Singing the Dogstar Blues (8 page)

‘Is it true you'll never know who your father is? Or should I say your main contributor?' Chaney asked again, but he was staring at Mavkel.

Chaney was leading up to something, but I couldn't work out his punchline.

‘I'm sure I could find out, if I needed to. But I don't need to,' I said.

Beside me, Mavkel stiffened, its ears up high, the ends quivering.

‘Why do you want to know?' I asked.

‘Just interested,' he said, shrugging.

He'd backed down! Behind me, Camden-Stone called for order. Chaney pulled his feet off the back of the seat.

‘You'd better turn around,' he said to Mavkel, pointing at Camden-Stone.

Mavkel quickly faced the front of the room, pulling its top jacket tightly against its body.

‘Why are you interested?' I insisted.

Chaney just smiled and ducked back to his seat next to Jorel. I turned around. Mavkel was bouncing slightly. It grabbed my arm.

‘Do not worry, Joss-partner,' it said fiercely. ‘The Sulon will be recorded.' It stroked my arm with two thumbs then flicked back its protective eyelids, squinting its unshielded eyes against the light. ‘Mavkel will help record the Sulon.'

I had no idea what it was talking about.

‘Aaronson, are you going to gossip with Mavkel all morning?' Camden-Stone asked.

‘No sir,' I said, sitting back in my chair. Mavkel's ears were still quivering.

As Camden-Stone told us about the time-jumping course, I forgot about the Sulon and Chaney's weird questions. It wasn't until much later that I realised how important those questions had been to Mavkel. But, by that time, everything was well and truly set in motion.

By Friday I still hadn't heard from a spyder. My code was probably too old so I called Lenny and asked him to check it out. I'd also only managed to read another third of the entries on the Reader. It was hard fitting it in between classes and homework and with Mav hovering around like my shadow.

I swear I trod on Mav at least twice a day. It even followed me into the toilet until I explained that the cubicle was for private meditation.

In the end I did most of the reading in my ‘meditation box'. But apart from those articles about Camden-Stone and Sunawa-Harrod, most of the entries were about stuff I already knew. In fact there wasn't much that was useful about the Chorians. I'd only found out two new interesting things.

New fact number one.

When attacked, a group of Chorians can join their minds together and blow out their enemy with a mega powerful psychic mind-lash. They call it the Rastun.

I wonder what our defence forces think of that.

New fact number two.

The Chorians have two brains: the Riko and Rikun. The Riko is kind of like a public brain that keeps tabs on what the
rest of their society is yakking about. The Rikun is the brain that keeps up a Chorian's continual contact with its pair. This two brain set-up means Chorians never have to sleep. They can shut off parts of one brain to ‘recharge' it while they use the other brain. Kind of like the way dolphins can rest one hemisphere of their brain while they use the other to party.

I actually didn't learn fact number two from my reading. Mav told me when I found it learning English at three o'clock in the morning. It was learning how to handle pronouns and sneezing its head off. Every time it sneezed, a little cloud of powder puffed up from its skin.

‘Are you sick or something?' I asked, wrapping my bed-cover around my shoulders.

‘I don't have a sex pronoun,' Mav said.

‘And that's making you sneeze?' I joked.

Its discordant laugh turned into the sneeze of the century. White powder hung in the air.

‘That is a language joke, is it not?' it sang, sniffing. ‘But it is the coldness that makes me sneeze.' It pushed its two noses together to ward off another sneeze. ‘Tell me, you are a she. Is that right?'

‘Yep. I'm female, so I'm a she.'

‘What am I?' it asked.

Good question.

‘I suppose you're an it. You're not one or the other.'

Mav shook its head.

‘But an
it
is an object. Not a person.'

‘I suppose so, if you want to get technical.'

‘I am a person so I must have a pronoun.'

‘Okay, then you're going to have to choose a sex.'

Mav considered the problem.

‘You are a female. A female pairs with a male. Is that correct?'

Did I really want to go into this? It could get very messy. I leaned back against one of the couches.

‘Most humans pair with the opposite sex. Male with female. But some people pair with their own sex. And some go both ways,' I said.

‘So there are two sexes and two types of pairings. Same and opposite?'

‘I suppose that's the basics.'

Mav walked over to me, standing too close as usual. Way too close. I leaned away from him, sliding my bum along the back of the couch. I was going to have to say something about this personal space business before one of us got head-butted.

‘We have many types of pairings too,' Mavkel said. ‘What is your pairing? Do you go opposite or same?'

‘I'm more of an opposite kind of gal.'

‘Then to complete this human duality, I should be male. I will be a
he
.'

‘Okay Mav, you're a he from now on.'

‘What did you call me?'

‘Mav. It's a nickname. I just thought that Mavkel was a bit formal.'

‘A nickname?'

‘A name a friend calls another friend.'

‘But there is no Kel pool in this Mav name. It does not respect the Kel pool.'

‘If you don't want me to call you Mav, I won't,' I said, shrugging.

Mavkel sang the name a couple of times. He nodded solemnly.

‘It is proper. I am still of the Kel pool, but there is no Kelmav. Now I am just Mav. What should I call you, Joss-partner?'

‘Just call me Joss. That'll do.'

The only person who had ever given me a nickname was Ingrid. For about two years she had called me Jo-Jo. The first time I remember her using it was when I was six. Ingrid had booked us into the wildlife park for my birthday. As usual her whole entourage went with us. Twenty people all devoted to Ingrid and the money she made.

I was out of my six-year-old mind with excitement. Trees, animals, dirt and a fascinating hole I'd found next to an old tree stump. Naturally I had to poke something down the hole. So I reached for a nearby stick. The stick rose up on six legs and ran up my arm. I screamed for so long I nearly passed out from lack of oxygen. Ingrid ran over.

‘It's okay Jo-Jo,' she said, swinging me up close against her body. ‘It's only an insect. A stick insect.'

She bent down. I hung on tightly around her neck.

‘Look,' she said, gently picking up the insect. ‘It makes itself look like a stick so big things won't eat it.'

That was probably the last birthday Ingrid ever spent with me. From seven to seventeen I spent my birthday at whatever boarding school I was stuck in at the time. Ingrid always sent me a present, but was ‘unable to leave the shoot'. The class always sang happy birthday, gulped down the soggy sponge cake and left me alone. Not much seems to have changed. My eighteenth birthday was in two days time. No doubt Ingrid would be unable to leave her shoot, and Hartpury would make the time-jump class grind out happy birthday — soggy sponge cake optional. The only person who had ever done something
special for my birthday was Louise. Each of the five years she lived with us, she came to my boarding school and gave me a special birthday hat. Once it was a pair of furry ears, another time an outrageously jewelled beret. I've kept them all.

‘Joss, have you noticed that I am using personal pronouns?' Mav said.

‘Yeah, that's great,' I said, yawning. Time to go back to bed.

‘I think the pronoun
I
is very interesting. It is the same symbol as your number one. See.'

He carefully traced an I and a 1 on the back of the couch with his finger.

‘The symbols are true,' he said. ‘Only a one can be an I.' He leaned closer until I could see the particles of white powder on his skin.

Let's face it, linguistic theories are a bit tedious at the best of times. At three in the morning they're unbearable. I tried to move towards my bedroom, but Mav was practically rubbing noses with me.

‘Mav, move back. You're crowding me,' I snapped.

Mav jumped backwards, his ears stretched back against his head. He jangled some kind of apology. Well, I finally had my space. I just didn't feel too good about it.

‘Look, I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I'm a bit tired. You've just got to remember that humans don't stand so close as you do. It gets on our nerves.'

‘You don't like being close?'

‘Not all the time. Sometimes we like to be close, sometimes we like to be left alone,' I said.

‘Alone?'

‘It means to be without anyone else around you.'

Mavkel nodded.

‘Show me its symbols.' He patted the back of the couch.

I traced out the word, sounding the letters.

Mav made a triumphant sound.

‘See, alone has one in it. If you separate the word it becomes all-one. It is very true. To be alone is to be all one.'

It was a nice theory. I didn't have the heart to tell him he had put an extra
l
into the word. Mav stepped closer to me, then remembered and pulled up.

‘I have felt very alone since Kelmav went,' he said.

I nodded. Sensitivity warred with curiosity. Guess what won. ‘How did Kelmav die?' I asked.

Mav didn't answer for so long that I'd thought I'd really screwed up. I was about to apologise when he quickly touched my hand, his ears drooping, uncertain. I'm not too keen on touchy-touchy kind of stuff, but Mav was obviously hanging out for some contact. I took his hand. He quickly twined his two thumbs around my fingers.

‘In the sun storm,' he finally sang. There was a croon in his song, like an old ballad. ‘Kelmav died in the fires.'

Mav held the last note for so long, it became a keen, his proper eyelids dropping over his eyes. Suddenly both sets of eyelids flicked back.

‘I should not be doing this,' he gasped, his thumbs digging into the back of my hand. ‘Music is for healing.'

‘If singing makes you feel better, isn't that healing?' I said.

I wriggled my hand, trying to relieve the pressure of Mavkel's grasp. He tightened his hold.

‘I am alone,' he cried and the final syllable stretched into the tears of a blues chord.

Each note dug out my own loneliness, forcing it up into my throat until I ached from holding it back. Then Mav started to
weave around the melody. He was swaying, his ears wrapped tightly across the back of his head, both eyelids closed. I recognised the song. Mav was singing my
Dogstar Blues
, harmonised and heart killing.

There is a carving in Rome called the Mouth of Truth. You put your hand in the stone mouth. If you've lied, the mouth grabs your hand and bites it off. My hand was in the grip of truth, wrapped tightly by two thumbs, unable to move. Mav was showing me too much truth. But I couldn't move. All I could do was listen. My hand aching. My throat aching. Knowing that my own blues could never be the same.

I woke up the next morning with a skull ache that would have had an elephant hitting the pain patches. Mav must have bounced some heavy sub-harmonics off me while he was singing. Hot strong black coffee was in order. But Mav was probably in the kitchen. What could I say to a guy who'd let his soul hang out in my face? ‘Nice day, isn't it' just wouldn't make the grade.

I pulled a regulation T-shirt over my head and found my jeans under the bed.

No, my best course of action would be to ignore the whole thing.

I jammed my feet into my boots.

But what if he brought it up?

I walked over to the door. It slid open and I peered around the corner. Well, he wasn't in the lounge room.

‘How ya doing, Joss? You've got three comm-messages waiting,' the computer said.

I grunted, making my way towards the kitchen. No Mav there, either.

‘Do you want me to play your messages?' the computer asked.

The kitchen looked the same as it did last night. Dishes stacked near the return hatch, Readers scattered over the table. Usually Mav cleaned it up every morning in some kind of crazed ritual. Maybe he wasn't up yet. Great explanation, except he didn't sleep. I leaned against my food dispenser and pushed the coffee button.

‘Computer, where's Mav?' I asked.

‘Mav left the suite at four am. Do you want me to play your messages?'

‘All right, patch the first message through to the kitchen console,' I said. The screen moved around to face me.

Where had Mav gone at four in the morning? Hopefully he was all right.

The food machine beeped and the cage slid back. I picked up the coffee container.

So far no one at uni had given Mav any aggro. Chaney and his gang had been very quiet. Too quiet. They hadn't even had a go at me for a couple of days although I'd caught a few sideways looks and sniggers. Chaney was probably plotting another round of revenge for that karate chop at the partnering ceremony. Time to plan a counter strategy.

I peeled back the pull-ring on the cup. The heating mechanism kicked into action, pushing steam out of the drinking spout.

The console screen flickered then lit up with Lenny's face.

‘Hey Joss. We've been having a bit of trouble getting hold of you. One of your friends is in town. Why don't you come around on Saturday night and catch up on all of the news. Bye.'

His face faded into the CommNet logo. I took a sip of coffee. If I read Lenny right, he'd contacted a spyder for me and set up a virtual meeting at the Buzz Bar on Saturday night. Brilliant.

‘Next message,' I said.

The screen went black then suddenly Ingrid was smiling at me.

‘Hello Joss, darling,' she said.

‘Message freeze,' I said. Ingrid stopped mid-word. She was looking great. Must have had her eyes done again.

‘What time did this message come in?' I asked.

‘At seven-sixteen,' the computer said.

The console clock read twenty to eight. The first time in two years that Ingrid had contacted me personally and I'd slept through it. What a loser.

‘Continue message.'

‘So, you're turning the big one eight tomorrow,' Ingrid said. She raised her eyebrows, trying to look interested. ‘I'm sorry, but I won't be able to make it back for the party. I'll send a pressie by courier. Hope you have a wonderful day.'

She looked away, listening to someone off-screen.

‘Oh, yes. Darling, see if you can talk Professor Camden-Stone into letting me interview you and Mavkel. It would be such a coup. I'll speak to you soon.'

She held her palm up to her mouth and blew me a kiss. It got lost somewhere along the data line.

The CommNet logo cut her off.

‘Computer, keep that message.'

I didn't have a current 3D of Ingrid. The picture of her blowing the kiss would be good to download onto my holo unit. I blew on the coffee. Still no Mav. If he didn't show soon, I'd check with the duty guard.

‘Okay, that message is saved,' the computer said. ‘Do you want the third message?'

‘Go ahead.'

For a moment I didn't recognise Louise. She'd grown her hair long and the sharp planes of her face had rounded out.

‘Joss, neichan, how are you doing? It's been so long.' She bent down and picked up a baby.

‘I want you to meet Mr Perri Akinaro, my little boy.' The baby made a grab at her hair. She pulled her head away then kissed the tiny hand.

‘I know it's your birthday tomorrow. I was hoping you'd meet me for a coffee to celebrate. How about Mario's in Mall 14? About eleven? Give me a call.'

She recited her call code, waving the baby's hand goodbye. The screen cleared into the logo.

Louise had finally got in contact. A splash of hot coffee stung my fingers. I dumped the container on the bench. Handy hint for the day: don't start shaking with a cup of hot coffee in your hand.

I told the computer to rewind and freeze the last frame of the message. Louise looked ultra happy with her baby. Had Ingrid ever looked that happy with me? They used to fight about babies. Louise had wanted one. Ingrid always said no way, one kid was enough. So Louise had to make do with me. Now she had her own kid, so why was she bothering to call me? After six years, too. Perhaps she'd been waiting until I was a legally an adult. I wouldn't put it past Ingrid to have legally restrained Louise out of spite. Or there was the other option: Louise just hadn't wanted to see me until now. But I didn't like to think about that one.

I would call her and say no. I told the computer to link me into the CommNet. The call-code request flashed up almost immediately.

Maybe I should have a quick chat with her, just to let her know I was doing fine. Just to be polite. I repeated Louise's number and waited. A stranger appeared on the screen.

‘Hello. Can I help you?' she asked.

She was stocky, with eyes that were big and widely spaced. High arched eyebrows made her look like she didn't believe a word anyone said. Was she Louise's new partner? If she was, then Ingrid beat her hands down in the looks department.

‘Louise called me,' I said. ‘Can I talk to her?'

‘You must be Joss. Hi, I'm Barb.' She smiled. ‘I'm afraid Lou's not here right now. Do you want to record a message?'

Damn, she wasn't home. A message was polite. Yes, I'd leave a message. I nodded.

She punched a key on the console in front of her.

‘Okay, go ahead,' she said.

The message logo came up then counted down to the recording.

‘Hi Louise,' I stammered.

What was I going to say? I couldn't get anything out. My pause lengthened into a silence. I had to say something, quick.

‘I'd love to meet you. Eleven at Mario's is great. See you then.'

I signed off. So much for righteous indignation or grace under pressure.

The coffee was at gulp temperature, so I finished it while I punched up the breakfast menu. I was waiting for my bowl of cereal when Mav walked into the kitchen.

‘Hello Joss. Are you well?' he asked. Not a hint of embarrassment about last night.

‘Fine,' I said casually. ‘Where've you been?'

‘Rowley is teaching me slang.'

Rowley was one of the night guards and a seriously hard case. She was probably teaching Mav the kind of slang that would get him killed in a bar.

Mav sneezed, wiping his noses with a handful of tissues.

He looked at himself in the chrome siding of his food dispenser.

‘Look, I have wiped my noses so much they have no Toqua on them.'

His usual covering of white powder stopped three quarters of the way down his noses, leaving stripes of sparkly white skin. He looked like he had dipped his noses in glitter.

‘So what's this white powder for?'

‘It is Toqua,' he said.

‘What's the Toqua for?' I asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar guttural sound.

‘My home is much hotter than this world. Toqua stops our skin burning from us.'

‘It's a sunscreen?'

‘Yes, but I am making too much. I think it is the common cold. It is not bothering you, I hope?'

He rubbed the side of one ear. I think he was embarrassed.

‘No, it's okay.'

‘Can your doc-tor medicine take away these sneezes?' he asked.

I shook my head. ‘We've never found a cure for the common cold. You just have to wait it out.'

‘Refmol cannot chant the cold. Refmol is very annoyed.'

The food dispenser beeped. I pulled out my cereal. This stuff was so heavy it would keep a whale going all day.

‘We've got our first physical training class today,' I said. ‘I've heard they're pretty tough. Better stock up on carbos.'

‘What are carbos? Do they taste good?'

I didn't fancy getting into a lecture on human nutrition.

‘Just eat something that will give you lots of energy.'

I shoved a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. It wasn't bad for something advertised as a high energy gut-filler.

Mav flicked through his menu options, punched in a code and waited.

Everything about Mav was a bit heavier than a human. Arms a bit chunkier, shoulders a bit wider, legs a bit shorter. The whole impression was strength. He'd be a good friend in a fight and would probably blitz the arm wrestling competition. Was he good looking in his culture? Maybe they didn't even consider looks. Remembering the Elders with their huge jowls, I'd say Mav was movie star material. Then again, they probably didn't have movies. I spooned up a huge mouthful as he collected his food from the delivery tray.

‘Joss?' he sang hesitantly.

I grunted. My mouth was too full to get a word out.

‘I am happy you heard the healing song. I am much less alone now.'

I swallowed quickly.

‘I'm glad you're feeling better,' I mumbled.

Mav smiled, keeping his secondary mouth closed. He was learning. He picked up a handful of food in the scoop he had made out of his thumbs, pushed it into his secondary mouth, mulched it, then closed the primary mouth over it. Grisly. I smiled back, making a mental note to never again chew with my mouth open. We finished eating in silence.