I DRIFT OFF SOME time after that, falling through dreams that send my heart stumbling. It’s barely dawn when I roll onto my side, still half in the dreamworld. Images float at the edge of my mind: skipping with Mason in the park, talking late into the night. Returning from a jump as I register that the smartcars are still coming, just as my shoulders are yanked back …
My comscreen flashes blue and slowly fades. A new message.
I block the glow of the screen from Mum as I read. It’s from Mason: Let me guess. Boc said something and you panicked. Am I close?
It’s so close to the truth that I’m not sure how to reply. Mason must have checked the grid when I left his place yesterday, so he would have seen where I went.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I type: I’m scared he’s going to turn me in if he finds out.
Relief lifts me as I press send. There’s nothing I can do about Boc that will guarantee I stay safe, but it feels good to admit this much. I slip out of bed, pad along the hall to the communal bathroom and call Mason.
‘So I’m right, eh?’ Mason’s voice is calm. I picture him lying in bed, his head sunk in a white pillow. ‘Boc’s a pit bull around illegals. I figured he must have done something about it in the other timestream.’
‘And you’re fine staying friends with someone like that?’ My butt is wedged on the narrow windowsill, my feet on the cold basin.
‘I’ve spent half my life fighting with the guy and the other half shaking my head at him. Does that help?’ A sigh. ‘Look, Boc’s always asking me to hack. Daring us to try insane stuff. He’s crazy competitive. His latest is talking us into climbing the high wall with no harness. So I get why you’re wary. But …’ Something rustles in the background as Mason shifts position. ‘Once he’s on your side, he’s with you to the end. Boc’s one of the most loyal people I know.’
I think I liked it better when Boc was an evil smudge that had to be wiped away. It’s harder, seeing it through Mason’s eyes. When Boc turned me in, he would have realised my status put Mason in danger by association. In his own way, he was probably trying to keep Mason safe.
My stomach turns over as I think of the way it ended up in the streets outside Sunshine Hospital. I’ll never be able to forgive Boc for what he did, but I have to admit that he did get that bit right: I am totally the reason Mason was caught.
‘Anyway, whatever you said, it’s working. Did you see?’ Mason’s voice comes clearer now. ‘He’s already made a half-hour jump. Man, it took me weeks to get that sort of length of time.’
‘Yeah, but you can drop away heaps faster than Boc,’ I say. ‘He’s really slow, and not so accurate at timing his return.’
‘Not for long, I bet. Reckon I need to up my training. Something tells me I’m in for a ride.’
‘But no disabling safety sensors on the train tracks. Or anywhere …’ I add.
‘Don’t worry. We’re climbing today, but I’ll call you during the week?’
‘Okay.’ I’m about to switch off when I say, ‘… and it’s not a competition, remember?’
I don’t think he hears me. I’m starting to see that’s exactly what it is.
Later that day, Kessa sends a message: REALLY need to see you. Meet at the park in 20?
Heat rises to my neck at the urgency of her words. I’m still not sure whether I was right to lump her with such a massive secret.
We meet at a bench in Footscray Park, overlooking our old play area, and settle in as if we’ve been hanging out here our whole lives.
‘So …’ Kessa cuts straight to the chase, leaning forwards and scrunching her nose. ‘Did you ever … go to primary school? You couldn’t have, right?’
Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that. ‘Right,’ I say, frowning, my tone dropping at the reminder of how different we are. I’m not used to people knowing this stuff about me: how much of my life I’ve spent outside the system.
‘Okay. So. Have you ever heard of Christophe Eichmann? Who won the Nobel Prize in 2058?’
My shame shifts sideways and I let out a laugh. ‘Yeah. He invented the thermal inverter. Just because I didn’t go to school doesn’t mean I was locked in a cupboard all my life!’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ She cringes and shakes her head. ‘Stupid question. Anyway, I couldn’t remember where I’d read this, and it took ages to chase it up, but I finally found it.’ She leans back and breathes in. ‘And I was right. He was a refugee. Illegal until he was twenty-three.’
‘Really? I never knew that.’
‘I don’t think they like to publicise it. And it doesn’t happen often. But there was one detail I had to double-check before I told you. It says he negotiated citizen status after he made the breakthrough with thermal technology.’
My eyes widen as her words sink in.
‘You can do that? I ask slowly, cautiously. ‘I mean … it’s possible?’
‘You should apply,’ Kessa says, her voice hushed. ‘I’ve asked Dad and he’s going to find out the right department to go to. You just have to show them what you can do. I mean, this is an absolute breakthrough. Time travel.’ She grabs my shoulders and shakes. ‘We’re talking freaking time travel, Scout.’
I’m so scared and grateful and bewildered at once that I’m not sure what to think. All I say is: ‘You told your dad?’
‘Don’t worry. No names. And nothing about time travel either. He works for the Department of Infrastructure, so he’s not much help anyway.’ She grins. ‘I’m going to wait until I’ve learnt how to do that thing myself and blow their minds the way you did to me.’
My mouth lifts at the edges. ‘I didn’t exactly blow your mind …’
‘Yes. You did.’ A wink. ‘And worth every moment. But this is brilliant, don’t you think? You just have to demonstrate ways that it will contribute to our quality of life, and all that jazz.’
‘Well, that’s a cinch. Time skipping can save your life,’ I say quickly. ‘Anyone can escape danger once they know how to jump …’
Even as I say the words, I hear an echo from another place: Thousands died. So many dots marked ‘deceased’ on the grid. Even if we manage to stop the firestorm that’s coming, there will be others. Teaching citizens to skip could save so many lives.
‘I could organise an online tutorial,’ I whisper. ‘As part of the submission, I mean. Everyone could learn … eventually. Like, during an earthquake or something, people could jump forwards until it’s over.’
‘Yes!’ We’re both leaning forwards, huddled together. ‘It’s like you’ve invented a new way of understanding time. Or whatever. And you don’t have to mention the woman you found. Like maybe pretend you grew up outside the city limits with other illegals –’
She breaks off and pushes her lips together as if worried that it’s an insult to suggest I lived with other illegals.
I just shake my head. Don’t worry about it. But it still burns a bit.
‘Once they know what you can do, they’ll have to make you a real citizen,’ Kessa continues, still lost in the idea. ‘You could get your own chip inserted and then sit the entrance test for Karoly High again next year, maybe using a different name. I bet they’d make an age exception. We’d still be at school together. Except this time you’d be totally legit.’
She leans back and grins.
I blink three or four times, suddenly unsure.
‘What’s wrong?’
I find a smile. ‘This is great. Really. It’s a brilliant idea. It’s just …’
‘Just what?’
‘You’re thinking like a citizen. But … people like me, we don’t have the same rights as you. I mean … what if they reject me?’ I know how hard they tried to catch me in the other timestream.
Kessa shrugs. ‘They can’t put you in jail just for being illegal. They’ll just send you out of the city, right? But you’re not chipped so they wouldn’t be able to follow you. So you can come back. You just give a different name when you apply so they won’t be able to trace you either way.’
She’s right. But I’d still be fronting up and admitting I’m an illegal who can time skip. The burst I felt when I first heard the idea is already fading.
‘You can trust them,’ Kessa says. ‘I get that … it must have been hard, growing up the way you have. But … it’s not like they singled you out. They’re just trying to limit resource use because of shortages. Which is fair enough, I think. The government is trying to do what’s right for everyone. They’re not evil, you know.’
It’s only when I hear her tone rise near the end that I realise what’s bothering her. Her dad works for the government. Of course she doesn’t think they’re evil.
‘Maybe the system hasn’t been fair to you,’ Kessa continues. ‘But it’s not all bad.’
‘I know, I’m sorry,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m not saying that the system’s … unfair or anything.’ Not for citizens, it’s not.
Even though I’m thinking straight again, the idea has left a sting in my heart, like saltwater in an open wound. Just for a moment, I thought I had a chance at being a real citizen. No more hiding. Legit.
After a while my eyes slide to look at Kessa, only to find her doing the same to me.
‘It’ll be worth it, Scout,’ she says softly and dips her head. ‘You’ll be famous …’
I don’t have the heart to admit I’m not sure about this anymore so I just say, ‘Don’t want to be famous. They’ll probably try to use time travel to sell make-up or something.’ But I can’t help snorting at the idea as I say it, and Kessa cracks up too.
Mum’s sitting on the edge of her armchair when I come home, squinting at the comscreen, scanning the crowd at the rear of the presenter. I’m not surprised when I see that it’s a news segment about the bombing of a church in Egypt.
She won’t find him, my dad, no matter how hard she searches, but I’d never say that outright. If he managed to escape persecution once he was sent back, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to get his face on international TV. I think Mum knows that too; it’s just easier for her to watch, in case he might be there, than to accept the alternative.
The news segment finishes and I head over to the kitchenette while she scrolls to the next report. Dinner is pretty much cooked by the time Mum’s finished trawling through the news segments. I flip one half of the omelette on top of the other, then slice it in two and slide half onto each plate.
I settle into the armchair beside her and rest the plate on my knees. ‘Did you know that Christophe Eichmann was illegal?’
‘Really? No. Never heard that.’
‘Yeah. Kessa said they don’t like to publicise it much. He applied for citizenship once he invented the thermal inverter. In exchange for the invention, I guess.’
‘Well … I never knew that,’ says Mum. I can see her mulling it over. ‘I wonder if …’ Our eyes meet and she shakes her head. ‘Pity you don’t have any blueprints for the latest energy breakthrough.’ A soft laugh.
‘Yeah. I know.’ Using the edge of my fork I cut off a corner of the omelette. ‘Pity.’
I pop it into my mouth, thinking about Kessa’s faith in the system. How must it feel to live with that confidence, the sense of security?
When I turn to Mum she’s watching me with narrowed eyes, like a clairvoyant examining my aura. ‘What is it?’ she asks slowly.
How does she do that? ‘What is what?’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘It’s nothing. I mean, it’s risky so there’s no point.’
One of Mum’s eyebrows rises slowly. ‘Try me.’
We’ve been meditating every day, but I don’t bother to talk Mum through it anymore. Instead I sit on the edge of the tunnel, as close as I can to reaching the point where I could let go without actually dropping in. I’m getting really clear now about the point between staying and falling away.
Mum’s getting the hang of it too, says that she feels better than she has in weeks. But I still haven’t told her it’s more than a magic trick. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to explain. And I think that moment just arrived.
‘We need to ask Alistair,’ Mum says evenly. The whole time I’ve been talking she’s held a hand pressed over her mouth, but now she lets it drop to her lap. ‘I want to hear what he thinks.’
I showed her two jumps as I explained how it works, selling it as natural and super easy, like an extension of meditation.
Each time I saw the flicker of a frown, I leapt straight to how useful it is. In an earthquake … or a fire … it’s the perfect way to escape. Could maybe save your life.
Could maybe save thousands.
It still scares me, the idea of coming out to apply for citizenship, but I already see this as an ‘in’ to show Mum and Alistair that time skipping is possible. It’s the first step towards teaching them how to do it.
Already Mum’s calling Alistair, asking if he has any time to drop round. If I needed any more evidence that Mum gets what this opportunity could mean, here it is. The whole time Alistair’s been our friend, teaching me how to code and offering advice, we’ve never once said out loud what’s really going on. None of us has come out and said the word: illegal.
Even on a Sunday evening, there’s no guarantee Alistair’s not working. But two minutes later we hear the buzz of an entrance request.
The door slips open but no-one appears for a minute. Welcome to the slow-mo world of a ninety-one-year-old.
He steps in, and lifts an arm as Mum grasps his hand in both of hers. He’s dressed in a pair of dark-grey slacks and a crisp white shirt, same as always.
‘Alistair, thank you for coming,’ she says, guiding him to an armchair. ‘Please, take a seat. Can I offer you some tea?’ A standard welcome.
‘Thank you, no.’ A standard response.
As he makes his way across to the armchair, an image flashes in my mind of him lying in the hospital bed, his eyes rimmed red and crusty with age. It’s hazy now, like a dream, but the feelings are sharp. More than anything I remember the fear of him dying, of never seeing him again.
Mum gets straight to the point, explaining about Christophe Eichmann and asking if Alistair knows anything that might help us. She doesn’t need to explain who would be applying for citizenship status.
‘It’s been done,’ he says, after a long inhale. ‘Twice, that I know of. From what I understand, the application needs to be … exceptional.’
‘I can do exceptional.’ I was leaning against the kitchenette, but I can’t help standing away from the bench. Suddenly, it’s hard to stay still. ‘Remember the stuff I was telling you about Relative Time Theory? I can do it now. For real.’
Alistair’s white eyebrows narrow. ‘You’re saying you can –’
‘Totally. Yep.’ I’ve told him about this already; before I managed my first-ever skip. Not that he believed it was real. ‘I’ll show you.’
‘Wait,’ Mum says and lifts a hand. ‘We’ll get to that in a moment. First I want to ask about the … risks involved. What do you think, Alistair? I’m worried we might be exposed.’
It takes a while for him to pull his gaze away from me. I can tell he’s intrigued. This is the first time he’s considering that the stuff I’ve told him about time travel might actually be true. After all, this time I can prove it by jumping in front of him.
He looks away as he thinks. ‘Well … illegal status in itself isn’t breaking any law.’ He doesn’t need to mention the laws against bribing a GP into faking an abortion certificate. Or stealing a chip from a dead woman’s wrist.
‘You’d have to pretend that you were born to a mother who was also illegal,’ Alistair continues. ‘Hide any connection to this life.’
Mum leans forwards. ‘To me.’
Our eyes meet, both aware of the risks we’ve taken and the price we’d pay if we were ever discovered.
‘I don’t know why we’re even talking about doing this,’ I mutter, and lean back against the bench. ‘I mean, this is just shy of walking in and giving myself away. It’s such a dumb risk.’ ‘Risks can be calculated.’ Alistair shifts stiffly in his chair and rests a hand on his knee. ‘If you really can travel through time … then I think you have a case. A strong one, in fact. I think you should apply.’
‘Really?’ I wasn’t expecting this. Now that I’m hearing Alistair say we should apply, I realise I have to spell it out. ‘Once I admit I’m illegal, I’ll have no rights. What’s stopping them from making up any excuse to chuck me in jail?’ Or worse, developing their drug and testing it on me?
Mum stays quiet, looking at Alistair.
‘Even the government has to stay within the law,’ he says. ‘As long as there’s no way of tracing you to the stolen chip, they’d have no legal right to detain you.’ Alistair shifts in his chair and swaps to rest his other hand on a knee. ‘If we plan this carefully, even if they reject your application, we can make sure you’re protected.’
‘But we can’t be sure, I mean –’
‘You’ll be okay. I promise.’
‘But you can’t promise that. There’s no way to protect an illegal.’ I make a point not to look over at Mum, sure she’s shooting me a goggle-eyed warning. It’s borderline rude to be arguing like this, but I don’t stop. He’s trying to help, but he hasn’t seen the wall of Feds in black fatigues, their hidden motion-sensors. ‘That’s the whole problem. No-one can –’
‘I can.’ Alistair’s voice rises above mine as I break off, pulled up by the force in his tone. He seems almost angry. The muscles in his jaw are clenched and both hands are clasped in fists.
‘I can protect you, Scout,’ he says as his head lowers, ‘because I work in the Department of Illegals.’