Singing the Dogstar Blues (10 page)

‘Calm down, people,' Harris yelled. ‘This is delicate equipment!'

‘Stay back behind the line,' Roan said loudly, getting everyone's attention. ‘As you can see, T2 has a security force field over it …'

I tuned out as Roan explained the fruz-field to the group. Mav was shifting from foot to foot, ready for action. I nudged him. He flicked his eyelids and very slowly started to unfurl his ears. Roan moved on to the plasglass cabin, pointing out how it was attached to the soft-metal body. So far, Chaney hadn't noticed anything. Mav was moving in geological time, the spreading of his ears almost imperceptible. Roan explained how the soft-metal stretched as the Jumper moved through time, and Mav's ears had somehow blocked the lower level of T2. By the time Roan got to the interior, Chaney was standing on his toes. I fought down a huge snort of laughter.

‘If you look at this section of the Jumper, you can see the return countdown display and the oxygen level readout,' Roan said.

We all leaned closer. Behind me, I heard Chaney grunt with annoyance. Mav had completely extended his ears and totally blocked Chaney's view of T2. Not only that, but he seemed to know which way Chaney was shifting and moved with him. It was classic.

‘Put your ears down,' Chaney hissed.

Mav's reply was to stretch them a bit higher.

‘Put them down or I'll put them down for you!'

Mav didn't budge.

Suddenly Chaney pushed down on the top joint bones of Mav's ears. It didn't look like a hard push, but he must have
hit something crucial because Mav screamed. A shrill thin sound horribly unlike his normal harmonies. I twisted around, shoving Chaney into the people behind him. But I was off balance, and Chaney pushed back.

As I hit the fruz-field, I remember thinking that Lisa was wrong. It did hurt. The deep bone pain of extreme cold. And it was so quiet. Then the bone ache disappeared. In fact, all feeling disappeared and I couldn't move. I was pretty sure I was still breathing and my heartbeat was probably around 200 bpm's, but voluntary movement had shut down. I couldn't even move my eyes. I think I preferred the pain.

Within my peripheral vision I saw Wolfendon and one of the guards running towards the Jumper. Then Mav reached into the force field. I wanted to yell out to him to stop, but I couldn't even moan. He grabbed a fruz-field stake, his two thumbs wrapping over one another as he strained to pull it out of the floor. A thick metal rivet hit me in the shoulder as the stake was ripped free of its moorings. Mav pulled it clear of the grid. I remember thinking, why isn't he fruzzed? Then I dropped flat on the floor. I gasped for breath, instinctively curling into a ball, away from the sudden onslaught of feeling and sound. I felt Mav's rough-skinned hands on my head.

‘Do you pain, Joss?' he shrilled, patting my ears. I looked up at him.

‘Aaronson, are you all right?' It was Camden-Stone's voice. How did he get here? ‘Harris, get a medic. Everyone else move back and be quiet.'

The class stepped back a few paces, the buzz of their excitement dropping a pitch. I moved my head experimentally. So far, so good. I grabbed hold of Mav and sat up. Not so
good. The lab was washing up around me like a squally sea and my shoulder hurt like hell. I squinted, trying to stop the walls moving.

Camden-Stone stuck his face in front of mine. ‘Are you all right?'

I had barely nodded before he turned around to Chaney.

‘What the hell were you doing hitting Mavkel and pushing Aaronson into the field? Can you imagine my embarrassment when I showed Chanter Refmol the monitoring room and we saw you attacking his charge?'

I looked around for Refmol. The Chanter was making its way towards Mav.

‘Aaronson started it,' Chaney said.

‘That's not true, sir,' Lisa said, stepping forward. ‘Chaney and his friends have been hassling Joss and Mavkel from the start of the tour.'

Camden-Stone's hand was clenching and unclenching. Not a good sign for Chaney-boy.

‘You are officially on reprimand, Horain-Donlevy,' Camden-Stone said. ‘If you or any of your cronies go near Aaronson or Mavkel beyond your class requirements, you are out of this Centre. Do you understand?'

‘Yes sir,' Chaney said.

‘You're confined to quarters for the rest of the day. Get out.'

I'd never seen Chaney move so fast. Refmol was kneeling beside Mav, feeling his ears and humming.

‘Are you okay?' I asked Mav. He was still gallantly propping me up.

‘I am well.'

Refmol nodded agreement.

‘This force field does not affect our bodies as it does yours.
And the violence to the ears is superficial. How do you feel, Joss Aaronson?'

The lab sea was settling down, only a ripple here and there. I rubbed the side of my head, thinning my eyes against the pain.

‘Bit of a headache,' I said.

Refmol reached across and circled my forehead with its thumbs, pressing against sore points. It crooned softly. The headache eased immediately.

‘You are not permanently damaged,' Refmol said.

A medic pushed his way through the excited class and kneeled beside me. After a few questions and bit of poking around he came to the same conclusion. He turned to Camden-Stone.

‘I think she should come down to the medical centre for observation,' he said.

Camden-Stone nodded and beckoned to Wolfendon. Mav had been pulled to one side by Refmol and was in the middle of a heated debate, so I stood up with the help of the medic. Wolfendon offered me her shoulder to lean on.

‘You know,' the sergeant said, turning me towards the door, ‘I don't think your friend needs that much protecting.'

I looked over at Mav. He was still holding the stake with its metal roots attached. He finished his conversation with Refmol in a burst of flat notes that didn't sound very polite, and walked towards us.

‘I go to the medic place with you, not back to the Elders,' he sang firmly. He took my other arm and patted my shoulder. ‘We not play this Chaney game again.'

That sounded like a good idea. We had nearly made it to the door when Roan intercepted us, his mouth tighter than a cat's bum.

‘I'd like my stake back, thank you,' he said. Mav held it out, his ears drooping in apology. Roan snatched it out of his hand and strode off towards T2.

‘He's a bit burned that Mav got through the fruz-field,' Lisa said, walking up to us. ‘Are you both okay? I can't believe Chaney could be so stupid.'

‘We're fine,' I said. ‘Thanks for sticking up for me in there.'

She shrugged.

‘It was the truth. Chaney started the whole thing.'

‘Well, it's no secret that Horain-Donlevy is a little thug,' Wolfendon said.

She moved us forward. I smiled back at Lisa as we passed through the door. Definitely an ally.

‘No secret?' Mav sang. ‘Does this mean it is knowledged by all?'

‘Yep, everyone knows Chaney is a creep,' I said, gingerly feeling my head. I pressed a sore point and clenched my teeth.

‘Then a secret is not knowledged by all?' Mav sang, his ears stiff with concentration.

‘If everyone knows a secret then it isn't a secret anymore, is it?' the sergeant said.

‘Mav's people are telepaths,' I said, frowning at Wolfendon. ‘I don't think they really understand secrets.' I turned to Mav. ‘A secret is supposed to be kept to yourself. That's the whole thing about a secret. No one else is supposed to know it.'

‘Do you have a secret, Joss?' Mav asked.

‘I've got tons of them.'

‘A secret is supposed to be kept to yourself,' he repeated carefully. ‘Yes, I understand. It must be kept to the self.' He nodded as though making a decision, then sneezed all over my arm.

The medic cleared me of any after-effects of the fruz-field, but advised me to take it easy and get a good night's sleep. Not likely. I had a late appointment at the Buzz Bar.

Mav wanted to come with me.

‘No,' I said.

‘Why not?' he asked.

I motioned for him to lower his voice.

‘Because you can't move without a guard up your bum. And I think your wrist-band has got a tracker in it,' I whispered.

‘The wrist-band is bugged, like these rooms?' he asked softly.

I nodded.

‘That is good.'

‘What do you mean it's good? It's terrible.'

‘No, it is good. At home, everyone knows where you are. It is good. Comfortable.'

Mav hadn't quite got the hang of being around minds that no one could read.

‘Well it's not comfortable for me. I don't want anyone to know where I am or where I'm going. Especially tonight.'

Call me paranoid, but I had a hunch that Mavkel wasn't
the only one with a tracker in his wrist-band. It was possible that Donaldson-Hono had been lying through his teeth about my wrist-band. Even if he wasn't, I wasn't going to take any chances. That meant I had to ditch my wrist-band before I set foot out of the university.

‘I'm sorry, Mav, you can't come. I want to get in and out of the Buzz Bar real quick. I can do that better by myself.'

Mavkel sneezed, rubbing at his noses irritably.

‘You want to be alone too much,' he sang.

I thought about that as I left the suite. Mav was probably right. I did like to be alone a lot. On the other hand, sometimes I needed people around. Mav just hated to be alone. I think that's why he hums. To keep himself company. Either that or he does it to drive me crazy.

Barton was at the guard desk, still on duty from the afternoon shift. He grunted as I scanned my way out of the building.

I had a hazy kind of plan to get rid of my wrist-band. It was a bit disgusting, but it was the only thing I could come up with that might work. I peeled off the pseudo skin that I'd slapped around my sand-blasted wrist and arm a few days ago. Most of the abrasion was healed, but the bit near my wrist-band was still scabby. I picked at the crusty bits until they looked red and raw then headed towards the P3 security office. Operation Band-Off was go.

The Duty Officer was grossed out when I showed her my arm.

‘How did that happen?' she asked, turning my arm over to get a better look.

‘I think there's a rough bit on the inside that keeps on scratching me,' I said.

She screwed up her nose. ‘You should have come earlier. That arm's a mess.'

I nodded pathetically.

‘Probably the best thing to do would be to plane it out and get rid of the sharp bit. Here, scan the band,' she said, pointing to the unit Donaldson-Hono had shown me.

The wrist-band clicked open and fell onto the scanning pad without a hitch. The officer ran her finger around it.

‘I can't feel anything.'

‘Maybe I'm just super sensitive,' I said.

‘Whatever,' she shrugged. ‘I'll issue you with a visitor's band until yours comes back.'

She logged my clearance onto the heavy bracelet.

‘You should probably wear it on your other arm until that one heals.'

‘Thanks, I will,' I said, ostentatiously clipping it around my right wrist.

Which brought me to step two of the plan.

‘Hey, can I hire one of those security lockers?' I asked.

‘Sure.' She reeled off a list of prices.

I made my choice and she logged my fingerprint against the lock. While she was busy checking through a flower delivery, I slipped off the visitor's bracelet, wrapped it in my jacket and stuffed it in the locker. Call me paranoid, but also call me untraceable. I couldn't stop grinning. Don't you just love that feeling when a plan comes together? It's like holding a royal flush in a no limit game of poker.

I was still pumped full of drene when I walked out the university gates. I gave the Venturi loop a miss as I've never been very keen on the underground trans system. Being sucked through a vacuum tube in a metal box is not my idea of fun. It
feels like you're being farted out by a giant worm. I prefer to take a route through the side streets.

The Buzz Bar was in Mall 16, so it was quicker to cut through Central towards the Mall 15 overpass. A group of No-Suns moved in front of me, slowing down my progress. These ones must have been pretty high in the sect because their head-to-toe robes were yellow and the face masks black. SPF 100. A few also carried large parasols, even though most of the levels are under cover anyway and the highrises put the top levels in permanent shadow. I saw an opening and ducked through the group, catching a glimpse of corpse-white skin along an eye slit.

With the No-Suns behind me, the run up to the overpass was fairly clear. Then, to my left, Berko Harris walked out of the Red Triangle, my favourite pool hall. Major spin out. As far as I knew, Berko still wanted to wrap a cue round my head for hustling him out of one hundred creds. I ducked into a side alley and squashed myself into a shallow doorway.

He must have seen me because he headed towards the alley. Time to be scarce. I pushed the door behind me. It opened.

For a minute or so I just hid out in the scrappy entrance foyer. Then I heard Berko pound past, so I ducked inside the main room. Just to make sure.

It was time for a bit of deep breathing, Tai Chi style. A few breaths in I smelled something funny. Musty.

Where was I?

It was a huge empty warehouse although a whole load of large bright squares were painted on the walls. There were more on the ceiling. And the floor. I leaned closer to the wall. It wasn't paint, it was cloth. Embroidered cloth.

For Luke. I'll see you soon, all my love, John.

It finally hit me. The walls, floor and ceiling of the room were covered by a huge quilt made up of bits of old clothing, paper photos, paint and embroidery.

In memory of Stephen Gossman, son and brother. RIP.

Daniella Tapp. Died age 20. My love always, Dad.

Daniella's square stood out because it was so plain. A large piece of white cotton, embroidered with uneven blue chainstitch. Even though it was so old, the plasglass cover had kept it clean. Daniella's father had tried to sew a large flower in the corner, but it looked more like a spider with an old style TV aerial.

‘Hello. Would you like a tour?' a voice asked behind me.

It was an old man. Wrinkly old. Most people get rejuved before they wrinkle up, but this guy was sagging and bagging all over the place.

‘You gave me a bit of a fright,' he continued. ‘Not many people come in here these days.'

‘I'm sorry. I came in by mistake. I should get going,' I said, moving towards the door. Hopefully Berko was gone.

The old man sighed, his whole body getting into the act.

‘Then I'll let you go on your way,' he said. ‘Do come back if you remember.'

For some reason, he reminded me of Mav. It must have been the droopy ears.

‘What is this place?' I asked.

‘The AIDS museum and what's left of the Quilt Project,' he said, as if he was announcing something important.

‘The Quilt Project?'

‘Have you any time to stay and look around? I could tell you about it.'

He looked so hopeful that I nodded. The spyder at the Buzz Bar could wait a few more minutes.

‘Oh, good. Come over here then.'

He took my arm and led me over to the back wall. We stopped in front of a small screen.

‘This quilt was started in 1987 as a memorial for viral AIDS victims. Each patch has been sewn or painted by a loved one. Of course, it should be about four times as big as it is, but most of it got destroyed by a fire. You can see how big it would have been on this picture.'

He punched up a diagram on to the screen.

‘The red bit is the section we have, the rest is gone.'

‘It must have been enormous,' I said.

‘Unfortunately, it was.' He crossed himself in the old religious way. ‘The whole quilt was going to be put on the Net as part of Project Guttenberg, but before any of it was done, someone set fire to it.'

‘Deliberately?'

He nodded, rubbing his knuckles. ‘We think so. It was burned just after the same sex marriage law went through. So most of this beautiful quilt is gone forever.'

‘Is it on the Net now?' I asked.

‘This bit is. I'm a bit of a throwback, I know, but I think seeing it on the Net is nothing like seeing it for real,' he said proudly.

He was right.

I'd never been in a real-museum before. Sure, I'd gone through the virtual Smithsonian and Louvre a couple of times, but they didn't have an atmosphere like this place. I looked down at one of the patches under the glass floor. Like so many of the other patches, someone had sewn in a large old-style
photograph of the victim. This one was Roberto. He was laughing.

‘That left-hand wall, floor and all of the ceiling are the viral AIDs patches,' the old man said, swinging his arm in a wide arc. ‘The rest is the implant AIDs patches.'

He shook his head.

‘People don't learn do they. You can't play Russian roulette with your body. They couldn't in those days and you can't today. You wouldn't stick one of those chips in your head, would you? Just for a few more brain cells?'

‘No way,' I said. Not when there was a chance that the thing would eat your immune system.

I walked over to Daniella's square in the implant AIDs section.

I couldn't get past Daniella. Dead at twenty. That was only two years older than me. Why did she go for an implant? Maybe she didn't know about the risks. Maybe she didn't care. Her father cared, though. For a second I envied Daniella that ugly spiky flower. At least she'd had a father who'd cared enough to sew her a patch, even though you could tell it was the first time he'd seen a needle. And it had worked too, because here I was thinking about his daughter.

In a way, I suppose that's what a time-jumper is all about. We add patches of information onto history so that someone or something is remembered. But it's such a pot-luck business. There are so many missing patches. There's also a lot of wrong patches and not all of them are accidental. Take the Camden-Stone/Sunawa-Harrod thing. After what I'd read it seemed likely that most of that story was hidden. The question was, why? I had a feeling that the answers were at the Buzz Bar, courtesy of a spyder. Time to go and find out.

‘People seem to have lost interest in sewing patches these days,' the old curator said. ‘There hasn't been an addition to the quilt for over fifty years.'

‘Maybe people have forgotten how to sew,' I said, immediately regretting the joke.

‘Maybe,' he said, smiling. ‘Or maybe people have just forgotten.'

I nodded, glancing at the door.

‘You have to go now, I see,' the curator said. ‘I hope you'll come back and visit us again.'

Outside in the alley, the air tasted clean. That's one thing about virtual museums. You never get that old-things smell. Maybe that's why I gave up visiting them.