Sing Down the Stars

by Nerine Dorman

  Then it was time for her implant.

  Now this made her nervous.

  The one mark of a Citizen was a legal implant, which meant she could use AR and access the Net without relying on an external device. She’d be recognised on the system and have an identity beyond the numbers and facial recognition that logged everyone else, and generally only when they’d committed a misdemeanour. The event should have been marked with more fanfare, but instead she was made to sit on an examining bed while the J’Veth female quickly sterilised the area behind Nuri’s right ear.

  “Count to three,” the female said.

  “One – ouch!”

  The pain was brief before the area went cold and numb as the woman sprayed it with a topical analgesic. Her tentacles were feather light on Nuri’s skin while she was busy.

  “There, it’s done. Now let’s see if it works. If this is your first time, close your eyes.”

  Nuri did as she was told, and she felt … funny … for lack of better description. Like someone was opening their hand inside her head.

  “Now, you’re going to need to get into this slowly, so I suggest you stay in your dorm room for a while, and only handle the apps and functions you need for your training. Besides, there is no full Net access here.”

  The technician fiddled behind Nuri’s ear, which felt as if it had gone right into her skull, and there was a snick.

  “Now, open your eyes.”

  The room was there, as Nuri had expected, except there was a bar with buttons and scrolling text when she concentrated on a particular button. It was almost as if she was trawling the Net with a VR screen, except her home screen was superimposed over the real world. When she closed her eyes, it was as if the AR screen became the same as she’d expect with VR. Not that she’d done much VR. The other runners were always hogging the few sets they had at the Den.

  The technician showed her the library access (not set up yet) and her document-editing apps, but then Nuri started sweating, and her stomach turned over on itself, so the woman showed her how to turn off the implant.

  “Give it time to settle. Some folks do have a bit of AR sickness at first. Little bits every day. Stick with audio only at first if that’s better.”

  Nuri nodded, swallowing down her nausea, then listened to all the instructions about how to care for a new implant, and what she must and must not do for the first two weeks, and what signs she should be aware of if her body was rejecting the device.

  Raphel rose and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Done then?”

  The technician said, “No hitches, just a little AR sickness, but I’m sure she’ll be just fine.”

  Concern crinkled Raphel’s brow. “I’m sorry to hear that, luv. It happens to the best of us at first. Now, come, let’s go get your kit and go introduce you to your squad.”

  “My squad?” Nuri squeaked. No one had said anything about her being part of a team, and Raphel’s unrelenting cheerfulness was beginning to make her teeth grit.

  “Of course!” He smiled broadly. “They’re most probably dying to meet you.”

  Nuri thought that was highly unlikely.

  6

  The dormitories were a four-storeyed block right next to one of the sports fields, not far from the clinic. Grey, uninspired, with a pair of equally bland benches under the trees. The chilly afternoon air licked at Nuri’s too-naked scalp. The skin felt strange, like peach fuzz when she brushed her palm over the stubble.

  The doors hissed open, and Raphel guided her through a common area where a bunch of youngsters, all garbed in the same drab coveralls, were busy with their AR or chatting in small groups.

  Heads turned as they passed, and Nuri tried to hide her face behind the pile of gear she’d been given. The scent of detergent made her sinuses prickle. More gear than she’d ever owned at the Den.

  Raphel knew exactly where he was leading her, and they hurried down a passage then up a twist of stairs – evidently this building didn’t have lifts. He stopped at door 204 – one of at least a dozen identical scuffed grey doors – and knocked.

  “They should be in,” he murmured. “At least some of them. It’s free time now, before the early-evening study session. I’d suggest getting one of your new mates to show you how to log in to the library.”

  A scrawny J’Veth male opened the door, peering up at Raphel with unblinking orange-slitted eyes. His facial tentacles retracted nearly all the way into his mouth in surprise, and then he stepped back with a gasp and stood to attention. “Facilitator!”

  “Nice of you to have manners, F’Thr.” Raphel glanced about the room. “Where are the others? And did you lot even pass muster during inspection this morning?”

  Nuri edged in after Raphel, but kept close to the door.

  There were four bunk beds in total – space for eight – in the narrow room, with one window directly opposite the door. The glass had been set to semi-opaque, so the interior was dim, and the ambient lighting had been dialled down to what felt like twilight. Then again, J’Veth were most comfortable in low-light conditions, just like Nuri. A little glimmer of hope, then, that she’d not end up arguing about the light settings.

  “Who’s this?” F’Thr stared pointedly at Nuri.

  Raphel pushed her forward. “This is your new squad mate. Nuri, say hi to F’Thr. He thinks he’s a part-time buffoon.”

  F’Thr’s face puffed up. “Do not!”

  Raphel just laughed. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. And I’ll pretend I didn’t see this mess of a dorm room.”

  With that, the human left her alone with the short J’Veth, who sat back down on one of the lower bunks. “Well” – he gestured about him with waggling tentacles – “this is room 204. The rejects, in other words. All the recruits they don’t know where to place end up here.”

  Nuri sidled onto the bunk opposite. Although a tablet had been left at its foot, the linen was crisply made up, suggesting no one had claimed this spot. The bed was closest to the door, but would be slightly obscured when the door opened. Which meant that anyone looking into room would turn to their left first.

  “I can take this one, right?”

  F’Thr nodded and side-eyed her, the tentacles on his left arm curling across his knee as if he wasn’t quite thinking about what he was doing. “You’re an odd one.”

  “Space trash,” Nuri supplied with a wry laugh. “And new to the planet, so I still don’t know what’s what.” The lie came out smoothly. She could own this.

  “Mmm, well, I’m the fifth son of a pod Merchanter up in the Eastern Quarter.”

  “Spare credits, huh?” Nuri ventured, hoping she had the right of it.

  “They figured they could keep me outta trouble here until they found a use for me. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky and bring my clan honour.” He riffled his facial tentacles in the J’Veth way of showing disdain. “Odd that they let you in so late. You the one that heard the call?”

  Word travelled fast. Nuri relaxed enough to put her things down on the bed next to her. “I guess. I didn’t really know what it was at the time.”

  “But here you are!” F’Thr shook his head in delight. “And I reckon we’ll have ourselves loads more fun. I got all the goss first!”

  “Speaking of which …” Nuri glanced about. “Who else am I sharing with?”

  F’Thr made a gargling sound in the back of his throat – almost a laugh. “I’ll give you the dirt before the others get back. Our squad first is Byron. He’s so Military, he poops out laser beams. Duller than a Rest Day during a power outage, if you ask me. Then there’s Stasja. Elder brat.” His complexion darkened slightly.

  “You don’t like her?” Nuri said.

  “Pfft, I at least have the good taste to not have a hopeless crush on Mr Meat-for-brains. Stasja’s a real little pain. Thinks her farts smell like rainbows. Always gets what she wants, but then again, what do you expect of a strong psi. Just don’t get on her wrong side. She loves turning on the waterworks – g
ets all emo. Generally, people just let her get her way so she shuts up.

  “Mei’s all right. Merchanter like me, but doesn’t let it get to her head. Old Terran family from some fancy city in the Revised Chinese Empire. And that leaves us with our token Heran, Opna. He’s loads of fun. We always get into trouble, the two of us. Now the question is” – F’Thr gurgled – “how much trouble do you get into on a good day?”

  Nuri allowed herself to smile. “Oh, that depends.” Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  * * *

  The others came in not much later. Byron was tall, blond and well-tanned, about sixteen or seventeen. F’Thr was right – he really did look as if he’d stepped out of an advertisement for a military academy. Ruggedly good-looking with the whole chiselled-jaw vibe and any other nauseating clichés Nuri could use to describe him. Byron stopped at the door to regard her, a small, puzzled frown playing in the centre of his forehead.

  “They didn’t say anything about a new squad mate.”

  Nuri rose. “Hi, I’m Nuri.” She extended a hand that he merely looked at.

  Then again, he was carrying a laundry basket.

  A petite girl of about the same age as Byron squeezed past him. Either her parents had paid for genetic enhancements or she’d been born out of a long line of tinkered genes. Stasja, Nuri assumed, thanks to F’Thr’s earlier description. She was ancestors-damned near perfect, with platinum hair, violet eyes and a complexion that reminded Nuri of expensive porcelain that belonged behind glass. Merely looking at Stasja might smudge her. She had the kind of figure that somehow made their grey coveralls look sexy.

  But that perfect little face scrunched up in distaste the moment she laid eyes on Nuri.

  “What are you?”

  “She’s our new squad mate,” F’Thr said. “Be nice.”

  “Mmmfph.” Stasja flipped back her hair and shoved past Nuri and F’Thr. nudging Nuri a little bit too hard.

  Nutri kept her lips firmly pressed together.

  Byron came all the way in and went over to one of the built-in cupboards, where he started packing away the clothing in his basket – all so painfully neatly folded it looked as if a machine had done the job, though Nuri was certain he’d done it himself.

  “Ah well, welcome anyway,” Byron said while he worked. “Five’s a bit of an odd number, but it’s better than four. We’re still short our full complement anyway, which sets us at a disadvantage sometimes during drills.”

  F’Thr huffed out a breath. “Byron, it’s not all about drills and stuff.”

  Just then two more people bustled in.

  “Oh, hi!” said the girl. She was about Nuri’s age, maybe a year older. Her glossy black hair was cut into a bob and her smile appeared genuine. “I’m Mei!” She held out a hand and shook Nuri’s firmly. Against Nuri’s translucent skin, Mei’s looked golden.

  “And I’m Opna,” said the Heran who came in after her. He nearly looked Nuri eye to eye, which made him tall for his race, and considerably less stocky. He glanced at F’Thr and pursed his small mouth. “Whatever that jerk’s said about me, it’s all an exaggeration.”

  “Poo to you too,” F’Thr shot back. “You just can’t equal my awesomeness factor.”

  Mei rolled her eyes. “Get used to this, Nuri – these guys are always at it. Just don’t let them talk you into any of their mad plots.”

  “And just don’t listen to her,” said Opna. “She’s a miss goody two-shoes.”

  “And you’re asinine,” Mei said, going to her bunk where she packed away her tablet.

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Opna returned.

  “Neither do I,” said F’Thr. “But come, we need to show Nuri where all the cool stuff is. Before dinner.”

  Before she even had a chance to settle, Opna and F’Thr bustled off with her, showing her where the bathrooms, laundry and dining hall were.

  “We’re like a bad joke,” Opna said. “A J’Veth, a Heran and a girl of undetermined species walk into a dining hall …”

  Nuri was grateful for their attention. As they walked the passages, she drew many curious stares and whispers.

  “Who is she?”

  “What is she?”

  New-girl syndrome. Ugh. This was a first for her – usually she was the one hazing new recruits in the Den.

  During supper, they had their own table, which according to Byron was theirs because no one else wanted it. Not the greatest of tables, it was closest to the main doors, which constantly slid open and shut as fellow recruits came and went, and by some trick of the architecture meant that they were seated in a constant draught.

  Stasja turned pointedly from Nuri and engaged Byron in one-sided, overly animated conversation that he gave the appearance of enduring rather than engaging with. When she did face the others, she refused to even glance at Nuri. Ah well.

  A handful recruits came to them during supper, to make introductions, but by that stage exhaustion had crept up on Nuri and she had trouble remembering names. Her AR offered helpful prompts, but it still exhausted her to have the little comments popping up while she was talking to people, so she kept the apps minimised.

  It took all her effort to eat, and Mei was the one who hustled her upstairs shortly after dessert.

  “You look like you’re going to fall asleep in your food,” she said to Nuri.

  “Thanks. Yeah, you’re probably right. Is Stasja always so rude?”

  Mei shrugged. “It takes some time for her to warm to people.”

  Nuri wasn’t so certain. She’d seen Stasja’s type at the Den. They usually meant trouble, and this time she didn’t have Vadith to intervene on her behalf. As much as he was an irritating boss, he wouldn’t tolerate anyone picking on Nuri in case she ended up “off her game”, as he put it. Which only resulted in subtler jibes at her from jealous pack members. It didn’t help that she’d mostly kept to herself in the barrens. Maybe now she should reach out.

  After her shower, Nuri fell so deeply asleep, she didn’t wake when the others returned to the dorm. She didn’t even dream.

  * * *

  Byron’s alarm went off at 5am.

  “Oh geez,” Opna mumbled. “Can’t we snooze?”

  “No. Everybody up.” Byron’s tone was brisk. Drill sergeant.

  Nuri buried herself deeper into the downy depths of her bed, but then the lights switched on bright, and Byron was clapping his hands.

  “Up, up, up! Everybody up! We have dorm inspection at six. Go get ready so we can give everything a once-over before the facilitators get here. I won’t have a repeat of yesterday.”

  Nuri went through the motions, getting dressed in a daze, and then struggled with her bed. She’d thought she’d done a good job until Byron came over and plucked off her duvet cover.

  “Are these fen-mole burrows in your sheets?” he groused. “Opna already lost us credits with his burrows from last inspection. So he can show you how to do it better.”

  Opna groaned and came over. “Who died and made you a dictator, Byron?”

  Byron rolled his eyes, then went to help Stasja, who evidently didn’t need to put in half the effort everyone else did.

  By the time the facilitators came to inspect their dorm, the place was tidier than any room Nuri had ever been in. Yet they found fault – there was dust on the tops of the window lintels. F’Thr’s shoes had gum stuck under the soles. Nuri’s clothing wasn’t folded crisply enough. They lost three credit points, which made Byron glower at them all the way out to the grounds.

  No breakfast till they’d run a circuit. In the dark. Which was okay for Nuri – she could see just fine – but it was still freezing. Her breath misted before her face, and her fingers felt like they were falling off, despite her sticking her hands under her armpits. But it felt so good to move again, and she even showed off a little by running along the top of a fence on the side near the stands. This earned her a few cheers.

  Their route didn’t only encompass the spor
ts fields and buildings, but an entire forest with a lake at the northern end. The cruddy thing about the lakeshore was that the fens crept in underneath the walls here, so those wonderful white running shoes they’d worked so hard to clean before inspection were brown with muck by the time they all plodded back to the dining hall for breakfast.

  At least the food was plentiful, and they were allowed seconds – an unheard-of luxury in the Den, where the littlies often had to scrounge for the leftovers once the older pack had had their fill. Stasja complained about the breakfast. Of course she did. And she screwed up her perfect little face and pursed her lips until they looked like a rat’s arse.

  Nuri said nothing, just shoved another mouthful of egg – real egg, not the vat-grown stuff she occasionally ate – into her mouth and swallowed it nearly without chewing. Even if she failed the tests and ended up in Fadhil’s household scrubbing floors forever, she’d at least have tasted good food.

  After breakfast, they cleaned up and got ready for their lessons. Nuri wriggled in mortification at the thought. Not all the Chosen were the same age, nor were they at the same point in their education. Nuri was barely able to read, and her ability to use the AR was next to non-existent – she’d need much more practice before she was as fluent as the others. She soon found out that this meant she’d been slotted into the D-stream or “special” class. Even the VR headsets gave her headaches, so she ended up using a flatscreen tablet of all things, as she navigated modules aimed at basic numeracy, literacy and, ugh, history and geography.

  The facilitator was a near-emaciated human by the name of Miss Pearl. Everyone had to call her “miss” during class or she wouldn’t talk to you, and she was strict. No talking. No sleeping. No fooling around on the intranet. Not that the sites they could access were even remotely exciting.

  The cadaverous Miss Pearl kept checking Nuri’s results, making a disappointed tutting sound before directing her to further educational films and documentaries to watch and more tests to do, until Nuri’s head was overfull with sights and sounds and symbols and things for which she didn’t have the proper terms.