Lifespan of Starlight (22 page)

How beautiful.

Soft clothes crushed beneath my feet. I lift them up one by one and slip them on.

There are red drops on the ground. My wrist is bleeding.

‘Six hours and twenty-three freaking minutes!’ I jump at the sound of Boc’s voice,
turning to see him and Mason stretching stiffly, as if they were sitting on the nature
strip all this time. ‘That was amazing.’

As if through a glass wall, I watch them moving towards me, slowly recognising the
memories of the morning. I’m light, safe inside the space of a heartbeat, but I know
why I’m here, why I fell away so fast.

Adrenaline gives me courage. ‘I almost didn’t make it.’

Mason pauses. ‘The sinkhole?’ He’s holding the bandage, his forehead creased. ‘You
had trouble coming back?’

All I can do is nod, pushing my lips together at the memory of where I was. The emptiness
of it doesn’t scare me so much as the way I almost forgot who I was.

‘Your wrist.’ Mason points at the short strip of a wound. Blood streaks down my hand
in threads. ‘Here.’

He holds out the bandage and I become a one-handed muddle, trying to wrap it around.
It’s only when a drop wets the fabric that I realise I’m crying. A delayed reaction,
I think. What if I hadn’t been able to make it back?

I keep my head tilted. Don’t want Boc to see.

‘Here,’ Mason says again. But it’s different this time, closer. He takes the tangle
of bandage and unwraps my feeble attempt so he can start again. I hold my breath
as I let him work, keeping
my eyes wide because I know that if I blink the tears
will fall and give me away.

Mason’s finishing with the fastening when two tears finally land on my arm, but he
doesn’t flinch. He’s not going to make this worse than it already is.

‘I’m sorry, Scout,’ he says softly. Just for me. ‘Okay?’ He leans in close to look
at me. ‘We shouldn’t have brought you here.’

‘I’m not freaking sorry. I’m impressed.’ Boc is standing a short distance from us,
hands on hips. ‘Six whole hours. This is a major breakthrough. How did you get back?’
The way his jaw muscles bulge makes me wonder if he’s a little jealous.

I look to Mason for support. ‘It was Mum … I have to be back before she’s home, or
she’ll worry. I think it worked like a deadline that helped me back. I don’t know.
The time she’s due home was kind of like a magnet or something, pulling me out.’

Mason rubs the backs of his fingers against his jaw. ‘Interesting. I’ve found that
the further I jump, the harder it is to stay accurate with the return. But this is
good. If we find something to use as a deadline, who knows how far we could go?’

‘A full day as a start.’ It’s Boc, closer now. ‘But we need more practice. You have
to train with us.’

‘Nah, mate.’ At that, Mason strides away from me and whispers something to Boc that
I don’t catch.

‘Nah, she’ll be right,’ says Boc. ‘She can help. She has to meet Amon and Echo.’

‘Who?’ I ask.

‘A couple of climbing buddies,’ says Boc. ‘Amon and … his sister. They learnt to
skip even quicker than Mase did.’

There’s meaning in the way he said the word
sister
, but I don’t try to work it out
because other questions are more pressing. ‘Hang on. They can time skip?’

‘Yep. Fast learners, eh?’ Boc grins as if he expects me to be jealous or something.

Why is it that everything seems to be a competition for him?
It’s not,
I remind myself.
‘Yeah. Really good.’ If other people have learnt how to skip, I want to meet them.

The return journey is different from the trip out. Boc keeps asking about my jump
today and I answer as best I can, pausing whenever someone else is close enough to
hear. It’s not until we’re nearly at Footscray Station that Mason makes his way across
the aisle to me.

He doesn’t speak at first, just pushes his mouth to one side as he thinks about what
to say. I get the feeling that he doesn’t want me to meet the others. No way he can
stop me, though.

‘So if you’re sure about coming next week, make sure you can drop away in an instant.’
Mason clicks his fingers. ‘Like that, yeah?’

A shrug from me. ‘Okay.’

‘And more importantly, you have to be able to stay away at least five minutes. No
coming back early.’

‘How come?’

A grin from Boc. ‘You’ll see.’

‘I’m not mucking around here, Scout.’ Mason’s face is deadly
serious. ‘If you can’t
be confident of staying away long enough then you don’t come.’

I’m not sure of anything anymore after falling in so fast today, not at all confident
I can do any of the stuff he just said, but the idea of being left behind again,
stuck on my own, is worse than being lost in the tunnel. I’ve spent all my life being
separated, different from everyone else. Now I know how to time skip I want to be
around others who can too. Even if two of them are Boc and Mason.

I hold my ground and adjust my grip on the rail. ‘I’ll be fine, Mason.’

He doesn’t seem sure, but by now the train has slowed and the doors are opening.
I step off the carriage and swivel back. ‘See you next week.’

The doors meet between us and I’m left with the final image of Mason, his chin lowered
and eyes locked on mine.

As soon as Mum leaves for work the next morning, I’m up and ready. Feet apart, standing
beside the bed, I wipe my palms against my pyjama pants.

A twinge from my wrist makes me cup it with the other hand, checking the bandage
for signs of blood. The wound split at the edge yesterday but it seems to be holding
now.

Yesterday. It’s only the briefest glint but before I can hold it back the memory
expands and takes hold. That steady fog; the
way it felt to forget. A mug left beside
the sink catches my eye. Maybe I’ll brew some tea first.

I settle into the routine of boiling water and stirring concentrate, checking out
the news sites at the same time. Not yet ready for jumping again, I settle in front
of the comscreen with the mug in one hand. This is how my life used to be, before
the chip and before time skipping.

Before I changed the course of Jaclyn’s life.

How is it fair that I have to carry this guilt?

Then again, how is it fair that she won’t get the chances she could have?

I can’t face the news at the moment, so I end up scrolling through online programming
tutorials. I know most of them already, of course, but I haven’t come here to learn.
I’m here because these tutes are familiar and safe, like curling up in bed after
a hard day. Just for a while I relive a time when my dreams were simple and clean.

For something to do I bring up a coding program and start tweaking some lines of
script I’ve been playing with. I used to spend days trying out all sorts of weird
program patches. Except, instead of little programs that made it easier living illegal
in the city like I used to write, this one is a masking code to hide me from the
grid.

It takes a few weird workarounds, but by mid-morning I get to the point when I run
the program and my dot disappears from the grid.

For a while I just sit here, invisible and safe. This is the way
life used to be.
Except as soon as I move, the chip re-triggers and the dot re-appears. The script
needs more work, but it’s still good to know that it’s there.

When I check the clock, I realise I’ve messed around for nearly two hours. Long enough.
I switch off the comscreen and stand. My throat is dry but I swallow it away. Just
let go.

I drop into the tunnel.

I’m away only a few seconds, the quickest of letting go before grabbing reality again.
I make it back without any trouble, landing solid on two feet, my confidence returning
with the rush of coming back.

Again.

This time I’m away a whole minute. Still no problem. It’s good to be back in familiar
territory. With each successful return, I feel more sure about staying away a full
five minutes by next weekend. So I position my feet and drop into the tunnel again.
Three clear minutes.

Then five. I’ve been here before, deep in the tunnel.

It’s nearly midday by the time I break. Not much point in dressing, no-one to see
me in here. I’m eating marmalade on toast when a possibility comes to me. There’s
still six hours at least before Mum comes home. And although five minutes is the
minimum for next week’s training, I’m sure Boc will be aiming for longer.

Draining a full glass of water, I finish and make a decision. The longer I leave
it, the harder it will become. I’ve been there before, and made it out the other
side.

I don’t let myself fall in so quickly this time, don’t plunge into nothing. This
time I drop in neatly, carefully drifting from the anchor of now. I’m sure I can
even sense my progress through time. One minute, now five, travelling ever further
into an endless ocean, infinity domed above me.

So this is where the fear comes from, this sense of disappearing, becoming nothing.
Or perhaps becoming one with everything.

The difference right now is that I still have a sense of where I’m from, a shoreline
for return if I need. Already I can feel the pull of the evening, the promise of
Mum returning home. I’m even clear enough to imagine resisting, continuing further
past my curfew, but I don’t. Not today.

It’s nearly six when I pull up to the surface, gasping with the rush of the return
and fresh with confidence. Knowing I could go further if I needed.

I’m finally pulling on clothes when I hear a message beep.

Saw you on the grid. Kudos. See you on Sat. M.

O
N SATURDAY AFTERNOON
I ride out to the rock climbing centre north of the city and
somehow end up taking the wrong path. I have to cut across town once I realise, so
I’m nearly twenty minutes late by the time I reach the blue door at one side of the
main climbing area.

Boc already warned me that it would be locked, so I send him a message and wait.
It’s hot but that’s not why my palms are damp. Hope I’m ready for this. I’ve been
jumping through the long hours while Mum’s at work, finding my way back every time.
But I know better than anyone how easy it is to get lost.

‘Hey,’ Boc whispers as the door edges open. ‘We’re warming up.’

As he pulls the door, I slip through into a huge space and immediately I’m hit with
the focus in here, a calm concentration. Mason is standing at the other end of the
room, a whiteboard set up beside him. Directly across from him is a guy I recognise
from the news story about Mason and Boc climbing the Macquarie
Bank building, and
beyond him a girl of about eleven or twelve who has the same jet black hair and pale
skin as the guy.

Along the length of the back area is a climbing wall covered in lumps and holes for
supporting hands and feet. Three or four safety harnesses lie unused at the base.

‘Scout. Amon. Echo.’ That’s the extent of the introductions from Boc.

‘Hey,’ says Amon with a jerk of his chin. ‘You made six hours?’ He seems so compact
and strong, he reminds me of Japanese gymnast.

Small shake of the head. ‘Just a fluke.’

‘Don’t sell yourself short.’

Echo has been staring this whole time, so I lift my eyebrows and try a ‘hi’. She
responds by pursing her lips and turning the other way. It makes me wonder how much
Boc has already told them about me. Six hours time skipping. But what else? I can’t
help wondering how much I can trust them; more importantly, how much I can trust
Boc.

‘Okay. Let’s do this.’ Boc looks serious, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement
in his manner.

At his words, Amon lifts a yellow plastic gun and aims directly at Mason. His focus
is along the length of the barrel, hands fisted and arms straight. It’s only a toy,
I think. But the way he’s holding it makes me step back.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Training,’ Boc says, deadpan.

‘On three,’ from Amon, a statue.

Mason repositions his feet and breathes out. His shoulders relax.

The last time I saw him prepare was on the roof of his house, so long ago. There’s
a noticeable change about him. His eyes are steady, a clear confidence about them.

‘One, two,’ calls Echo, ‘… three.’

With a shot from Amon, the bullet tears through the space towards Mason. Only of
course Mason’s not there: he time skipped to avoid being hit. The bullet hits the
opposite wall and falls harmlessly to the floor.

The silence is followed by a sucking gasp as Mason returns. I exhale, not because
of the toy bullet, but because one day it could be real.

Mason grabs a shawl that was tangled on the floor and wraps it around his waist.
‘Don’t think we need the count in anymore. Maybe we can just say
one
?’

‘Okay,’ says Amon.

‘Can I go?’ from Echo. She steps forwards, hands behind her back.

There’s a pause as Boc turns to consider her. ‘Why don’t you work with Scout?’ he
says.