His gang sniggered.
I knew that some of the girls in our course thought Chaney was good-looking. He had a whole Renaissance-archangel thing going on: dark red curly hair, high cheekbones, golden tan. But I knew that inside, he was a total snake. He’d made it clear that if you weren’t from one of the big-money hyphen families, you might as well not exist. Unless he felt like tormenting you.
“Don’t you ever get tired of being a snorkwit?” I said.
His pale blue eyes were unblinking. “Someone’s got to make sure you freaks don’t get too up yourselves.”
“Up yourselves?” Mav sang uncertainly. “What does this mean?”
“It means, flap-head, that comps are trying to stop us from getting into the time-jumping course,” Chaney said. He turned to his friends. “They reckon they’re better than us, so they should be the first and only choice.”
There was a murmur of disgust.
“What a load of screte,” I said. “The Centre has strict comp and noncomp quotas. It’s law.”
“Well, you should know,” Chaney said slyly. “Aren’t you and your mother major shareholders in the Centre?”
I stared at him. How did he know I’d inherited a controlling interest in the Centre? My donor father had left it to me, and I’d had to choose between sitting on the board and studying. It was a no-brainer; who wanted to worry about budgets when they could travel through time? But I thought the whole situation had been kept hush-hush by the Centre bigwigs.
Chaney glanced back at his friends. “That would explain why she got a place. There’s no other reason why she’s here.”
They all laughed.
“I didn’t get in because of that,” I said.
“No, of course not,” he said mockingly. “Come on, Aaronson. Quit zooming. You may be a comp, but you’ve been kicked out of nearly every school you’ve ever been in.” He shook his head. “No, you’re here because you’ve got a rich, famous shareholder mother who donated a little admin building. Just like I’m here because my family name is on the library.” So he didn’t know the whole story. He picked up a veggie fry from his plate and jabbed it into a puddle of tomato sauce. “In the end, it’s always who you know and how much you’ve got that’s more important in this world.”
“Only in your twisted mind, Chaney,” I said.
He pointed his fry at the comp table. “Their parents scrimped and saved and risked CGD to make their kids prettier and smarter than Joe Average. And what for? Just to give them a shot at getting where we already are—at the top. Our families have done it all without any enhancements. Now, you tell me who’s better?” He stuffed the fry in his mouth.
Jorel, Chaney’s right-hand lout and jump-partner, leaned forward. “My dad says the comp lobby group is getting really strong. He reckons before you know it, the comps will be trying to take over.”
Jorel’s dad was in government; obviously not a liberal.
“I’ve heard there’s an extremist comp group on campus,” Pino said. As usual, he was trying to outdo Jorel. He nodded towards the comps. “Probably them.”
Chaney’s gang all turned to look at the table at the far end of the hall.
“You should be more careful,” I said. “Someone will have you up on a civ charge.”
Chaney snorted. “Not if it’s true.”
“Yeah, not if it’s true,” Pino echoed. “What about the graffiti painted on the Time Admin building wall: NOT COMP, NOT GOOD ENOUGH. Bet that was done by comp extremists.”
“Haven’t seen it,” I said, shrugging, but a little coil of unease tightened in my gut.
“Graffiti?” Mav sang. “Is this an artwork?”
“It’s like a protest painted on a wall,” I said.
“Maybe we should paint one ourselves,” Chaney said. “DELETE THE COMP SCRETE.”
His gang laughed, loudly repeating the slogan to one another.
Chaney leaned over to me. “I know you’re not a real comp, Joss,” he said under the cover of their noise. “One donor, enhancements kept to a minimum. You’re almost pure. Why do you want go out with someone like Kyle Sandrell?”
I stiffened. Where was he getting all this info about me?
A sudden sharp pain in my head made me wince, but it was gone in a nanosecond. Mav’s mind presence washed over me like warm water.
I am here. His mind voice was dark green, strident.
I shot a greasy look at him. I’d told him over and over again he couldn’t just barge into my head whenever he felt like it. Especially since I couldn’t barge into his head.
But you are alarmed, his mind presence said. Of course I am here. Contact seemed easier this time, yes?
It had been easier, but I was too annoyed to agree.
I turned back to Chaney. “I am comp,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I may not have ten donors, but I’m still comp.”
Why does Chaney alarm you? Mav rocked up in his chair towards the oblivious Chaney, his ears angled back aggressively.
No! No alarm!
Mav stopped and looked at me, then nodded reluctantly. I felt his mind warmth slip away.
“Are you sure the comps will think you’re one of them?” Chaney asked. “For a bunch of freaks, they’re getting real picky about who makes the grade.” He raised his pale red eyebrows. “You should think carefully about who you want to be associated with, Aaronson.”
I gritted my teeth, wanting to slap the smug smile off his real-kid-old-money face. He thought he had it all pinned.
“You’re absolutely right,” I said, standing up. “Come on, Mav, I don’t want to associate with these scretes any more. Let’s get out of here.”
Mav stood up, his ears straight and tense.
“We do not leave you with any cordiality,” he said to Chaney.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
“You’ve got to stop gate-crashing my head like that,” I said, waving my security wristband across the lighted door panel. It flashed to green and the door to our quarters slid open.
Beside me, Mav hummed disconsolately with his ears at half-mast, but I wasn’t going to fall for his “poor little alien” act.
“It’s kind of like walking in on me when I’m getting dressed, except a lot worse.”
“But you were alarmed, Joss-partner. I wished to be of assistance.”
“I wasn’t alarmed,” I said brusquely, stepping into our lounge room. “Chaney doesn’t alarm me.”
“Chorian pairs are always mind-joined,” Mav sang plaintively. “We should always be joined, not this sometimes joined. It is a not a real pairing.”
I knew why Mav wanted us to be joined all the time—all Chorians had a constant telepathic link to their birth pair as well as to the rest of their race, and Mav’s birth pair, Kelmav, had died in an accident. But something in me balked at trying to maintain a constant link. The last thing I wanted was Mav in my head full-time. I didn’t want anyone eavesdropping on that constant murmuring stream of reality, fantasy, dream and emotion that flowed through my head. It was my own private narration of my life. And I had a feeling it was an important part of being human.
I headed for my bedroom, Mav trailing behind me. I had dragged him back to P3 as soon as we’d left the mess hall. He had wanted to stop and look at the graffiti, but I was a woman on a mission: to seek out and discover if I had anything to wear on a date with Kyle Sandrall. Poor Mav didn’t have a chance—I practically put him in a headlock and marched him past the Time Admin building.
I threw my bag on the bed and slapped my hand against the v-robe sensor. The two virtual wardrobe doors disappeared with a soft pop. I stared at my sad collection of clothes. Apart from the regulation T-shirts and dress uniform, I had three black T-shirts, two red T-shirts, another pair of black jeans and a black jacket. Great for fast packing, not so great for a first date. I picked up an old black cashmere jumper lying on the wardrobe floor and shook the dust out of it.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“Great. Just what I want on a hot date.”
“Then that is settled,” Mav sang happily. “I would like to see the graffiti now.”
I snatched back the jumper. “No, it’s not settled. I can’t wear that on Friday. I need something…sexy.”
Mav’s ears flattened at the top. “Sexy? The 2-D images in Sparkle indicate that human sexy is achieved with much skin and little cloth.”
“That’s not really me.” I couldn’t see myself in one of Tarrah’s little red halter tops, or a skintight cling dress. “I need something that is…well, at least not totally sexless.”
“Lisa,” Mav said.
“What?”
“Lisa will help you. I heard Jorel tell Pino that Lisa was sexy.”
I frowned, conjuring up a mental picture of our friend Lisa. Long brown hair, savvy grey eyes, nice teeth. Was she sexy? I had never really thought about it. When someone gets shot on your behalf, you never really think of anything but their courage and spirit. A few months ago, she’d helped Mav and me jump back in time to save Mav’s life and had got a laser through her shoulder for her trouble. I suppose she always wore makeup, but not much, and her hair was always shiny. Her clothes weren’t anything special, although they did kind of skim her body. In all the right places. Damn, Mav was right; Lisa was sexy. And classy.
“Good idea,” I told him. “Maybe she’ll be able to lend me something.”
His ears lifted. “We will visit the graffiti now. If we leave now, we will have six minutes to view it and two minutes to travel to our next class.”
Sure enough, by the time we were standing in front of the graffiti on the south wall of the Time Admin building, the clock tower showed we had exactly eight minutes before the start of class. Who needed an armscreen with Mav around?
I stared up at the large slogan. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble; the outline of each letter was sprayed in red and filled in with yellow. The colours of the Genetic Enhancement Lobby Group. The big, beautifully drawn letters boldly declared war: NOT COMP, NOT GOOD ENOUGH. My gut tightened again.
Mav rocked back on his hind claws. “It is very neat,” he sang. “And the lettering is aesthetically pleasing. Is this not art?”
“No, it’s trouble.”
“Why?”
“There’s a lot of comps who are wondering why they should apologise for being better.”
Mav looked back at the wall. “Comps consider themselves superior to nonenhanced humans?”
“I suppose some do,” I said reluctantly.
“Is this not the aim of their genesis. To create superiority?”
“Superior attributes, but not superiority.”
“Ah”—Mav nodded—“a semantics problem.”
“Sometimes,” I said drily, thinking of all the times I had been called a freak or unnatural. “It’s just that a lot of humans like to think we’re all equal, or that we at least start off equal. Some people think comps have an unfair advantage. Like it’s cheating.”
“Cheating?” Mav wrinkled his noses. “But if an attribute is created by the fortuitous combination of two unknowns, then it is considered not cheating?”
“Then it’s good luck.”
Mav’s ears flattened. “Luck is acceptable, but design is not?”
“Luck is better because it doesn’t need tons of money. Anyone can have luck,” I said. “Not everyone can afford to take the chance out of luck.”
“I do not understand,” Mav sang dolefully.
I turned away from the wall. I wasn’t sure I understood either. I just knew that sometimes I felt guilty for being alive.
“Come on,” I said, wanting to get away from the graffiti. “We’ve only got one and half minutes to get to class.”
Mav took the bait. “Incorrect, Joss-partner,” he shrilled behind me. “We have two minutes, six seconds and four one-hundredths.”
“I brought a whole load of stuff,” Lisa said, dumping a pile of clothes and shoes on my bed. “Didn’t know where you and Kyle were going, so I figured I’d cover all possibilities.” She absently adjusted her tank strap over her bandaged shoulder. “You should have commed me sooner. We could have gone shopping.”
It was D-Day—Date Day—and Lisa had jumped at the chance to make me over.
I poked at the clothes. “It’s not a big deal,” I said. Maybe if I said it enough times I’d believe it. “It’s only going to be some dinner somewhere and then maybe a party.” I pulled a bright blue slip of silky material out of the stack. “What’s this? A scarf?”
Lisa snatched it out of my hand. “Very funny. It’s a top. Looks great with blue jeans.”
“I can still wear jeans?” I’d been imagining microshorts and cling tops.
“Of course. I don’t think you should make any drastic changes. Just move away from wearing so much black and smarten things up a bit.”
She pulled back her fall of brown hair and deftly twisted it into a loose bun, tying it into itself. Amazing. All I could ever do with mine was whack a band around it and hope it held, or stuff it under a beret.
I pushed the clothes aside and sat on the edge of the bed. “So, you’ve been studying here for five years. What’s the Kyle story.”
Lisa got down to business. “For the last year or so he’s been a bit of a serial dater,” she said. “But before that, he and Tarrah were a couple right through to fourth year.” She made a wry face. “The golden comp couple. They were probably whipped up in the same laboratory.” She realised what she’d said. “Screte. I’m sorry, Joss, I didn’t mean anything by that.” She touched my arm in apology. “I think I was channelling my stepfather.”
“Not a comp fan, huh?” I said tightly.
“You could say that. Both Mum and Leo are old-line religious. You know, ‘Love thy neighbour as long as thy neighbour isn’t a comp.’ They’re always saying that the scientists are playing God and that we shouldn’t be messing with the Lord’s creations.” She met my eyes. “Look, I’m a big girl now. I don’t buy into their beliefs. I say live and let live. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.” I stood up, wanting to physically shake off the sudden awkwardness between us. “So what went wrong between Kyle and Tarrah.”
“Not sure,” Lisa said, obviously relieved to be talking about something else. “One rumour was that he found her in a clinch with another guy. Another one said Tarrah started getting a bit too intense about the Comp Lobby and Kyle wasn’t so into it.”
“They’re still friends, though, aren’t they? I saw them in the mess together.”
“Absolutely. Kyle’s a nice guy, he likes to be friends with everybody,” Lisa said. She pulled out a top in a soft pink knit. “Try this on. We’re about the same size, so it should fit you.” She picked up a pair of jeans. “And these, too.”
I took the clothes just as Mav loped through the doorway.
“Lisa,” he sang. “This pair greets you with great pleasure.” He gripped Lisa’s hand and bowed, entwining her thumb in the complicated Chorian friendship grip.
Lisa bowed back. “Hi, Mav. You’re looking good.”
“Yes, I feel much equilibrium. Does your injury heal?” Mav asked, his hand hovering over her shoulder. He began to hum softly.
Before he became a time-jumping student on Earth, Mav had been studying to be a Chanter, the Chorian version of a doctor. He’d once tried to explain to me how he’d been learning to sense injuries and emotional states through sound vibrations, but I’d got lost about five minutes into it.
“It’s a lot better,” Lisa said. “The doctors say I’ll be a hundred per cent in a month or so.”
Mav nodded. “They are correct.” He dropped his hand and looked at the clothes on the bed. “You bring much cloth for Joss.” His ears flattened. “She says I cannot accompany her on her first date to observe human sexual courting behaviour.”
“Not on the fir
st date or any date,” I said firmly, ignoring Lisa’s snort of laughter.
“She feels much apprehension about this first date with Kyle Sandrell,” Mav sang. “It is good that you are assisting her to be at least not totally sexless.”
I covered my face with my hands. “Think I’ll go and drown myself in the bather now.”
“While you’re in there, try those on,” Lisa said, still laughing. She pushed me towards my ensuite. “And don’t forget the shoes.” She handed me some sandals.
I stepped into the bathroom. “For the record, I am not nervous about this date,” I said loftily. I hit the sensor pad, closing the door. My reflection stared at me from the far mirror. “Not one bit,” I told it. It nodded.
Eight clothes changes later, we had a winner. I stepped out of the bathroom in a crisp fitted white shirt with thin stripes of blue and silver, a pair of mem-jeans that were already settling themselves around my shape, and silver sandals.
Lisa nodded. “Oh yeah, that’s it.” She stood up. “Just one thing.” She reached over and undid my top two shirt buttons, creating a deep V.
Mav walked around me, considering. “It is pleasing,” he finally announced. “However, it needs a decorative metallic neckpiece.”
Lisa and I stared at him.
“You know, he’s right,” Lisa said. “Have you got a silver necklace?”
I found a twisted silver chain and clasped it around my neck.
“So?” I asked. I changed the v-robe doors into mirror mode and looked at myself.
Lisa and Mav nodded. I smiled at them in the reflection of the mirror.
“You’re gorgeous,” Lisa said. “I’ve seen your mother reading the news tons of times, but I’ve never really noticed how much you look like her. Except she’s blonde and you’re dark, of course.”
“That’s what she ordered,” I said. “The Eurasian version of herself—wouldn’t want another blonde bombshell in the family, would we? And just enough multi-ethnicity to boost her audience numbers.”
Even I heard the bitter edge in my voice.
Firebirds Rising Page 5