Singing the Dogstar Blues (17 page)

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 shook it, rumbling his frustration. The console beeped again, flashing a message.

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.'

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 up 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.

The room was nearly all bed. Unmade bed. Daniel Sunawa-Harrod was lying face down, his arms hugging a pillow. Camden-Stone pushed a pair of crumpled jeans to one side and sat on the bed next to him.

‘I don't think you'll get much sense out of him. He hit the Bliss-sticks pretty hard tonight,' he said. He shook Sunawa-Harrod's shoulder. ‘Danny, wake up. You've got visitors.'

Sunawa-Harrod groaned. Camden-Stone gently pulled him over until he was lying on his back.

Sunawa-Harrod wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and frowned against the light from the bedside lamp.

‘What do you want?' he asked, opening his eyes.

‘Dan, this is Joss and Mav. They've come to see you.'

‘Who?'

He struggled to sit up then settled for propping himself on an elbow.

‘I don't know you, do I?' he said to me. He looked at Mav. ‘I sure don't know you.'

‘I'm your daughter,' I blurted out. Screte! So much for breaking it to him gently. I dug my fingernails into my palm. Take it slow, Joss.

‘My daughter,' he repeated blankly. Then he snorted, shaking his head.

‘Is this you're idea of revenge?' he asked Camden-Stone. He looked at me. ‘Did he tell you the whole story? It's not my fault Jenny preferred me.'

‘No, this isn't my idea,' Camden-Stone protested. ‘I'm still working on the Jenny payback.'

I stared at Sunawa-Harrod, trying to make him see the truth in my eyes.

He had to believe me. I wanted a father. I wanted him to say daughter. ‘It's not a joke,' I said slowly. ‘I've jumped back from the future. I came back in the machine that you developed. I'm your daughter.'

Sunawa-Harrod looked over at Camden-Stone, his eyebrows raised. ‘Cute, but completely twisted.'

‘Too many Bliss-sticks?' Camden-Stone suggested.

They both laughed. A private joke.

Camden-Stone leaned closer to Sunawa-Harrod. ‘So, you got any other long-lost daughters you've never told me about?' he whispered dramatically.

I stared at Camden-Stone, the words ‘long-lost daughter' thumping through my head. I was Daniel Sunawa-Harrod's long lost daughter. I was his heir. Then the truth hit my gut like ice: the caveat. I was the one Tori Suka had been hired to kill!

‘What's wrong? You've gone dead white,' Camden-Stone said.

‘I'm fine,' I managed to gasp out. Mav moved closer to me, trilling his concern. The two men stared at him. I half sat, half fell onto the bed. Camden-Stone leaned over and steadied me.

‘I think you really are buzzed out on Bliss. Maybe I should get a doctor?' He was really concerned.

‘No. I'm fine. I'm fine,' I said, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. ‘I've just got to prove that I'm telling the truth. Ask me anything you want.'

There was an awkward pause. Camden-Stone gently pulled his shirt out of my hand. He looked at Sunawa-Harrod and shrugged. Sunawa-Harrod cleared his throat.

‘Okay. So what was the date when you jumped back? What was the year?' It was obvious he was humouring me.

‘March the 12th, '67,' I said.

‘Hey, that's my birthday,' Camden-Stone said. ‘It's June '48 now, so if you jumped back in '67…' He looked up, calculating. ‘My God, I'll be fifty. Do you know me? Am I still suave and sophisticated?'

He smoothed back his hair, pretending to primp in front of the mirror on the wall. I caught his eye in the reflection. What would happen if I told him his whole history? Would it make
any difference? Would the knowledge make him or my father change the way they would act? I'd like to think it would have. But then if they do things differently, maybe Mav or me or the Centre wouldn't happen.

‘No, I don't know you,' I said.

Mav sniffed noisily and tapped his wrist under his sleeve. I looked at the countdown watch. Less than thirty minutes until T3 snapped forward to our own time.

‘Well, tell us something that's going to happen,' Sunawa-Harrod said.

‘That's not going to prove anything,' Camden-Stone argued. ‘She should write down something that happens in the future and seal it and then we'll open it just after it happens.'

‘Where on earth did you get that idea?' Sunawa-Harrod asked laughing.

‘I saw it in one of those old 2D movies,' Camden-Stone said sheepishly.

‘Well, it's stupid. I don't even know why we're even talking about it. She's as mad as a virt-junkie.'

Mav nudged me, tapping his wrist again. He was right, we had to get back to the Jumper.

‘It's not stupid,' I said. ‘Have you got a blank Reader?'

‘I've got something even better,' Camden-Stone said. ‘Wait a sec.' He hurried out of the room.

Sunawa-Harrod shifted his weight irritably. He reached over to the bedside table and tapped a Bliss-stick out of a half-empty packet.

‘I'm telling the truth,' I said.

He lit the stick. The tip of his forefinger was stained Bliss blue.

‘Sure. I impregnated some woman when I was about ten. Happens all the time.' He drew back hard and smiled as the narc hit his system. I sat forward.

‘You could come and see the Jumper. Then you'll know it's true.'

Mav's ears flicked under the hood. Sunawa-Harrod blew the used smoke upwards.

‘Nothing is moving me out of this bed,' he said. ‘Especially not someone else's Bliss dreams.'

He leaned back against the wall, watching me. The only sound in the room was the soft hiss as he drew back on the stick. I stared at the floor, trying to find the magic words that would make him believe me. But who was I kidding? Nothing I was going to say was going to change the mind of this stranger sitting in front of me. I would have to make do with the sealed prediction. At least one day he would open it and know the truth.

Mav was motioning urgently towards the door, but I needed to stay a little longer. I looked around the room. An alto saxophone was propped against the wall by the bed.

‘Do you play that?' I asked, pointing to the sax.

Sunawa-Harrod nodded.

‘I play blues harmonica,' I said, pulling my harp out of my top pocket. ‘Chromatic.'

‘Let me have a look.'

I passed him the harp. He balanced it in his hand.

‘Nice and light. It would have been a real drag to time travel with a cello, huh.'

He laughed at his own joke and passed the harp back.

‘You any good?' he asked.

‘I play with a band,' I said. ‘I write stuff too.'

He carefully snuffed out the end of the half-smoked stick then leaned over and picked up his sax.

‘Great. Play something you've written. I'll join in.' He drew his mouth along the reed to wet it.

‘Sure, why not,' I said, trying to be ultra cool. ‘I've just finished working out a duet. Here, I'll play your part first.'

I took a deep breath and put the harp to my mouth, but the breath got caught in my thumping chest and I half choked, half gasped. So much for cool.

‘You okay?' Sunawa-Harrod asked.

Mav crooned anxiously behind me.

‘I'm fine.'

I took another breath and looked my father in the eye. This time
The Dogstar Blues
came out strong and clear. Sunawa-Harrod listened with his head to one side, beating the time against the mattress with his foot.

‘Okay, I got it,' he said. ‘Mind if we jazz it up a bit?'

He didn't wait for an answer, but moved in with a quick, clever variation of his part. He played fast with a lot of notes and an emphasis on technique. A Charlie Parker fan.

An old bass player once told me that the blues and jazz were all about expressing your own voice, letting your rhythms show through the music. If he was right, then Daniel Sunawa-Harrod was expressing a deep-seated need to be number one.

I tried to bring us back to the melody line, but he cut across me, shrieking into another intricate solo. He obviously didn't know the meaning of ‘duet'. I was being blown out of my own song. Then suddenly he slowed down the pace, each note becoming a statement. The change threw me right off and I stopped playing. He glanced at me, almost as if in apology, then closed his eyes. The music climbed into a high wail. He was
playing for himself, unaware he was betraying a loneliness that echoed Mav's death keen for Kelmav. I glanced at Mav. He was swaying and I thought I heard him humming a soft harmony.

Camden-Stone came back into the room, shutting the door behind him. Sunawa-Harrod stopped playing.

It was suddenly silent.

‘Don't mind me,' Camden-Stone said.

‘We were just having a bit of a jam,' Sunawa-Harrod said. He cleared his throat. ‘So what have you got there?'

Camden-Stone was holding an elaborate folder with a gold design etched on the front. He opened it and took out a gold ballpoint pen and a piece of real paper.

‘Dad gave me this whole set for my birthday, last year,' Camden-Stone said. ‘A beauty, hey?'

He passed the pen and paper to me. It was the same pen as the one in his office, back in our own time.

‘Okay, Joss. Write something from the future. But try not to mess up. That paper costs the earth.'

I squatted beside the bedside table, laying the paper carefully on the hard surface.

Camden-Stone slid across the bed, blocking Sunawa-Harrod's view.

‘Don't watch, Dan,' he said. ‘It'll wreck the whole thing if we see what she writes.'

‘This is stupid,' Sunawa-Harrod muttered.

I stared hard at the blank piece of paper. What should I write? Something that would show Daniel Sunawa-Harrod that I was really from the future. Really his daughter. Something big. Then I remembered Independence Day and wrote:

Daniel Sunawa-Harrod will receive the Nobel-Takahini Prize for Science on 10/10/50.

I looked at him lounging on the bed. He had dismantled the mouthpiece of his sax and was cleaning the reed. I added:

I know you stole the time-jumping field from Joseph Camden-Stone.

I don't know why I wrote that. I think it was just to let him know that he didn't completely get away with it.