Singing the Dogstar Blues

  He motioned to a guard. My old friend Vaughn.

  ‘Get Aaronson back to her quarters and keep her there!’ Camden-Stone ordered. I’d never seen him so strung out.

  Vaughn’s hold on my arm was too tight to break. He pulled me towards the P3 security door.

  ‘Do you get some kind of sick enjoyment pushing people around?’ I asked him.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said.

  I looked back at the crowd around Mav. I should be there with him. We were partners — we were in it together. He had to be all right.

  The crowd broke apart, making way for a stretcher. However Camden-Stone wasn’t watching the small procession that moved towards the medical building. He was watching me.

  Vaughn pushed my wrist against the door scan and pushed my head round to face the retina scan. Then he checked himself through. The guard on front desk duties straightened up.

  ‘Afternoon, Sergeant,’ he said.

  ‘Afternoon,’ Vaughn grunted, steering me towards the back virtual wall.

  ‘Excuse me, Sarge. This package has been delivered for Aaronson.’

  Vaughn sighed, pulling me around to face the front desk. The guard handed me a small box. If my guess was right, Blackwidow had delivered.

  ‘Another birthday present?’ Vaughn asked. ‘Aren’t we the popular one.’

  ‘Some people attract friends and some people don’t,’ I said. The package fitted nicely into the inner pocket of my jacket, away from Vaughn’s attention.

  I didn’t resist as he propelled me along the corridors to the Ledbetter suite. The quicker I got to a Reader Unit the better. Maybe I was finally going to get some answers. Even if I didn’t, at least I had something to do until I got word about Mav. Otherwise I’d go warpo.

  Vaughn stationed himself outside the front door of the suite.

  I went straight to my desk, ripping the packaging off the novel. Blackwidow had chosen to embed my information into the new bestselling thriller. Very appropriate. I slipped the disc into my Reader Unit.

  A few hours later I had come up with three conclusions.

  The Ledbetter suite was seriously wired for sound and sight.

  Tori Suka didn’t do any dealings on the Net.

  Camden-Stone had sold out. In a big way.

  I’d expected the first two conclusions.

  Blackwidow had downloaded the current security schematics for P3. Every room was bugged except my bathroom. Even Mavkel’s bathroom was bugged. Apparently the government knew enough about human bodily functions to let me sit in peace. The schematics also showed Refmol quartered in the next suite. Very interesting.

  The fact that Suka didn’t deal on the Net was as surprising as corruption in the government. If I was an assassin, I wouldn’t advertise on a security nightmare like the Net either. But it had been worth getting Blackwidow to check it out just in case something useful about Suka had come up. Now it was up to Lenny to work out who she’d been hired to kill.

  That left the story of Camden-Stone and Daniel Sunawa-Harrod. Blackwidow had done an amazing job breaking open the files. It seemed Sunawa-Harrod’s fib to Joanna Tyrrell-Coombes was just a nano-bit of a huge cover up.

  Joanna was on the right track — the experiment that resulted in the time-continuum field wasn’t Sunawa-Harrod’s failed fusion experiment. It was Joseph Camden-Stone’s successful time/space experiment. All the glory should have gone to Joe. The field should be called the Camden-Stone Time-Continuum Warp Field.

  However at the time poor old Joe was comatose in hospital. So in steps his best buddy, Daniel Sunawa-Harrod. He refines the field, rationalises Joe’s experiment as an accident and claims the discovery. On the 10/10/50, the 50th anniversary of Australian Independence Day, Danny receives the Nobel-Takahini Prize for Science. The university rubs its hands together and helps him set up the Centre for Neo-Historical Studies. Danny is one of the major shareholders. He’s set for life.

  Two years later Joe gets out of hospital with a new face and a major grudge. He’s been intellectually ripped off. He threatens the university with exposure. Now the university has got a lot of mileage out of Sunawa-Harrod: it has the world’s only time-travel centre, a Nobel prize and a lot of grants. They can’t afford a scandal. They send their negotiator over to visit Joe. Gerry P. Brackman persuades Joe that the Nobel committee would never overturn their decision, that the field would never be renamed, that Joe would only make a fool of himself. Gerry gives Joe an alternative. Silence. In return Joe will receive an associate professorship, shares in the new Centre, and a sizeable cash payment. Joe says yes.

  When I pieced the story together, I almost felt sorry for Camden-Stone. Almost. A little postscript to the whole affair brought everything back into perspective. Sunawa-Harrod had willed Camden-Stone his forty per cent share in the Centre. Probably a guilt bequest. Now that Sunawa-Harrod had died all Camden-Stone had to do was wait out a six month caveat.

  What was a caveat? I did a quick dictionary search. It’s a warning, a proviso or law process to suspend court proceedings. So Sunawa-Harrod must have set up this caveat in case some lost relatives popped up to claim the shares. That means that if no one surfaces in the next six months, Camden-Stone will have controlling interest in a Centre that is making a historical swap of technology with aliens. Camden-Stone would finally get the fame and fortune he’d been coveting for over thirty years. The fame and fortune his best friend stole from him. No wonder the guy was a bit twisto.

  ‘Professor Camden-Stone’s at the front door,’ the computer said.

  Speak of the devil.

  It was time to hide the evidence. I pulled open my desk drawer. No one would find Blackwidow’s Reader in the middle of a stack of empty Readers. Not that Camden-Stone would be looking for it.

  ‘Let him in,’ I said.

  Camden-Stone strode into the middle of the lounge room. He was holding his visitor’s band, slapping it against his other palm. I stood up, stepping away from the desk.

  ‘You’re moving over to JC Hall,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Why? Is this something to do with Mav? Is he okay?’

  ‘What did you call Mavkel?’ Camden-Stone demanded, frowning.

  ‘Mav,’ I said. ‘It’s just a nickname.’

  ‘Mav?’ he repeated, crossing his arms.

  He turned his back to me, staring at the wall. At one point, I thought he whispered ‘Mavis?’, then he stared at the wall again. He really was twisto. The silence was just getting to that stifling stage when he shook his head and swung around to face me.

  ‘I’ve decided your partnership is not working,’ he said. ‘You’re moving to JC. Mavkel is staying here.’

  ‘What do you mean it’s not working. We’re doing okay,’ I said.

  Camden-Stone snorted.

  ‘Some kind of okay. Mavkel’s sick and you seem to be the cause of it.’

  ‘Me, the cause? Who told you that?’

  ‘Refmol,’ he said smugly, knowing that I’d have to believe the Chanter’s diagnosis. ‘You’ll both be reassigned new partners as soon as possible.’

  I looked around the suite. It helps to move your eyes around if you think you’re going to cry. Stops them from filling up. Camden-Stone was finally going to get me out of the partnership. And in six months he was going to get complete control of the Centre. Everything was coming up roses for Joey boy.

  ‘I want you packed and out before they bring Mavkel back. Do you hear?’ he said.

  ‘Is Mav going to be all right?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, shrugging. He didn’t really give a damn about Mav. He only cared that his precious little technology swap might be in danger.

  ‘I’m only going because I don’t want to hurt Mav,’ I said.

  ‘Very touching, but I don’t care why you’re going. Just that you’re going. If I have my way soon, you won’t even be at the Centre.’

  He moved towards the door. It slid open. Vaughn was standing at attention to one side. r />
  ‘Vaughn, make sure Aaronson is out of here before they bring Mavkel back,’ Camden-Stone ordered.

  ‘That would not facilitate Mavkel’s recovery,’ Refmol sang smoothly, stepping past Vaughn.

  Camden-Stone stopped still.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said.

  Refmol walked slowly into the lounge room, followed by Hartpury and two Elders. Gohjec and Jecgoh? I couldn’t tell.

  ‘Refmol has chanted Mavkel and discussed the case with your Dr Hartpury. We believe that Mavkel’s partnership with Joss is vital to his recovery,’ Refmol sang.

  I held my breath.

  Hartpury nodded. ‘It seems that Mav is very attached to Joss,’ she explained. ‘Refmol believes he’ll become even more agitated if they’re separated.’ She turned to me. ‘Mav’s okay, Joss. He’ll be back with you tomorrow,’ she said, smiling warmly.

  I breathed out. I wasn’t hurting Mav after all. I was helping him.

  ‘But didn’t you say Aaronson is the cause of his illness?’ Camden-Stone demanded, pacing back into the middle of the room. He was slapping his palm again with the wrist-band. It was like watching an angry cat’s tail.

  ‘Mavkel is weak,’ Refmol sang. ‘The Elders say the Joss and Mavkel pair must not be separated.’

  The Elder pair bowed in unison.

  Camden-Stone stared at me, but his eyes were unfocused. He was up to something. Something nasty by the look of the smile slowly curling his mouth.

  ‘Of course,’ he said softly. He turned around to face the Elders. ‘Of course, the pair must not be separated.’

  For a man who had just been out manoeuvred, he was way too calm. Why the abrupt about-face? What was his game?

  Hartpury smiled across at me. I unclenched my jaw and smiled back. She was still the defender of Joss Aaronson and small furry animals.

  ‘Now I wish to speak to Joss as one,’ Refmol said. It bowed to the Elders and Hartpury, but only inclined its head to Camden-Stone. The battle lines had been drawn.

  Camden-Stone knew when to retreat. He walked out of the suite quickly, leaving Hartpury to usher the Elders out with bows and murmured courtesies.

  Refmol waited until the door slid shut.

  ‘There is much to discuss,’ it said.

  I pointed to my room. ‘Let’s go in there.’

  Refmol’s ears flicked with surprise, but it followed me through my bedroom into the bathroom. The door slid shut.

  ‘Okay we can talk now,’ I said. ‘This is the only room in the place that’s not bugged.’

  ‘Bugged?’ Refmol asked, balancing itself on the edge of the bather tank. It smoothed the heavy metallic robe over its legs.

  ‘Electronically monitored. You know, so other people can find out what we talk about.’

  Refmol shifted its weight. I got the feeling it wasn’t really listening to my explanation.

  It suddenly stood up again, its ears curled forward.

  ‘We ask for your help, Joss Aaronson,’ it sang. The harmonies were so tight it came out more like a shriek.

  ‘Help with what?’

  ‘Mavkel must pair with you or his life threads will break.’

  Acid fear shot up my throat, lacing my mouth with bitterness.

  ‘You mean Mav’s going to die? But you said he was okay.’

  Refmol took both my hands and stroked them with its thumbs.

  ‘Mavkel struggles with his doubleness in this single world. His threads grow weak without a pair. He strains to join with your one mind. Will you help him?’

  ‘Of course. But how? I’m not telepathic.’

  ‘When Kelmav died, this pair caught Mavkel’s life threads. We did not let Mavkel die,’ Refmol sang slowly. ‘The Elders wanted a pairless pair, to go to Earth and learn the one people’s timecraft. Mavkel’s pain was secondary.’

  Bitterness soured the chords. The Chanter clenched its primary mouth and continued.

  ‘Without his pair, Mavkel has no bloodlines. He is not alive on Choria. So he tries to take on your bloodlines to be paired again. Such a thing has never been tried, but Mavkel is desperate. However, there is a problem. Your Sulon is missing.’ Refmol hesitated, searching for the words. ‘You would call it your father.’

  ‘Why is that a problem?’

  ‘Mavkel cannot pair with you until you find the name of your Sulon and complete your bloodlines.’

  ‘I don’t get it. How is my father’s name going to pair us?’

  ‘When the knowing is shared, the power is great. Is this not your truth too?’ Refmol cocked its head questioningly.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand any of this,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘You’re saying Mav won’t survive unless I find my father?’

  ‘Mavkel believes you will pair with him when you discover the name of your father. He thinks this point of knowledge will clear your mindways so that he can join you.’ Refmol paused. ‘Perhaps Mavkel is right. All young pairs must experience a point of knowledge before they fully join.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

  ‘Can his double mind fit within your single?’ Refmol’s ears lifted in a shrug.

  ‘Can it?’

  ‘Maybe with you, yes.’

  ‘Why me?’

  Refmol’s primary mouth momentarily tightened.

  ‘You have the same resonance as my people, Joss Aaronson.’

  ‘Resonance?’

  ‘There is something in you that is of Choria. We have all felt it in your mind.’

  A strange fear uncurled in my stomach. A fear that pounded through my memory, putting together a jigsaw of strangeness: double lids, night vision, pale, pale skin.

  ‘Are you saying I’m an alien?’ My voice was a hiss.

  Refmol drew back.

  ‘No, you are human. But you echo our minds. It is why Mavkel tries to pair. He has given you a thought cube, yes?’

  I nodded, sound unable to get past the knot in my throat.

  ‘Mavkel tries to join your mind through it. Do you have pain here?’ Refmol pointed to the side of its head.

  I touched my temple where the dull pain throbbed. So it hadn’t been a headache. Mav had been trying to get into my brain.

  Refmol skimmed my head with his four thumbs. I pulled away, flattening myself against the wall.

  ‘Mavkel does not mean to hurt you, but he tries dangerous ways to join your minds.’ Refmol stroked my ear. ‘Your resonance gives hope that the joining is possible.’

  I shoved Refmol’s hand away.

  ‘You must find your Sulon and pair with Mavkel.’ Refmol sang it as a chant. ‘This is the only way to save him. You must pair.’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ I shouted.

  I hit out, my fist bouncing off Refmol’s chest. The rough metallic robe scraped my knuckles. The Chanter was so shocked I got in two more punches before it blocked me with its large hands. It backed out of the bathroom.

  ‘You must pair,’ it urgently chanted. ‘You must pair.’

  ‘I’m not a pair,’ I yelled, as the door slid shut. ‘I’m not a pair!’

  Mirrors

  I stayed in the bathroom, huddled against the wall for a long time. The side of my head and my arm were numbed by the cold tiles. I wanted to press my mind against them too. Freeze the rush of questions.

  There was always another way to stop the questions. I pushed myself off the floor. Lenny could get me out of the city in less than two hours. In four I could be underground in Sydney feeling fine on a Zoomer or two.

  The bathroom door slid open. I ran into the bedroom, pulling my backpack from the under the bed. A few T-shirts and my jacket would be enough. The rest I could buy on the road.

  I scrabbled through the junk on my bedside table. The holo unit of Ingrid and the chromatic harp would be easy to carry. Then I saw the thought cube. I picked it up, turning it around in my hand.

  Here’s a bit of advice. Beware of aliens bearing gifts. Especially gifts that could fry your brain. I gripped the cube tigh
tly, wanting to crush it. The sharp edges bit into my skin. I threw it at the wall.

  It cracked against the plasboard, splitting in half. I kneeled on the bed, expecting to see nano-chips or wires. Instead, two tiny identical black mirrors caught my reflection.

  I leaned down to have a closer look. In one mirror my face was transparent. The broken cube had sucked away substance to leave only the outline of features. Long eyes that curved without pupils. Nostrils that dug pits into the ridged surface. A hint of mouth like a line drawing of a seagull.

  The other mirror showed blocks of solidity that promised a face. The forehead was a rectangle. The nose a cylinder. A triangle chin.

  I picked up the halves. The break was slanted, but no pieces were missing. I slid them together. The ridges and curves moulded into each other, somehow repairing the break. The mirrors were gone, but I was left with the images of my half finished faces.

  I stared at the long crack still left in the dull surface. Focus on a memory. A picture of Mav in the reactor, curled in my arms, his head heavy against my shoulder. For a second the cube surface shined and the air above it wavered. Resonance. I closed my eyes.

  Refmol had said I had to find my father. For Mav’s sake. But I knew I had to find out who or what my father was for my own sake, too.

  I carefully placed the cube back on the bedside table. Then I up-ended the backpack. Three T-shirts, my harp and the holo unit fell out. I leaned back against the wall, too tired to put them away. My eyes were blinking fast, trying to stay open. A quick ten minute rest would raz me up again. I curled around the backpack and my gear. Ten minutes only. I slept for three hours.

  I woke up with one of those awful jolts that jump starts your heart and plasters your lips to your teeth. I knew I had to talk to Ingrid and get my father’s clinic code. And Louise was right. It was also time Ingrid and I cleared the air. I stumbled into the kitchen. Coffee first. Mug in hand I sat at my console staring at a late-night news channel: a triple murder, stock share fluctuations, Olympic demonstrators and a cat who had got stuck in one of the Venturi valves. Business as usual.

  ‘Computer, connect comm autocode one, please,’ I finally said.