Lifespan of Starlight (4 page)

After a while she turns to me and leans backwards against the sink. ‘You’re a smart
kid, Scout,’ she says. And then, almost to herself, ‘You’ll have to be.’

I stand and move towards her, trying to read her expression. ‘I did it, Mum. Didn’t
I tell you that I’d handle it?’

‘Yes, Scout. You did.’ The air about her is more hope than happiness, but I reach
in for a hug anyway.

‘It’s going to be okay now,’ I say, my head tucked under her chin. Mum doesn’t say
anything but I feel her arms hold me tighter.

Silently, I make a pact.

From now on, it’s my turn to give back to Mum. For all that she’s done for me, all
that she’s given up, I’m going to pay her back.

A
MESSAGE IS WAITING
from Alistair when I wake up the next morning:
Don’t know how you did it, but pleased
nonetheless. Try some practice tests if you’re feeling nervous. Once again,
Agent X, you surprise me.

The emotiphone at the end is set to trigger cheers and applause as soon as it registers
my eye-focus. So utterly corny that I groan and make a face, laughing at the screen.

It’s a while since he’s used that nickname, Agent X. A top code-cracker, in hiding
from the government. That was me for as long as I can remember.

I must have been six years old, home alone while Mum was at work, when I worked out
how to unlock our door. Those long hours in our room used to feel like a lifetime
each day. I was already at the front gate when Alistair found me.

I remember Mum and Alistair talking that evening, but I don’t remember what they
said. All I know is that soon after,
Alistair started sending me little onscreen
games. Each day, he’d send me a new code to crack. At least, that’s how he described
it. But as it turns out, he was taking me step-by-step through programming basics.

I send an emotiphone back to Alistair – a cheering emoji with a posh voice saying
‘thank-you, thank-you, thank-you’ and applause in the background. Then I spend some
time on the practice tests he linked to. I only have to revise one of the maths questions
and grit my teeth through a reading comprehension. But soon my mind turns to the
world outside that door – and my list of all the wonderful things I can do, the same
as all other citizens.

I’m nearly at the overpass to Footscray Station when my steps slow and I find myself
glancing up at the security cameras.

When I was little, Mum refused to bring me past this part of town. That was before
I understood. I still remember the tightness in my chest as I begged her, holding
back the tears, promising extra chores and trying to tempt her with my share of her
rations.
Please, Mum. Please. Please.

I would have done anything to ride on the fast train. Just once. Just to see.

My heart lifts as I step into the crowd, allowing them to pull me along, through
security and then through the barrier gate, a train line stretching like a red carpet
before me. A ticket to the entire city.

I leap onto the carriage like a kid, then force myself to slow down and act natural.
My senses are on overload. So many bodies packed in tight. The smell of new plastic
and the taste of rubber. For some reason the bored expressions everywhere make my
grin grow even bigger. A couple of guys in Murdoch High School uniforms seem to have
noticed my good mood, so I manoeuvre my way to a window, stumbling as the hovering
carriage slides into motion and then bracing a shoulder against the window. My forehead
presses against the thick glass as I watch the world blur, feeling the speed through
every part of my body.

We reach Central Station in no time at all, and I step off with what I hope is the
same lazy expression as everyone else.

Across the road from Central Station, I take the steps two at a time up to the State
Library. This is all so easy. Usually it takes fifty minutes by bike to make it here.

You could pretty much call this place my second home, I’ve spent so much time in
here, partly because you don’t need a chip to get inside. The security system is
all about keeping print books in, rather than keeping anyone out.

I could use my compad to read, of course. Going to the library is more about the
people coming and going. Normal people. The nation’s citizens. When I’m here, I can
belong.

The terminal in the furthest corner is free so I settle in, glad to be away from
passing traffic. I actually have the compad out of my pocket before I realise I don’t
have to hack in to trigger the start of a session. There aren’t many people around.
A skinny old man is working a few terminals down but I can’t see anyone
else, so
I pull the slip of paper out of my pocket, carefully folded around the chip. Holding
it between finger and palm, I swipe the sensor.

Access granted
. I’ll never grow tired of that ping.

At first I just flick through the news, but that gets sort of depressing so I decide
to check out the entrance scores for uni courses and end up exactly where I always
do: Bachelor of Bioengineering. I know that it’s possible to feed way more people
than they do now, even with the same amount of water. I’ve read heaps about it, and
I have the best incentive of anyone to help make it happen. The cut-off score at
Monash Uni is 87, and 83 at La Trobe. Not sure if I’ll get that kind of score, but
getting into the right high school will be a good start.

I’m adding up the course fees when I hear voices murmuring behind me, and turn to
see two guys in Murdoch High School uniforms leaning against the back wall. One of
them is bulky and the other lean. They kind of look like the guys I saw on the train,
but that would be weird.

The slimmer guy was watching as I glanced his way, so I turn back to the terminal
and keep reading.

Or I try to, anyway. But I end up reading the same sentence three times over because
I can’t get my mind off the guys at the back wall. They’re standing at the only spot
in the library that has a direct sightline to my screen.

After a while I can’t stand it anymore and swivel in my seat, squinting along the
row of terminals as if I’m on the lookout for someone I know.

They’re still there, whispering to each other. When they see me looking around they
go still, the bigger one standing away from the wall like he’s getting ready to come
over.

I spin back to the screen, trying to work out what’s going on. Maybe I’m being paranoid,
but what if I’m not?

Why would they be following me?

Automatically my hand moves to the slip of paper in my pocket. It feels hot against
my hip. I can’t help wondering if I’ll ever wish I could undo what happened that
night in the cave.

The comscreen churns into logoff as I grab my gear. I head the long way round the
rows of terminals and through the kids’ corner.

At a side exit, I slip outside. The sensors go
tuk
as I leave, quiet reminders that
I’m not off-grid anymore.

I blend with the crowd as best as I can and, after half a block, I turn down Little
Lonsdale Street and then quickly again into a side alley so I can’t be seen from
Swanston Boulevard.

Leaning backwards against the wall, I check for an escape route if I need it, glad
to see that the alley leads to another street at the end. There’s a shoe shop down
here, and a row of padlocked rubbish skips, but little else.

Accessing the grid on a compad is a complete pain because the screen’s so small.
You end up scrolling and enlarging a lot. And getting lost. But I’m used to it by
now. I already have a smokescreen set up, so I trigger that and hack straight into
the grid.

Moving fast, I scroll across to find the library, and then
terminal fifteen. There’s
a bright dot at number fourteen now, but no dots at the back wall.

My lips feel dry and I lick them against the cool air, tracking backwards in time
to three minutes ago, four, five …

Until I find them. Two dots, at the back wall: the guys in Murdoch High School uniforms.

I tag them both with ‘???’ to make sure I can find them again, and then follow their
movements since I slipped away from the library.

They left only seconds after I did, out the front entrance and then along Swanston
Boulevard, the same direction as me.

Now that I’ve tagged them it’s easy to track them in real time, so I skip forwards
to access the grid at the present moment.

The world goes still around me. Right now, they’re standing at the same corner I
turned down only a few minutes ago.
It could still be a coincidence,
I tell myself,
but it’s more a desperate plea than anything else.

All I can do is shake my head as I watch the two dots move down Little Lonsdale Street
towards my alleyway. Somehow, those two guys must have access to the grid, and they’re
using it to track my chip.

Every nerve in my body is telling me to run for it, but what would be the point?
As long as I still hold the chip, they’ll be able to trace me.

There’s no time to plan, so I slip between two of the rubbish skips. Pointless, since
they’ll be able to find me here, but I can’t just stand in the open.

Staying as quiet as I can, I track the two dots as they turn down the alleyway, moving
ever closer to mine on the grid. They’re a few metres from my hiding place when I
catch some hushed words.

‘… careful not to scare …’

‘… hasn’t jumped already.’

A breath, and I step out from behind the skip. ‘Stay where you are!’ My arm points
right at them, straight as an arrow.

Both guys jolt to a stop at the tone of my voice. The bigger of the two places his
hands on his hips and nods. He’s broad, dark-skinned and so sure of himself that
he seems anchored to the earth.

I’m surprised that it’s the thin one who goes to talk first, but when he steps towards
me I step back and yell, ‘Don’t come any closer!’

Head bowed, he raises both hands. ‘Okay, okay. We’re just … pleased to meet you.’

I’m momentarily speechless at such an odd thing to say. I cross my arms, still ready
to bolt if I need to.

The slender guy glances at the other, and then back to me. ‘Can we go somewhere to
talk?’

‘Here’s fine.’

He lifts his hands higher, urging me to stay calm. ‘Okay, just don’t disappear on
us.’

I make this face that’s meant to say
don’t tell me what to do
, even though there’s
no way to disappear when they’re obviously tracking me on the grid. That’s my whole
problem.

‘Okay.’ His hands clasp beneath his chin, his thin face shadowed by straight dark
hair. ‘I’m Mason Cohen, and this is Boc … Charles Bocworth.’ A pause, but I don’t
react. ‘We’ve seen what you can do. Not in person … but on the grid. We just want
to talk to you about it. We’re not going to give you away.’

Boc drops his hands from his hips. ‘We want to learn how you do it.’

They’re both watching me closely, two camera lenses recording my every expression;
it’s the strangest feeling. Two guys in elite-school uniforms, who have clearly spent
their whole lives on top-level rations, want to talk to
me
.

Though, of course, it’s not really me they want to talk to, I remind myself. I can’t
help wondering what they would make of the woman if they were speaking to her instead
of me.

I push my chin forwards. ‘How did you track me? You’re not with the police?’

Again, they glance at each other. Mason pulls out his compad, holding it out so I
can see. ‘I’ll show you?’

Arms still crossed, I shuffle forwards barely enough to be able to see his screen.
A couple wanders past with their arms linked, so we all go quiet until they pass.

‘Here.’ Mason taps the screen and immediately the grid appears. No smokescreen, I
notice. ‘See this? It’s a map of us right here, right now. This is how the government
tracks crims and checks illegal suspects, yeah?’

‘Okay.’
Don’t give anything away.

His fingers move fast, so skilled at playing the grid that I find myself watching
them rather than the screen. ‘It’s sort of a hobby of ours, dropping in and watching
stuff,’ Mason continues. ‘That’s how we noticed your gaps.’