Lifespan of Starlight (8 page)

‘It must be so weird,’ Mason says, eyes still on me. ‘How much the world has changed.’
We’re all quiet before he continues.

‘Is there anything you want to know? About, you know, how everything works these
days?’

‘No, Miya is helping me.’ I sit a bit straighter, acting sort of annoyed and proud.
‘Listen. I’ll help you if I can, but don’t expect me to tell you my life story okay?’

‘Okay, okay.’ Mason’s hands go up. ‘Whatever you say. I just want some help with
time skipping.’ His hands drop as I nod in agreement. ‘Each time you disappear on
the grid, you’re re-orienting in time, yes? That’s why you return to the same location.’

‘That’s how it seems.’ I glance at Boc, who’s sitting quietly, and then back to Mason.

‘So how do you make it happen? Do you meditate?’

‘Sort of, ah …’ I don’t have to know what I’m talking about, but I do have to be
convincing. A deliberate nod. ‘Yes.’

‘So is it like your time just sort of stops?’ They both look at me and wait. Mason
even has his hands clasped together. I get the feeling that I could make out that
I was born on the moon and they wouldn’t blink.

‘Well, I don’t think of it as time stopping, exactly,’ I say. ‘It’s more like I’m
ignoring every other time except
now
.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Mason leans forwards. He’s so desperate for answers that he doesn’t realise
I’m just repeating stuff I read on one of the Relative Time Theory sites.

I swivel my legs around and kneel with my feet tucked under me. It’s one of the poses
for meditation I’ve seen described on the time travel sites.

‘How about if you explain the process you go through?’ I say. ‘Take me through, step-by-step.’

Mason matches my pose. ‘All right. So, it’s as if I’m sinking, right? And I can feel
… it’s hard to explain … like my brain is slowing.’ He has this really quiet way
of speaking and I find myself leaning forwards to meet every word.

‘And it’s almost as if I’m outside of time,’ Mason keeps going. ‘Like I’m observing
it … but then –’ He trails off and glances at Boc.

‘But then … what?’

Mason’s reply is a shake of his head.

Boc’s head tips back as he studies the tops of the trees. ‘Have you tried?’ I say
to him.

Slowly Boc’s chin drops as he considers what to say. ‘Meditation wasn’t exactly
on my radar before this. So I had to come from behind.’ He glances at Mason and then
hitches himself around to sit facing him with his shoulders square. ‘But I’m catching
up. Getting better every day. You’ll see, I’ll get there before you know it.’ His
tone is defiant, almost challenging.

Mason shuffles closer to me on his knees. ‘The thing I don’t understand is how did
you know it was first possible?’

I shake my head slowly. ‘I don’t know. It was just a feeling, I guess. It just …
happened.’ They’re both quiet, waiting expectantly, and all I can think of is that
woman who died. She’s not far from where we are now, alone in the cave.

‘I guess I was just trying to survive,’ I say quietly.

‘Hey, yeah.’ This time it’s Boc who reacts, pacing forwards
on his knees as he pulls
out his compad. ‘There was that snap hailstorm a couple of years back. You jumped
right in the middle of it. And then the time before, there was that massive dust
cloud. I looked it up.’

My mouth opens and I clamp it shut, glad that the other two are busy checking their
compads. I’m itching to pull mine out to check as well, but I resist. Why would I
check the weather reports from days I’m meant to have lived through?

The other two are busy for a while as my mind ticks over. This is interesting. It
makes me think about the woman’s blackened fingers. Could that have been frostbite?

‘It’s like what you were saying,’ Boc says to Mason. ‘About the way people slow their
own time so they can survive. Like when that wall of bricks fell and those kids dodged
out of the way.’

‘Sure. It makes sense.’ Mason shuffles closer on his knees. ‘Will you jump for us
now? Show us how you do it?’

They’re like cats, tracking each tiny movement of their prey.

‘You don’t have to go far, just a minute or two,’ Mason begs.

All I can do is shake my head, turning from one to the other. ‘I’m not sure I could
do it around strangers –’ As if it’s their fault. I bite my bottom lip as Mason frowns
into thin air, more questions forming.

This is such dangerous territory. I check my compad as if there’s some place I need
to be. ‘Look, sorry. I have to go.’

They both stand up with me. I clear my throat and say, ‘I’m sure you’ll get there.’

‘Thanks,’ Mason mumbles, but I hear the rest of what he must be thinking.
Thanks
for nothing.

Boc’s standing with his arms crossed. ‘We’ll walk you out,’ he says evenly.

I don’t have much choice other than walking with them. We begin to head back in a
group, but soon Boc bolts ahead of Mason and me, stopping to grasp a branch that’s
reaching over the path, testing it with his weight. He must have decided it’s not
strong enough because then he sprints ahead again.

Beside me Mason walks in silence, both hands in his pockets, his gaze on the ground
just in front of him.

‘So I’ll just keep trying,’ he says, almost to himself. ‘Meditate every day.’

As we head up the final steep section towards the front gates, I sneak another glance
sideways. Mason’s a little taller than me, with fine bones and smooth skin. Compared
to Boc he’s slight, though compared to someone who’s lived on half rations all their
life, he’s a picture of glowing health.

We’re nearly at the front gates when we reach a tree to one side of the path that’s
shaking with the weight of a body clambering up the branches. Boc. By the time we
reach its base and come to a stop, the midsection branches are rustling.

It seems rude not to wait with Mason. I glance over to find him watching me again,
and quickly look down.

‘Will you at least tell me what it’s like?’ he asks. ‘I mean, I’ve come close I think,
and then I get this sense of something … sucking me down and it’s so empty, like
nothing else I’ve felt.’

The hushed tone in his voice is back; it draws my eyes up to meet his. ‘How do you
mean?’

‘I don’t know … it feels like a sinkhole pulling me in. I’m not sure I’ll find my
way out.’

It makes me think about that woman again. The expression on her face … she wasn’t
at all tense, it was more like complete bliss.

‘It’s safe, Mason,’ I say, hoping I’m right. ‘You don’t need to be scared.’

His eyebrows go up. ‘Will you stay with me? Or … come back later?’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t.’ Can’t look him in the eye either, so I squint up to the
branches shaking at the top of the tree.

We say nothing as we track Boc’s slow descent.

After a while, Mason lets out a snort. ‘I’ve never seen that guy take a backwards
step. Like
ever
.’ His voice has dropped so low again that I have to turn in order
to hear. His head tilts close to me, his eyes moving over mine as he speaks. ‘I mean,
he’s great. Don’t get me wrong. But he’s the only person I’ve met who is scared of
nothing. He just doesn’t get how hard this is. Keeps saying he’ll get there first,
as if this is easy. That’s why I wanted to see you again. To ask for your help.’

It’s as if he wants to climb inside my mind, the way he’s looking at me, as if I
actually count. After being invisible my whole life, this is such a strange place
to find myself. It’s unnerving, but I kind of like it.

Almost from a distance, I hear myself saying, ‘Okay. Tomorrow night.’

His face relaxes into a hopeful smile. ‘Where?’

What am I doing? ‘Your basement. Eight o’clock.’

I don’t want to be stuck with slow train connections on the way home, so I ride my
bike to Mason’s house. It’s not too bad: forty-seven minutes door-to-door.

Mum knows exactly where I am. It’s easier since she’s met them. She thinks I’ve come
to discuss the entrance interview. Close enough.

Mason welcomes me in, this time looking any place except my face. As I follow him
in he points out rooms to fill the silence. We pass a lounge room and he introduces
me to his mum. She seems surprised to see me but is otherwise gentle and quiet, somehow
like a stranger in her own house.

Mason lists a series of hot concentrates – coffee, tea, hot chocolate – and doesn’t
react when I refuse. Of course, it would have been rude to accept.

‘I’ve been limiting my food intake?’ he says, barely above a whisper. ‘I’ve found
I’m more in the moment when I’m hungry?’ Each sentence finishes with a question at
the end, as if asking for my assessment.

‘Yeah, that’s good,’ I say confidently. ‘And maybe not too tired?’ I’m talking about
study techniques rather than time travel. But who’s to know that?

It’s become easier now that I’ve realised that I don’t have to
actually know about
any of this; I just have to be convincing enough to keep Mason believing I do.

‘Have you tried waking up early to meditate?’ I suggest. It was on one of the sites
I was reading.

We’re clomping down old wooden stairs and Mason pauses in front of me: ‘Your time
jumps were at all times of day.’ He is matter of fact.

‘Yeah, but …’ I stumble for recovery. ‘While you’re trying to get the feel for it,
I mean.’

His head tilts, considering the suggestion as he continues ahead of me.

At the bottom of the stairs is a door that leads into a converted garage, not a basement
like I thought. He already has a bedroom upstairs, so it seems insanely luxurious
to have this as well, two whole rooms to himself.

Paler bricks fill out the space where the roller door used to be, a long window lining
the top. I get the feeling that this was used as a living room when it was first
converted; there’s a cityscape art print on one wall and a family portrait on the
other with Mason, his mum, a man in a beard and a guy that must be Mason’s older
brother. A sideboard has been dressed with an empty vase.

Layered on top of it all is Mason. A doona lies bunched at one end of a couch, a
pillow at the other and a keyboard in easy reach. A comscreen is the focus of the
coffee table. You can almost see an outline where Mason spends his time, the glow
of the screen lighting a circle around his downstairs world.

‘What do you think?’ He lifts an arm towards the space.

‘Yeah, wow, great!’ Until I realise that he’s asking whether he could time skip here.
A nod as I glance around. Even a chin rub. ‘Hmm, should be fine.’

Mason seems to have given up asking me to demonstrate a jump for him. At least, I
hope he has. He pulls out an old camping mat and unrolls it on the floor.

‘You’ll stay with me while I try?’ he asks. ‘Help me to slow my time?’ Mason sits
and crosses his legs.

I find a place on the rug a short distance from him. ‘Try not to think about it too
much,’ I say. ‘Just feel your way.’ He’s completely still as I talk, listening to
each word. ‘Trust that you’ll be all right.’

Mason’s mouth forms a small oval as he breathes out, hands resting on knees. His
eyes slowly close.

‘You’re going to ah … reach a place where now is all that exists,’ I say calmly,
repeating stuff that Mason said in his emails. ‘Then you’re going to choose a new
time to return.’

You can actually see the tension melt away with each breath. The pinch of a frown
smooths away slowly. Fingers go limp. Shoulders soften.

His skin is a light golden, face narrow. His frame is slight but balanced.

It’s only now that I’m sitting here, with space and time to think, that I realise
why I’ve come. One of the reasons, at least. I’m here to see what they’re like, these
people my age who were chipped, deemed worthy of the resources to help them
live.
They have a complete set of mother and father citizens, of course. But still. What
makes them special? I want to know. Why were they chosen?

After about twenty minutes, Mason pulls out of the meditation, breathing in and opening
his eyes. Complete peace hangs about him. ‘I went close, but it’s not easy with –’

‘With me here?’ I finish. Not surprised.

‘Yes, but …’ The pinch of a frown is back. ‘You helped, too. It felt different. Not
so empty.’

Already it’s getting weird so I cover up by standing and straightening my shirt.

‘Stupid to think that it would work first time,’ Mason says quietly. I’m walking
to the stairs when he calls out, ‘Will you come again?’

I turn. ‘Why?’

‘I know it’s possible because of you.’ His face is so open, so trusting. ‘You stop
me from giving up.’

Still he has faith. I can’t help wondering what he’d think if he knew the truth.

‘Will you come again?’ he pushes.

A pause, but I don’t really need to consider. ‘Sure.’ Because I think I have faith,
too.

Even though I don’t know how it works, I saw someone jump in front of me so I know
it can be done. There’s just the small matter of working out how.