Lifespan of Starlight (24 page)

Mason is standing to one side, one hand still gripping the fence. When he sees me
looking he sets his mouth straight, not giving anything away.

‘Next train’s not for an hour,’ says Boc. ‘Anyone want to wait?’

‘Nah, time for us to get back,’ says Amon. ‘Our folks will be home soon.’

To my relief, everyone seems to take that as a cue to leave as well.

We start back across the park, the sun still strong. It’s only when he taps my shoulder
that I realise Mason has fallen in beside me.

As I turn to him, his hand slips back into his pocket. ‘Hey,’ he says.

‘Hey.’ I wait.

‘You did good today.’

‘Thanks.’

He doesn’t say more after that, but he sticks by my side the whole way back in a
way that makes it feel as if we’re in all this together.

I’m not hungry when I get home, won’t need to sleep tonight, but I start prepping
the delivery so that dinner’s ready when Mum comes home from a walk.

She’s even more tired than usual so we don’t talk much, but when she asks how I am
it’s easy to say,‘fine’. I don’t have to put on some act that I’m okay. This must
be how it feels to think that all is lost, only to realise that you’re still alive.

M
UM SLEEPS LATE
the next day. She’s only in the mood for tea and toast when I ask.
Easy, at least.

A few minutes later I carry over a steaming mug. ‘You all right?’ She’s sitting up
in bed, catching up on news reports. I sit beside her and cross my legs on top of
the covers.

‘Of course.’ She rests the compad on her lap. ‘Just a bit tired. Busy week. And …’
A sigh. ‘I need to go away next week, sweetheart, for a work conference.’

‘Cool. Like a holiday, except you have to work?’ The conferences she’s had before
were via distance link-up.

‘I’m sorry, Scout. They won’t let me put it off any longer –’

‘Put it off?’

‘… they’ve been asking me for a while, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone.’

She’s making way more out of this than she needs to. ‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.
That sounds like fun.’ She rubs the back of
her neck and I can tell she’s still not
sure. ‘Mum, I’m fourteen. I can look after myself.’

That makes her lips scrunch to one side, still too pale and thin. She’s spent so
much of her life focused on me, she has trouble letting go.

‘It’ll be good for me, yeah?’ I say, trying to show that I’m relaxed about it so
she’ll relax too.

‘I’ll speak to Alistair, ask him to check in with you,’ Mum says. ‘If you have any
trouble, anything at all, ask him for help okay?’

‘Sure.’ Already I’m planning how far I’ll jump, a few days maybe. But of course I
don’t say that.

‘Should I ask Mrs Richardson as well?’

‘Nah. That’s okay.’ I can tell that she’s been fretting about this for a while. ‘You’ll
be able to call, won’t you?’

‘Some nights.’ She’s sitting really still, just her eyes move to me. ‘What will you
do while I’m gone?’

‘Mum, I told you. I’ll be fine.’

‘I mean, how will you pass the time?’

‘I …’ I don’t know if I should tell her about my plans to time skip. We haven’t spoken
about it since the day after I showed her.

‘Listen Scout, I’ve been thinking a lot about your … disappearing.’

I keep quiet, waiting until I see where she’s going.

‘Do you still think it might help you escape the authorities?’ Mum asks.

‘Yes.’ The eagerness rises – there’s so much I could share with her – but I keep
it contained. ‘It takes practice, but I’m getting
better. If I have to jump quickly
I’ll be able to do it. And I can control how long I stay away, too …’

I break off, watching her closely. She’s quiet for a bit, her body still.

Impatience gets the better of me. ‘I thought you were okay with it now?’

‘No.’ But the smile creases have deepened around her eyes. ‘I’m still not happy,
but I don’t want you keeping it from me either. I don’t want to push you away, Coutlyn.’

‘Mum.’ There’s reproach in my tone, telling her not to be silly. I place a hand on
her knee beneath the doona, and she covers my hand with hers. An idea comes to me.

‘Maybe this will help.’ I grab my compad and shuffle closer so she can watch. ‘See?
If you go in here, and then tap on … this.’ The grid appears on the screen, showing
our two dots side-by-side. I tag my own and create a tracking bot. ‘I’ll set up the
same shortcut on your compad. So all you have to do is tap on this icon, and you’ll
be able to see where I am. Even if you don’t get a chance to call, you’ll be able
to see me.’

Mum’s been quiet through each of the steps.

‘And if you can’t find me on the grid, that means I’ve time skipped. But I always
come back to the same place, okay? You might have to wait a day or so, but you’ll
be able to see me return. You’ll know I’m okay.’

Mum lifts a finger towards the screen. ‘Show me how to get in again?’

‘Like this? And then …’ Step-by-step I take her through it
all once more while she
nods and points. ‘I’ll set it up on your compad so you can check whenever you like.’

When I get to the end, her eyes soften and lift to meet mine. ‘Okay. Good.’

‘Agent X, reporting for duty.’

It’s Mum’s first night away and I’ve just come home. I step around the entrance wall
in the communal kitchen to see Alistair pulling on an oven mitt.

Haven’t caught up with him for ages. ‘How are you, Alistair?’

‘Still working.’ A pause, before his eyebrows go up. ‘Hungry?’

‘Nah, thanks. I’ll be right.’

‘Come on.’ A stiff arm lifts towards the other side of the bench and gestures at
a second place setting complete with a full glass of water. ‘I made shepherd’s pie.
Just for you.’

He opens the oven, guiding out a single-serve ramekin with golden potato mash peaked
above it. The steaming dish rests on a plate while Alistair turns slowly back and
pulls out a second, golden brown just like the first. It’s almost as if he was watching
me on the grid and timed the meal for when I came home.

He settles on the edge of a stool, half standing and half leaning. It doesn’t look
comfortable. ‘Bon appetit.’

What to say? My face is scrunched in its own torn push-pull. ‘But I …’ It would be
rude to eat his food, but now that I see the second pie, it feels rude to refuse.

My eyebrows go up. ‘Wait here, yeah?’

The pies would be burning hot anyway. I dash back to our room and click the cold
cupboard open. Five leftover lentil balls will do just fine. Yoghurt dip blobs into
a fresh bowl. A carrot quickly becomes a pile of colourful sticks. Nothing too flash
but at least I’ll be adding to the meal.

Alistair drops his chin when I return with my plate, glad that I’ve accepted his
offer without a fuss.

The lentil balls are cold but taste okay smothered in sauce. We talk about the weather
as we dip and chew, but I can’t help wondering what he knows. If Alistair was watching
the grid to check when I’d be home, what else has he seen on my history map? And
how much has Mum told him already?

The pie makes my brain melt, it’s so good. Pretty sure it’s lab steak but you wouldn’t
know, apart from the way the chunks fall apart in uniform segments. Not that I’ve
had real steak for a while. I think the last time it was affordable enough for Mum
was my seventh birthday. We’re halfway through when we run out of small talk.

I jump in before he does. ‘So how’s work?’ I ask breezily.

Alistair swallows, clears his throat. ‘Fine, still keeping me busy.’

‘Found the cure for cancer yet?’ Worth a try.

No reaction other than crinkles deepening at the corners of his eyes.

‘Solved the famine crisis?’ I try again.

‘Something like that.’ One side of his mouth kinks up, enjoying the mystery that
remains around his job no matter how many ways I ask.

There’s still about a quarter of his pie left when Alistair leans back, pushing his
plate towards the centre of the bench. He takes a sip of water.

‘How’s your mother?’ he asks.

Not what I was expecting, but at least we’re getting somewhere. He would have spoken
to her himself. ‘She’s okay. Busy, I think.’

‘She worries, you know.’

And here we are. I decide to come right out and ask. ‘How much has she told you?’

‘Your mother told me … something quite extraordinary.’ His eyes travel from his plate
to rest on me. ‘I spent a lot of time checking the grid to make sense of what I was
seeing.’

‘And?’ Already, I’m standing. ‘Want to see for yourself?’

‘No.’ His face darkens. ‘No, Scout. Sit.’

Back on the stool, disappointed but still eager to talk about it with him, I lean
forwards. ‘But you saw on the grid, right? You can see it’s real. What do you think
about that?’

Alistair considers me for a moment.

‘I think …’ he starts, then breaks off. ‘The truth is I don’t know what to think.’
He shuffles on the stool. ‘Whatever this thing is that you’ve found, it needs to
be studied, understood –’ ‘Yeah, I know …’ I’m leaning forwards, eager to join in
but again he cuts me off.

‘… in controlled conditions, with safety systems. This thing is dangerous in the
hands of kids. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.’

My shoulders lift, because he’s right in some ways, but I end up shaking my head.
‘That’s just because you haven’t done it yourself.’ Nothing that feels that good
could be dangerous.

Now it’s Alistair’s turn to lean forwards. Slowly. Creaking. ‘But you don’t know,
Scout –’

Yes, I do. I think about being lost in the tunnel that day. But I made it out, didn’t
I? It’s our own mind, our fears, that hold us back.

‘You’re only a few weeks away from beginning at your new school. You don’t want to
jeopardise that opportunity.’

‘No.’ Head shaking. ‘No. It’s okay, Alistair. I promise you. It will be okay.’

We’re quiet for a bit. Alistair takes a sip of water so I lift my glass too. I’m
thirstier than I realised.

‘How are you feeling about school?’ he asks after a while.

‘Can’t wait.’ I place the glass on the bench and find myself smiling at him. ‘I couldn’t
have managed it without you. Any of it, really.’ In my mind I move through all the
ways he’s helped me. Getting into school. Understanding the grid. How to make the
chip my own.

‘I worry, sometimes,’ Alistair sighs. ‘Perhaps I’ve sent you down a path of no return.’

‘Wouldn’t have it any other way.’ And now that I’m saying it, I realise how true
that is. Other than Mason, I don’t think I’d change a thing even if I could. If I’d
been a citizen, I’d never have stolen the chip, and never would have learnt how to
time skip.

That last thought is enough to make up my mind. I push back
the stool and stand.
‘Stay there.’ I step around to the opposite side of the bench from Alistair. ‘I’m
going to show you for real. Just this once.’

Creases deepen on his forehead, but he stays quiet. Curious, perhaps.

Two steps back, I kneel so that I can see his head and nothing more above the bench,
which means that he can see the same of me.

A quick glance along the hall: no sign of the Richardsons. Then back to look at Alistair
with a smile of reassurance, before I drop away.

Only a few seconds later I’m back, breathing hard and smiling at the rush of it.
I slip on my clothes in seconds.

Alistair hasn’t moved, other than his lips parting.

Can’t help the corners of my mouth lifting and as they do, Alistair matches my expression.
Amazed.

‘I could teach you, if you’d like,’ I try. ‘You’d be able to see further into the
future than you ever would otherwise.’

He blinks three or four times quickly and I wish I could take back the words I just
said. What was I thinking? Talking about his mortality like that.

Then he shakes his head. ‘I think I’ve already glimpsed it, Agent X. Just then, you
showed the future to me.’

Mum comes home really flat at the end of her conference, her skin this pale shade
of grey and her hair limp as if it hasn’t even
been washed. She doesn’t want to talk
about the conference much so I don’t push, but when I show her the credits I saved
by time skipping, she relaxes and even smiles. We’ll pay back our debt sooner than
we thought. I’m nearly 500 credits ahead of where I’d be if I’d stayed and, you know,
done stuff and eaten food.

She only seems to have checked the grid a few times, so when she asks about my time
skipping I’m glad to fill her in. I managed to skip nearly forty hours after my evening
with Alistair. Soon after returning from that, I skipped ahead three whole days.
Feeling my way forwards is easier now. Each long jump seems to open up the possibility
of jumping further again.

Mum listens while I talk about my time skipping, elbows on knees and her mouth in
a straight line. She’s not relaxed about it, exactly, but accepting at least.

She even gives the green light for me to keep practising, as long as I warn her when
I’ll be away and promise an evening or lunch date together each time I come back.
So I find myself free to keep skipping further as the summer continues, playing with
the sense of possibility opening out before me while my days disappear like playing
cards in the wind.