Lifespan of Starlight (7 page)

Mum’s so pleased about me getting an interview that we head into the city for dinner.
She does her hair up in this fancy French roll and lets me borrow a work shirt and
pants, which is the best we can manage in terms of dressing up.

The restaurant is amazing – Oceanic Fusion – but I can’t help noticing some of the
other diners in here with us. Tight-cropped hair, cool linen slacks and fitted shirts.
It’s not that Mum looks old compared to the other women in here, but she does look
old-fashioned.

I’m already saving credits, so I add another line to my pact. Mum’s next birthday
is a couple of months away and it’s going to make up for all the others.

We’re on the fast train, nearly at Footscray Station when Mum smiles over at me,
rocking with the movement of the carriage. ‘Remember when you were six?’

‘Yeah. I remember. Made your life easy, didn’t I?’

She laughs. ‘You’ve come a long way since then.’

We shuffle through security then walk freer as the crowd spreads. Outside the station
we’ve almost reached the crossing point when two figures walk up to us. They’re both
in Murdoch High School uniforms. Mason and Boc.

They were looking at me, but something about the way Mum and I stop at the same time
must make it obvious that we’re together, and it’s the strangest thing because for
a moment it’s as if everything stalls and we’re all gaping at each other in slow
motion. Each millisecond feels like a hundred as I try to work out what to do.

Mum takes my hand and goes to walk around them, just as Mason recovers and says:
‘Hey. I was hoping to catch you.’

Mum stops and looks at me quizzically.

I try not to cringe. ‘Um … this is Mason. And Charles. We met at the State Library.
And they ah … gave me some tips about the select-entry test.’ A lie wrapped in the
truth.

Mum’s expression shifts from wary to curious as her eyes travel over their uniforms.
I’m acting as if this is no big deal. But inside, my heart is racing. What are they
going to ask?

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Boc steps forward and offers a hand, tipping his head as he
shakes. ‘We don’t mean to intrude.’

‘No, that’s, ah … fine.’ Mum glances my way before turning back to Boc. Now it’s
his hair that catches her attention, short and freshly cut. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise.’ Now Mason holds out a hand.

I should be annoyed with them for catching me out like this, following me still,
but they’re both so polite, so clean-cut, that I
actually get this weird sort of
lift inside at being able to introduce them. As if knowing people like this makes
me a better citizen, or something.

‘Call me Miya,’ Mum says, and finally finds a smile.

‘Listen, this isn’t a good time,’ I say as clearly as I can.
Not in front of Mum
.

‘It’s all right. I’ll leave you to chat.’ Mum as good as beams at Mason and Boc before
turning to raise her eyes meaningfully at me. ‘I’ll check out some window displays
while I’m waiting.’

‘Won’t be long,’ I tell Mum.

We’re all quiet while she crosses the street and wanders over to a clothing display
window.

At least I know what they’re up to this time. Sort of. I lift my chin. ‘You have
to stop following me.’

‘Sorry.’ Mason glances at Mum again. ‘You were on the train when I checked the grid,
I didn’t realise you were with someone.’

‘Has that woman given you a place to stay?’ Boc jerks his head backwards over a shoulder.
They would have seen Mum’s dot when they were watching me at home. ‘Who is she?’

I obviously can’t say that she’s my mum. It wouldn’t add up. The woman from the cave
was time skipping when Mum was a kid. ‘Just a friend.’

‘Does she know how to jump?’

‘No.’

Mason makes a
duh
face at Boc and then sort of apologises at me, as if he’s sure
we’re thinking the same thing. They would have seen gaps on her history map if she
knew how to jump.

To be safe, I add: ‘She’s just giving me a place to stay, that’s all.’

Mason glances across the street at Mum then back at me. ‘Listen. I’m sorry. It’s
just, I’m having trouble and I thought you might be able to help –’

It’s the strangest feeling, having something that they want. Power, or knowledge
or whatever it is. Not that I actually have it.

I shake my head. ‘I don’t think I can –’

‘Just answer a couple of questions, that’s all I ask.’

Still shaking. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t.’

Mum finishes with the clothing shop and moves to the next one along, just as Mason
steps forwards. But having her here forces me to face up to how exposed we are. If
Mason and Boc work out I’m not that woman, they’ll work out I stole the chip. If
I’m caught, it means jail for Mum too.

I take a step back the same distance that Mason just stepped forward, shaking my
head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’ I dash past them and head straight for Mum.

I doze through the night, never fully finding sleep, but not exactly awake either.
After a bathroom trip around dawn I try to meditate lying on my back in bed, but
it’s hard doing that with so many questions running through my mind. What was going
on with that woman? What do Mason and Boc want to learn – how to travel through time?

An idea comes to me as I open my eyes. Glancing over at
Mum’s sleeping form, I get
up carefully to avoid waking her. Then I slide the chip between the base of the armchair
and its cushion. Anyone who happens to hack into the grid will think I’m sitting
here and watching the news. Not thinking about anyone or anything in particular.

I leave a note for Mum and then make my way outside, along our street and towards
Footscray Park. I wasn’t expecting how this would feel, back to the me that I’ve
always known. It’s as if I can breathe again now that I’m off-grid, and I can’t help
imagining Mason or Boc watching my dot, thinking they have me tagged at home when
I’m not.

Just like so many other times before, I check for other people around and pick an
early-morning jogger making his way towards me, increasing my pace to make sure I
reach Ballarat Road at the same time he does. I have the compad with me, but I won’t
need to use it. He jogs on the spot impatiently as we wait for the ping. As soon
as the smartcars come to a stop, he sprints across the road and through the entrance
to the park before disappearing down the path.

I follow at my own pace.

The whole park is on the side of a hill, sloping down to the canal. Early morning
light rims the shapes and shadows. It’s thick with so many shrubs and trees that
you can’t see from one winding path to another. They’re mostly natives these days,
but a couple of big old oaks and even an elm have managed to survive the drought.

When I near the ghost gum that covers the entrance to the
cave, I check out my usual
danger points – places that I’ve worked out offer someone even a slim chance of catching
a glimpse of me here. I’ve learnt to take my time, play it safe.

As soon as I’m sure that no-one can see, I tiptoe across the garden bed, keeping
my hands lifted above the native grasses to avoid their stinging paper cuts. I’ve
only gone a few paces when I stop, crouching low and hanging back from the entrance.
I don’t want to go any further.

She’s still there.

At least, her remains are. My eyes travel cautiously over the long, narrow lumps
of her legs beneath the blanket as cool air drifts from within the cave. The scene
is so still, so terribly quiet. The loneliness of this place settles around me once
more.

Why did I come? To check if she was still here, I guess.

Still crouching, I rest my chin on a knee. The blanket is threadbare with patches
of mould and other stuff I don’t want to go near. She’s shrinking, slowly disappearing,
beneath it.

Who was she? Where did she come from? How did she learn to do what she did? I’m not
sure I’ll ever find any answers, but the questions help me make a decision.

Staying low, I back away from the entrance of the cave, crouching behind the spiky
bushes to check whether anyone’s passing. There’s a voice calling out in the distance
but I can’t see anyone near. I slip out onto the path again and make my way back
home, back to where I’m meant to be on the grid.

Seeing her again has strengthened my resolve. Something began the night I found that
woman, and it hasn’t finished yet.

Mum’s still asleep when I come in, one arm draped across her face, the bedcovers
pulled high.

I switch the comscreen on but keep it dimmed and mute, checking for messages between
Mason and Boc. A new message comes up as soon as I hack into Mason’s computer, then
soon after, another. They’re talking right now.

‘We tried, Mase.’

‘Yeah. I know.’

Biting my lip, I type the message I’ve been rehearsing all the way home. ‘OK, we
can meet. But I choose the time and place.’ Then I hit send.

Silence. The seconds blink past on my screen. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen …

Mason’s reply comes back: ‘???’

‘You know who I am.’

There’s another pause, but I know it’s just a matter of time. Boc’s the one who finally
replies. ‘Where? When?’

‘Entrance gates at Footscray Park, 4pm Friday.’

S
OMEHOW BOC HAS
climbed one of the pillars at the park entrance and is sitting on the top of it
when I walk up a few minutes after four on Friday.

They both turn my way at the same time, and I have to concentrate on keeping my movements
relaxed, fighting back a sudden urge to turn and run.
Be careful, Scout,
I remind
myself.
Think about every word.

I’ve already swiped the chip’s history map clean, of course, but I remember the dates
that used to be there pretty well. I’ve spent some time thinking it through: how
many times she skipped, how old I would be for it all to make sense.

Mason stands away from the gate and takes a few steps towards me. ‘Thanks for coming.
Way cool you’re going to help us.’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know if I can help, but I’m willing to listen.’ I speak
slowly and meet his gaze.

He blinks with his mouth pushed to one side as if trying to hide the frustration.
‘Fair enough.’ It’s a start.

By now, Boc has manoeuvred his way down the side of the pillar with the skill of
an acrobat. ‘Where to?’

‘Follow me.’

Together, the three of us make our way down the path and into the park. We catch
up to a young couple with a toddler going in slow zigzags, passing them in silence.

‘So you know how to hack into messages, I see?’ Mason asks when we’re out of earshot.

‘A bit.’

‘How did you learn? I mean, the system was updated last year and you’re well up with
the coding.’

My steps jolt so suddenly that I almost trip and somehow manage an awkward skip to
recover. It’s something I haven’t even considered in my careful story creation. How
would this person I’m supposed to be keep up to date on that kind of thing? ‘I’ll
take that as a compliment,’ I say after a moment. As if I’m chuffed rather than caught
unprepared.

They glance at me, expecting an answer. My mind races.

‘Yeah, it’s just … I have an amazing teacher.’ Alistair. I don’t even have to make
this up. ‘He’s been coding since the twenties and he’s brilliant. Taught me everything
I know.’ I don’t even glance at them as I talk, just having a casual chat. ‘Most
of the coding languages you use today are based on old ones.’ This, at least, is
true. ‘Once you get the basics, it’s just a matter of updating each time. You know?’

Finally I risk a peek sideways. Mason has his eyebrows raised, impressed. He bought
it.

‘How much of our stuff have you seen?’ he asks.

It’s relief that keeps me casual. ‘Not much. You’re the ones who started watching
me first, remember?’

‘Touché,’ says Boc. I catch the hint of a smile.

At least the questions have stopped. Halfway to the canal we turn down a section
of path near the edge of the park. There’s a shady clearing to one side, edged by
trees and lined with polyturf. It’s the sort of place where you can talk without
anyone overhearing.

Mason finds a place to one side, arms hugging his knees, while I find a patch and
sit with my legs crossed. It’s strange being with them now. After reading their messages
and watching them on the grid, I almost feel as if I know these guys. Though, of
course, I don’t.

Boc does a full circle before settling in front of us. I get the sense he won’t be
there long. His eyes trace up the trunks around us, maybe working out which ones
he can climb.

‘So.’ Mason rubs his hands together. ‘You were born in 2024, but you don’t look any
older than …’ One eyebrow lifts as his he scans my face.

‘Fourteen,’ I say honestly. There were so many long gaps in the woman’s history map
that she’d only have aged about three years since the start of the ration system.
Unless they saw her in person there’s no way they could know she was older than me.