of all, we don’t do anything stupid.’

It’s late by the time we leave her office, walking side by side through the entrance
doors so it’s not obvious she’s the one
who triggered it open. It’s such familiar
territory that there’s no need to talk about it.

Mum catches the train home just like always but of course I ride my bike, stopping
every fifteen minutes to check her progress on the grid, making sure she’s still
travelling in the right direction, towards home.

We spent the past two hours thinking our way ahead of the police, sorting out our
stories, playing around with the what-ifs. Places to hide. A meeting place in case
we’re separated.