Lifespan of Starlight (29 page)

I guess, knowing now what I do, there probably was someone who missed her once. Maybe
she wasn’t important to anyone but me the night she died, but there must have been
someone who missed her when she first learnt to time skip, someone who cared about
her, from another place, another time.

It must be a few hours before dawn when I make my way back, climbing out through
the gap in the fence at Footscray Park. I reach Ballarat Road and hover for a while,
aware that I’m still blocked from the grid, still invisible as long as I don’t swipe.

What shall I do
, I ask myself,
with my last few hours of freedom?
What secrets could
I explore while I’m still off-grid?

But all I can think about is the people who have left me behind, and the ones still
waiting. Mum, Alistair, and even Kessa.

And standing here with the night sky above me, I realise that there’s nothing more
that I need to do off-grid. Maybe Mason’s right; I’m not illegal anymore.

So I make my way to the crossing point, swipe and wait. Not many smartcars around
at this time of night but soon I hear the familiar hum dropping in tone as two of
them stop.

I make my way across safely, conscious that by triggering the crossing point I’m
not blocked anymore. I’m back on the grid again.

When I make it to the other side, I check the slip of paper in my pocket, a new kind
of lifeline. It’s still there, still safe. All I can do now is wait until the police
come. I just have some questions to answer before I make it back to the place where
I have rations and a good school. The life of a citizen is waiting for me, just the
other side of now.

No police show the following day, or the day after.

After a while I begin to wonder whether they’re waiting for Mason to return before
they swoop in for questioning. That’s fine with me, of course. If they’re waiting
for any of the others to show, they’ll be waiting a long time. Maybe I’m off the
hook long-term.

I’m careful not to hack anything, don’t even check the grid. My history map over
the past couple of days shows the life of a normal citizen. From now on, I’m going
to stay way honest and squeaky clean. Once I make it through the questioning,
I’ll
begin jumping again. For now I live through every moment as if that were the only
way to live. I have a wide future waiting, but first I have to play it safe.

It’s not long until waiting for the police is replaced by final registration requirements,
collecting stationery and finally, the first day of school. It’s the day I’ve always
dreamed of, but now that it’s here it feels sort of … tainted. The dream isn’t how
I’d imagined because of the people no longer here.

I meet a few more people and hang out with Kessa, chatting about the teachers we
have and stressing about homework. I get to pick electives like food technology and
chemistry, the ones that will take me towards my goals.

Sometimes, though, I find myself staring at the crowd lining up for the sensors at
the canteen, watching them as if from a distance, through some sort of glass wall.

I’m the only one here who knows that something more is possible. They’re living this
life only because they have no idea how else they could live. One day I might teach
people about time skipping, offer them a future they never realised they could reach.
But not yet. First I have to make it through school, secure a place at uni.

For now I need to wait until I’m truly safe, until there’s a bigger gap between who
I am now and who I used to be.

We’re watching the Monday evening news when it happens. Partway through a segment
on an attack at the East India border,
the sound cuts out and a message flashes on
the screen: Entrance Warrant Activated, Federal Police. Mum’s barely had a chance
to take screen control when we hear the front door release and footsteps along the
hall.

After all this time, nearly six weeks since the others left, it’s almost a relief.
I slip on my boots and find the slip of paper that Mason gave me stashed safely on
the bedside table. Let’s get this questioning over with.

Mum opens our door as they approach, although I get the feeling they would have disengaged
it without waiting for us.

‘Coutlyn Roche?’ A police officer holding a swipergun steps into the room.

‘Yes. That’s me.’ Two others in bulletproof vests stand just outside the door.

He lifts the swipergun towards my wrist so I hold it out obediently, pulling up my
sleeve. The gun lets out three quick beeps.

‘I hereby inform you that you are under arrest by order of federal law. Anything
you say may be used against you during federal trial –’

‘Under arrest?’ I pull back my arm, my heart quickening.

‘What’s going on?’ Mum is standing behind the armchair, her hands playing nervously
beneath her chin.

The officer clicks a handcuff over my wrist. It gives a ping as it engages. ‘I’m
sorry to be the bearer of bad news, ma’am, but this kid you’re looking after is in
possession of a stolen chip.’

‘There must be some mistake –’ Mum’s voice is rushed and high.

‘No mistake, ma’am. She’s up for fraud, impersonating a citizen, a whole pile of
charges. We’ve been gathering evidence for a while.’

‘No but … she’s not, not illegal …’

‘She’s a fraud, ma’am. You’ve been taken for a ride.’ He lifts my wrist to examine
the chip scar and my whole world tilts, thoughts running a million directions.

‘See?’ The officer continues, still holding my wrist. ‘They even know how to fade
the scar so that you can’t tell it’s stolen property.’

None of this is happening. It can’t be. We’re about to finish last night’s fruit
salad, aren’t we? And after that I have a maths assignment to start.

Except, now the officer is pulling my arms behind me, clicking my wrists into handcuffs.

My mind snaps to the slip of paper in my pocket. ‘I’d like to call someone.’

‘You have a right to an attorney under federal law,’ the officer says, monotone.
‘However, it is my duty to inform you that once you are recognised as illegal you
will no longer be subject to the rights of citizens.’

It’s only now, with both hands locked behind my back that I realise how little help
the slip of paper is going to be. If I were a real citizen in trouble, Mason’s lawyer
would be there for me, ready to help. But the minute he’s told I’m illegal, everything’s
going to change. I know how the world works. I can’t count on that lawyer any more
than I can expect water rations.

My arms get pulled back as the officer jerks on the handcuffs, testing that they’re
secure. He leans closer to my shoulder, his voice low: ‘And before you try any funny
business, know that we’ve worked you out. Try any of your tricks, and the whole area
will be secured when you come back. Understand? We know what you can do and we also
know that you have to come back to the same place.’

My whole body has turned cold, my heart barely able to beat. This can’t be happening.
I’m about to be taken into custody, handcuffed and escorted out of our room. From
there I’ll be taken into a locked van, and then transported to a holding cell.

Once I’m in that cell, time skipping isn’t going to save me. Nothing is.

‘But there must be a mistake,’ Mum’s voice is faint. ‘She’s just a kid …’

‘You’ll have the opportunity for debriefing later, ma’am.’ The officer lifts a mouthpiece
under his chin, warning the team that he’s about to bring me out.

He’s distracted while he waits to hear a response from someone waiting outside,
and in those few seconds I realise. This is my chance.

The officer frowns and fiddles with an earpiece as if trying to turn up the volume.

I step away. Another step backwards, towards the fireplace. That’s the best bet in
here of returning to clear space, the
circular row of bricks around the old fireplace.
Maybe they’ll pull the building down while I’m away, but I’ll take my chances. I
know what type of future is waiting for me if I stay.

The officer has glanced my way, aware that I’ve stepped back. But again he’s distracted
by something being said on the other end. His focus shifts once more as he speaks
into the mouthpiece.

One final step and I’m here, standing with my back to the brick fireplace, hands
still locked behind me.

My eyes travel across the room to find Mum, her cheeks flushed and her hands clasped
in front of her mouth. Her eyes instantly find mine, blinking through tears. So wide,
so full of fear.

How badly I have failed her, after all that she’s done. Sorry isn’t going to cut
it for this one.

Her eyebrows lift, a look of desperate hope and love.
Just hold on, we’ll get through
this.

But I reply with a shake of my head.
Please understand.

The officer has finished with the support staff outside. He clicks off the mouthpiece
and turns my way.

I’m so, so, so sorry
…

Her hands drop and her forehead quivers as she comes to understand. But already the
officer is stepping towards me. Can’t wait any longer.

I close my eyes, drop my head forwards and plunge deeper into the tunnel than ever
before.

Ten years into the future.

A mountain of gratitude to Hilary Rogers for her generous support, expert criticism
and willingness to take a risk during the development of this book; I’m grateful
for every minute. Warm thanks to Natasha Besliev and the rest of the team at Hardie
Grant Egmont, especially Niki Horin and Penelope White. I don’t make it in to the
office very often but your ongoing emails and support is very much appreciated. This
book owes a huge debt to the HGE marketing team and to Charlotte Bodman for introducing
it to the rest of the world. Thanks also to Karri Hedge for editing the story with
such clarity and compassion; a world that felt very real to me is now much more real
as a result of you believing in it.

To everyone – family, friends and acquaintances – who asked me how my writing is
going: thank you! It might not seem like much, but your question is often just what
I needed to keep going. Thanks also to Chrissie Keighery, Sara Gerardi and Claire
Saxby for discussions over coffee and peppermint tea about ‘all things writing’.
One of my favourite things about what we do is the camaraderie and ideas shared with
other writers.

To Porter and Elm, thanks for your cheers and understanding during the victories
and struggles. And finally, to Campbell: it’s been seventeen years and I still miss
you if you’re gone for just a day. Thank you for sharing the journey with me.

Thalia Kalkipsakis
grew up on a farm on the outskirts of Melbourne with a mum who
tried to save battery hens by on-selling them as backyard chickens. Her dad worked
as an industrial chemist while also growing strawberries, carrots and Christmas trees
on the farm. It was not unusual to find plant shoots in the freezer, or the hair
dryer missing because it was needed to heat one of her dad’s experiments. Thalia’s
childhood showed her the magic that can happen when science and nature combine with
human creativity.