‘This is better weather,’ he sang softly.
He shook his head, flinging it back to breathe deeply. His eyes bulged. He squeezed his noses together, but it was too late.
The sneeze was like a full brass fanfare. We both froze, listening, but my heartbeat was pounding my ears deaf.
‘I think we’re all right,’ I finally said. ‘This room’s probably soundproof.’
‘Sorry,’ Mav gasped.
‘Try and control yourself, would you?’
I pressed myself against the door, inching my face across to the tiny observation window in the middle. The guard was silhouetted against the lab doorway. She scanned the room with her flashlight. The bright circle zigzagged across the storage units then swung towards me. I pulled back, signing for Mav to keep still. Our window flickered with light. The edge of the incubator glinted. I counted to ten. My breath dewed the door, wetting my cheek as I edged back to the window. The lab was empty. The door was closed.
‘She’s gone,’ I said. ‘We’re okay, she’s gone.’
I looked back. Mav was bent over the incubator.
‘Joss, come see what I see,’ he said urgently.
‘Did you hear me? She’s gone.’
‘Yes, yes, but see what is here.’
He tapped his finger on the incubator window. I leaned over his shoulder. All I saw was a line of petri dishes with labels.
‘So?’
‘No. Look at that one.’
I pushed his finger off the plasglass so that I could read the label.
AARONSON/8796632
Holy screte.
Mav opened the hatch door and snaked his arm across the tray. He pulled out my dish, held between his two thumbs.
I grabbed his arm. ‘What are you doing?’
‘This is very exciting,’ he said, easing the close fitting top off the dish. ‘We are honoured to see the beginning.’
‘Put it back. You’ll drop it or something.’
I tried to grab the dish but he snatched it away and held it level to his noses, studying the glob of clear jelly in it.
‘I saw movement,’ he said.
I bent closer. All I could see was a bit of goo. Mav half snorted. I looked up. His head was back, the muscles in his jaw straining to stop the inevitable. I reached for the dish, but the sneeze beat me to it.
‘You stupid snorkwit! Look what you’ve done.’
A glomp of snot had hit the jelly.
Mav was staring at the dish. He whirled around to the workbench, pulling down the nano-scope.
‘We must look. Quick, put it in the view thing.’ He thrust the petri dish into my hands. ‘Put it in the view thing.’
I fumbled, then slid it into the viewing slot. Mav held the goggles up to his eyes.
‘I can’t believe you snotted in my dish,’ I wailed.
Mav held up his hand.
‘No. Be still.’ His voice was professional. ‘Yes. Yes. It is happening.’
‘What? What’s happening?’
Mav passed the goggles to me. I held them up to my eyes.
‘Do you see?’ he sang happily.
Biology 101 came back to me in a rush. I was looking at a group of cells in the middle of a meiosis split. At the corner was a dark smudge of something else. A stranger working its way through the membrane.
‘What’s that dark thing?’ I asked.
‘It is your resonance,’ Mav sang. ‘You are of the Mav line. You are of me!’
The Point of Knowledge
The dark smudge broke through the cell wall, glooping in like oil dropped in water. I lowered the goggles. Mav was beaming the widest double smile I’d ever seen.
‘You are of me,’ he repeated, his ears vibrating with excitement.
‘You’re saying I’m made out of your snot,’ I said.
Then a hyena cackle rolled up from my gut. Mav stepped back as wave after wave of sobbing laughs doubled me over. I hung on to the edge of the bench.
‘Joss, what is wrong. Are you not well?’
‘I’m made out of your snot,’ I gasped, each breath caught in the one before.
‘What is this thing snot?’
I wiped my eyes and hiccupped.
‘It’s the stuff that comes out of your noses.’
‘Ah, I see. But you are not made of this snot, you are made of your gene material.’ He picked up the second pair of goggles and motioned me towards my pair. ‘Look, you can see the pairing of your Sulon/Sulo cells. My snot joins it like a grain of sand joins the desert.’
A vision of sticky green dunes and camels with their feet stuck jumped into my mind. I clamped my jaw and concentrated on the science.
‘So your snot must have some DNA in it, right?’
‘Of course. But only an insy-winsy bit as your slangsounds say.’
The insy-winsy nearly broke me up again. I took a deep breath.
‘Doesn’t that make you sort of my Sulon?’
Mav stopped smiling. He leaned forward so fast that I thought he was going to headbutt me. I pulled back. His face came back into focus, eyes wide, ears high.
‘Please join with me,’ he whispered. I nodded.
He cupped his hand around the back of my head, the thumbs cradling my neck. Gently, he placed his forehead onto mine.
I closed my eyes. A sharp pain speared through my right temple. A burst of red behind my eyes. I frowned against it. Mav sighed, his breath hot on my chin and neck. I felt his fingers lightly brush my forehead. A soft touch of regret.
‘No. There must not be enough of me in you. The Sulon must still be found.’
‘In the file room,’ I said. I touched my temple. The pain had gone.
‘Yes. We will join in the file room.’ His unshielded eyes searched mine.
I know I should have kept eye contact. Showed him my belief that we would succeed in joining. But I turned away, sliding the petri dish out of the viewing slot.
‘Joss?’ he sang.
I stared at the gluey mound in the glass dish. That jelly was going to grow into me. It would be born, get chucked out of twelve schools, learn to make plum sauce, play the blues. Then, when it was eighteen and standing in a hot incubator room, it would be torn by doubt and the terrible choice between saving its friend and risking its whole identity.
‘The Mav line is honoured by your blood,’ Mav sang softly.
The temperature gauge on the incubator read 37.6 degrees, but I felt very cold.
The file room door didn’t have any trip beams across it. I fanned the tangle of codekeys out on my palm, squinting at the tiny labels. Mav looked over my shoulder, his body pressed against my back. Too close. His high-pitched hum vibrated through my body. I leaned away, turning over the last key label. File room. Mav exhaled a long hissing breath. I pressed the key on to the scanpad, my whole weight against it.
The door opened. An overhead light clicked on automatically. I blinked, covering my eyes with my hands. The small windowless room smelled of moth wings and chocolate. I separated my fingers, tensing against the slices of light.
A metal carousel full of files took up most of the room. Clamped to the carousel’s fixed central strut was a robot with ten long search-arms. A selector console stood against the wall next to the recyc shute. Someone had left a Tutti Bar wrapper on the floor. Milk hazelnut. My favourite.
Mav pushed past me. He peered at the file compartments in the carousel, poking a finger into one of the thin openings.
‘I cannot see the numbers,’ he sang. He jammed in two fingers, pulling at a file. ‘It does not move. How do we see the numbers?’
‘We use that,’ I said, pointing to the selector.
The console was basic: key in the number and press go. I pressed the power button. The programming diagnostic flicked across the tiny screen. It beeped, prompting the first file request. I licked my lips and carefully keyed in 8796632.
Nothing happened. I looked around at the robot. Dead. What was wrong? Mav grabbed the central strut and sho
ok it, rumbling his frustration. The console beeped again, flashing a message.
Press enter for file request.
Good one, Joss. I hit the enter key.
‘It’s okay. It’ll work now,’ I said. ‘Stand back.’
The carousel moved slowly around. The robot’s search-arms swung across the compartments, scanning the numbers. It looked like a spider hit by a bug-o-sonic wave.
Then it all stopped. One of the top arms slid into a file slit, pulling out a green plasform folder. The robot flipped upside down until the top arm was level with Mav’s chest. He pulled the file from the outstretched claw.
I tried to ask if it was the right file, but my throat had closed up. I swallowed and tried again.
‘Yes, it is the file of your Sulon,’ Mav said, nodding.
‘You read it, Mav.’ I tightened my grip on the edge of the console and closed my eyes, waiting to hear the name of my father.
‘No,’ Mav said. He walked over to me, the folder flat on his palms. ‘You must be the first to know the name of your Sulon. Then we can join at the point of knowledge.’
He pushed the hinged folder against my chest until I took it. I brushed my fingertips across the number etched onto the top of it. Dad. I could still back out. Then I knew that this jump back in time was not only for Mav, it was for me too. Whatever happened I had to open that file. I had to know my father.
‘Okay. Ready?’ I asked.
Mav moved in front of me, his face close to mine, his hands on my shoulders. He nodded. One of us was shaking.
I flicked the snib off the edge of the folder. The hinge was stiff as I opened the green cover. There was only one typed page. My eyes flicked over the words and numbers, scanning for a name.
They found one.
DANIEL SUNAWA-HARROD.
I looked up at Mav. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face towards his. I yelped as bone hit bone. My hands were jammed against my chest under the folder. Mav pulled me even closer, his top nose ridges digging into my forehead. I tried to pull away. I needed space. The folder fell to the ground. My father’s name pounded through my mind in a duet that pushed and tore and burned. ‘I can’t do it,’ I yelled. The words ‘stay with me’ sang in my ears, but they weren’t made of sound. They were pale green, soothing. Suddenly a fireball of pain roared over them. Mav screamed and let go of me. He hit the ground. I fell onto my hands and knees beside him.
I couldn’t move for a long while. Couldn’t think. Mav was making a soft mewling noise, but all I could do was stare at the grey carpet. Any movement was agony. Even blinking.
‘Joss?’ Mav finally croaked. He rolled onto his side to face me.
‘It didn’t work, did it?’ I said.
‘No, it did not work.’ He struggled to sit up using the wall as a prop.
I eased backwards until I was kneeling on my heels. Pain dug in behind my eyes.
‘It was my fault,’ I said. ‘I should have tried harder.’
‘If you had tried any harder, your brain would have burst.’ Mav threw his hands up in the shape of a small explosion.
‘There’s got to be something else we can do.’
‘No, there is nothing. I will join Kelmav. It should have happened long ago,’ he sang calmly. Under the hood, his ears dropped.
‘No! We can try and join again. Let’s just rest a bit then we’ll have another go.’
Mav reached over and took my hand.
‘I did not have the strength to break through, Joss. That was the last try.’
‘Don’t say that.’ I gripped his hand tighter. ‘We’ll try again. Come on. Do it.’ I pulled him towards me.
‘No,’ Mav sang flatly, shaking my hand away.
‘What do you mean, no? Are you just going sit there and die?’ I struggled up onto my feet.
‘Not right here. Later.’
‘Great. Well don’t forget to tell me when you decide on a time. Just so I know not to schedule anything important.’
I turned around sharply, smashing my thigh into the edge of the console.
‘Screte!’ I kicked the console stand, slamming my hand against the edge of the panel. It rocked. I hit it again. My breath shuddered into a sob so deep it hurt.
‘Joss!’ Mav stood up. He grabbed my fists, pushing them down.
‘Let me go,’ I said, trying to pull out of his deadlock hold.
‘You will hurt yourself.’
‘Who cares.’
‘I do. You are my friend.’
I stopped straining against his hands.
‘But I let you down.’
‘We tried. It did not work. That is the way it will be sung.’
‘So, all of this was for nothing.’
‘It has not been for nothing,’ Mav said. ‘You have found your Sulon and I have found a …’ He tilted his head, then smiled. ‘I do not know what blood you are to me, Joss. But I honour it.’
He released my wrists, gripping my hands in the Chorian friendship clasp.
‘I’m honoured to be of your line, too,’ I said, and I really meant it. I squeezed his hands then let go, wiping my eyes on my sleeve.
‘Now you know all of your bloodlines,’ Mav sang.
I looked at the green folder on the floor. Daniel Sunawa-Harrod was my father. I could hardly believe it. The guy who’d cheated Camden-Stone, developed time-travel and set up the Centre was my father! Would he want to see me? I thought of his holo portrait. I even looked a bit like him. Then I remembered the scar on his head and the memorial service.
‘He’s dead,’ I said. ‘I’m too late. He’s dead.’
I slumped against the console, my face turned away. I frowned at the gold musical notes on the Tutti Bar wrapper, willing the tears away.
Mav’s robes rustled behind me.
‘Is Kings College near this place?’ he asked.
‘It’s on the other side of the campus,’ I said, turning around. He was holding the folder open, one of his thumbs marking a place on the page.
‘Then we go there now.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Daniel Sunawa-Harrod is not dead in this time.’
Party Animals
Flat three at Kings College was thumping with the original jazz-rock version of Pump Mama. A woman’s voice cut through the guitar solo, whooping an Indian warcry.
‘Are you sure he lives in flat three?’ I asked Mav.
‘That’s what the file read,’ Mav said, nodding. He suddenly sneezed and the No-Sun mask slipped sideways. He pushed it back in place then slid his hands back up his sleeves.
‘Okay, here goes,’ I said. I stepped onto the scan pad.
The door slid open. A tall woman with spiky black hair squinted down at us.
‘You can’t come in without a present,’ she said. ‘You got a present for Susie?’
‘No. We just want to see Daniel Sunawa-Harrod.’
But she had already hit the shut button. The door slid closed.
‘What do we do now?’ Mav asked.
The door slid open again. It took me two blinks to recognise the young Joseph Camden-Stone standing in front of me.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Maggie’s a bit far gone.’
His face was gentler than the Camden-Stone I knew. His mouth was more generous, the corners permanently turned upwards like a dolphin. The surgeons who would later reconstruct his face would get everything right except that mouth.
‘Sorry, do I know you?’ he asked. His eyes widened as he noticed Mav in the No-Sun robes.
‘Actually, we’ve come to see Professor Sunawa-Harrod,’ I stammered.
‘Professor? Don’t you mean Dr?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Are you a student of his?’
‘No. I’m … I’m a relative.’
‘Oh, okay. Well, he’s in here somewhere.’ He motioned us into the hallway. A new song started to boom. ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught us in the middle of a party,’ he yelled, making his way u
p the corridor.
We followed him, a pathway clearing as people caught sight of Mav’s mask. We entered the crowded kitchen area. A large banner was strung across the wall. It read Happy 30th, Susie. The thrum of a dozen conversations suddenly stopped. Mav shifted uncomfortably beside me.
‘Hey, has anyone seen Danny?’ Camden-Stone asked.
‘I think he’s in his bedroom,’ a tanned woman said. She stared at Mav.
Camden-Stone tugged my sleeve.
‘Come on, this way.’
We walked back into the corridor, a hiss of whispers behind us.
‘Your friend’s making quite a stir. We don’t see many No-Suns around here,’ Camden-Stone said to me. ‘I’m Joe, by the way.’ He held out his hand.
‘Joss,’ I said, shaking it. ‘And this is Mav.’
Mav bowed slightly.
‘Mav? That’s an unusual name. Is it short for something?’ Camden-Stone asked.
Mav rolled his eyes at me.
‘Mavis,’ I ad-libbed. Mav gulped.
‘Mavis?’ Camden-Stone pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mavis.’ He bowed politely.
‘Mav’s taken a vow of silence,’ I said hurriedly.
We stopped outside a closed door. Camden-Stone knocked, but there was no response. He shrugged.
‘Let me go in first,’ he said. ‘Make sure he’s alone.’
He opened the door, just wide enough to let himself through, then shut it quickly behind him.
I took a deep breath. I was only two metres away from my father. Would he believe I was his daughter? Probably not. I wouldn’t believe it. I’d have to break it to him gently. Explain the whole deal.
Camden-Stone opened the door and poked his head out.
‘He’s a bit the worse for wear. Maybe you should come back tomorrow,’ he said.
‘No! I can’t. I’ve got to see him tonight.’ I pushed past Camden-Stone, nearly tripping over his feet. Mav was close behind me.
‘Why don’t you come in?’ Camden-Stone said wryly.