Split Infinity

by Thalia Kalkipsakis

  Or where she used to live. She might have moved long ago, but I know the layout well from all the hours I spent watching her family on the grid, daydreaming about how it might feel to be a citizen with two parents, a sister. And a chip. Someone with a normal life. The person I always dreamed of being.

  The communal kitchen is at the front of the house, I’m pretty sure, and Kessa used to share a tiny bedroom at the back with her twin, Malena.

  I take a couple of seconds to check for sounds from inside the house, then make my way up to the back door: the sooner I get in, the sooner I’ll be out.

  First up, I disable the speaker on the entrypad so it doesn’t beep and attract attention. Then I start a manual override. Simple.

  At least, it should be. But as soon as I punch the keys, the pad goes into alert mode: lights flashing and the words ‘access denied’. I end up ramming the cancel request fifty billion times, heart thudding in my throat, before it stops going crazy. Thank cripes the sound’s disabled.

  Holding my breath, I strain to hear in case it triggered a partner alarm inside the house.

  I’m met with only silence.

  It’s a newer system than I’m used to. No surprise. Maybe there are more illegals these days looking to break in, or perhaps more crims. Same thing, I guess. But the coding on the pad is not exactly brain surgery either, and they’d still need a manual override option in case of a blackout. They’d have to.

  That gives me an idea.

  I could pull out wires to fake a blackout, but that might trigger another alarm. Instead I try a digital block of the electricity; trick the system into behaving as if there’s a real blackout.

  It’s not easy standing out here, naked and blood-spattered with a throbbing wrist. I force myself to focus. When I trigger the bot, the whole system freezes and goes blank. I let out a groan.

  Then again, it’s worth a try. Again, I punch in a manual override and the door disengages with a pfft. It worked enough for me to slide the door open further and shuffle through the gap. I’m in.

  I can hear voices at the front of the house, but back here it’s quiet.

  There’s just a swipepad to get into the rear bedroom, no lock, so the manual override works first try. It opens with another pfft and I cringe at the sound, stepping out of sight with my back flat against the wall in case anyone is inside.

  I wait, listening, but nothing reaches me, not even the rustle of bedclothes.

  Okay. Let’s get this done.

  There’s barely space in here for the two beds. One doona is neatly pulled up and the other is half on the floor. Both empty.

  Already I’m at the drawers set into the wall, grabbing a pair of tights from the top one and wrapping it tightly around my wrist, tucking in the end. My hands land on undies, a bra …

  Jackpot. They’re a little baggy but I reckon I guessed right. These are the clothes of a teenager or twenty-something …

  There’s not much stuff in the drawers and no time to check what I’ve found, but I aim for stuff at the bottom of the piles. Less chance they’ll notice anything missing. And their favourite things are most likely at the top, right?

  It feels like longer but I estimate it’s been around a minute since I snuck in. I throw on a worn long-sleeved T-shirt and some faded jeans. Last of all I grab a pair of old runners from under a bed.

  Then I’m into the hall and shuffling through the gap in the back door. I can hear traffic noises as I make it outside; the sun is harsher and higher. I can almost feel the movement of people in flats and rooms all around. Just another day.

  Outside at the entrypad, I hesitate. Now that I have the clothes I’m tempted to bolt, but I have to be smarter than that. Use my head. Just one more minute to clean off any trace that I’ve been here.

  My fingers move fast as I trigger a reboot and clean up my dodgy coding. Not my best work. A final restart takes it back exactly the way I found it and the back door clicks shut.

  Keeping low, I sneak to the side shed before cutting across to a gate at the back fence. My hands are on the top rail when I hear movement behind me.

  The pfft of the door.

  I don’t turn around. I’m hooking one leg over the gate when someone calls: ‘Scout?’

  All air leaves my lungs. I can’t risk this, but I have to see. Awkwardly, I turn at the top of the gate, a B-grade cat burglar who’s been caught in a bad escape.

  Kessa’s frame is shadowed in the back doorway, but I know it’s her. An older version of her. She steps forward, squinting into the sunlight. ‘Scout! Is that really you?’

  Her arms are out as if she’s expecting to hug me, clear recognition in her voice, but as she comes closer her expression shifts. A couple of metres from the gate she slows as her eyes track over my face.

  It’s the strangest thing, this splice of realisation as we stare at each other, like examining old photos of someone from before you knew them: familiar but also distant.

  Except for me it’s in reverse and I’m staring at a version of Kessa that should be from my future. Her fair hair is shorter, wispier, and her face thinner but the changes are deeper than that. There’s an air of confidence about her. She’s standing taller, in more ways than just height. And once again I’m struck with the impression I so often have around Kessa: I’m glimpsing a life that could have been mine if I’d been deemed worthy of a chip. Worthy of life.

  ‘Sorry …’ It’s me who breaks the silence. ‘I …’ I lift an arm and gesture to her clothes. Hers, or maybe her twin sister’s. ‘I … I can bring them back later?’ After I make it to the stash.

  She ignores the question. ‘It really is you.’ Her voice is faint. ‘One day you were at school and the next day, you weren’t.’ And then clearer: ‘What happened, Scout? Your mum said you had to go away, but she wouldn’t say where.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Where did I go? Nowhere, exactly. Just on a shortcut to now. ‘It’s hard to explain.’ I’m tired of the lies, tired of saying words that keep her at such a distance from me.

  Again, we stare in silence. But I let her look, I want her to see. Other than blood splatters and messy hair, I look the same as when she last saw me. Years ago. And yesterday.

  ‘So, what year is this?’ I come right out and ask.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She tries to say it with a laugh.

  ‘Sorry, I … I get confused.’

  ‘Scout. It’s 2089.’ It comes out gently, as if I’m brain-damaged or something.

  So I only made it four years ahead. Four and a half, judging by the seasons. No wonder the Feds are still watching our room. ‘And you’re at uni?’ I ask, calculating. ‘What course?’

  ‘Emergency obstetrics.’

  It’s the area she always wanted to work in, but with the emergency component added. A compromise, I guess. She’s following her dreams but also paying back to the system. Contributing, like any good citizen.

  ‘And you?’ Kessa asks.

  And me. It’s a question that makes my heart slow. Right now, I’m empty inside, coming to understand how different my future will be from the one I’d hoped.

  I had to jump. It was the only way to escape, but that long jump meant I lost my place in school that I fought so hard for. Now that I’m back I’ll have to face all the ways my lost past is going to feed into my future.

  ‘Listen, Scout.’ Kessa steps forward, close now, not wary anymore. ‘I can help. Whatever’s going on …’

  Already, I’m pulling back, shaking my head. ‘No.’

  ‘Tell me. What do you need?’

  But I can’t, the risk for her is massive; she’s the one who has so much to lose. And deep down, I know that’s not the only reason. I hate the idea of her seeing me differently once she realises I’m illegal. Leaving is easier than the thought of her thinking less of me.

  I swing my leg over the gate, then step backwards onto the ground on the other side.

  ‘Wait, Scout.’ Kess comes right up to the gate, her hands on the rail where I wa
s just sitting. ‘I wish you’d told me you were in trouble. Before you disappeared, I mean. When we were in high school. I could have helped.’

  She doesn’t even know what she’s saying.

  I should go, but I’m not ready yet. I stare at the ground, trying to form words for the question within me.

  ‘Will you tell me one thing?’ I ask. I lift my gaze and find her waiting.

  She nods. ‘Anything.’

  ‘Are you … happy?’ Somehow, I need to know. It matters that she is.

  ‘Happy?’ Kessa’s nose scrunches at the question, and then her neck lengthens. ‘Well … I’m one of the lucky ones, aren’t I? A life on high-enough rations. A uni course to die for. A chance at my dream job.’ A pause. ‘Why wouldn’t I be happy?’

  But she sort of spits it out and we’re left watching each other from either side of the gate, two souls from different worlds.

  ‘Okay.’ I glance down again, feeling lost, displaced, and my eyes fall on her old runners. She’s helped me more than she realises. ‘Better go.’ I offer her a smile. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  ‘Scout, wait.’

  But I don’t. Instead I turn and make my way along the back lane without looking at her again.

  It was good to see her, but that also forced me to see how much I’ve lost, how different my future will be now that I’ve dug out the chip. My whole life has crumbled in a blink, a single time skip. But I’m not sure which is worse: the idea that Kessa has everything I’ll never have, or the fact that she didn’t answer my question with a yes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE STREETS ARE busy as I make my way to Ballarat Road. Everything looks almost the same. Hologram ads and sleeper-pod smartcars clash and clatter into my brain. It’s as if I’ve been imprinted by the way things used to be, the way they should be, and continually have to adjust slightly when I find things aged and altered: trees taller than I remember, and others that have disappeared, crumbling buildings in between new flats and old tents. I even pass a man who used to live on our street, his face weathered overnight. His eyes light up for a moment when he sees me, but instantly shadow. He must have it wrong, I haven’t aged. It couldn’t be me.

  Ahead of me a couple are pushing a pram, the opening covered with a pale brown blanket, cries bleating from within. I match my steps so that I fall in just behind them, tucking my damaged hand behind my back. If anyone happens to notice the bandaged wrist, they’re only one thought-process away from a realisation: crim.

  The couple stop to wait for the ping at the crossing point, and the man says, ‘She’s just hungry. Once she falls asleep she’ll be okay.’

  Before the woman has a chance to answer, sirens wail in the distance and my pulse quickens. Should I run, or will that draw attention I don’t need? I’m still tossing up my options in my mind when the convoy flashes past – a military truck with two support vehicles.

  They’re out of sight when the crossing point pings. The couple cross in silence, no mention of the convoy. As they reach the curb on the other side, I pick up my pace to make sure I’m across before the cars start flying again. An off-grid illegal and smartcars don’t mix.

  I’d prefer to sneak through my old gap in the park fence but I play it safe and stroll towards the front gates just like everyone else.

  The sun is strong by now, a bold light rimming the shapes of everything. The park used to be thick with so many shrubs and trees that you couldn’t see from one winding path to another, but now it’s thinned out so much that I have a clear view across.

  One of my favourite oak trees has disappeared, just a stump with a tangle of blackberry weeds growing over it. Most of the natives are woody and dry, their leaves tinged with a sickly yellow and somehow heart-rending against the fake green sheen of the polyturf.

  A bubble of relief expands inside me when I find the ghost gum still covering the entrance to the cave. It’s still mostly green, too.

  Out of habit I check out my usual danger points and find that one is covered by the blackberry weeds, a backwards kind of blessing. So much has died or disappeared in this park that more gaps have opened where people might catch sight of me heading into the entrance of the cave.

  I take my time, triple-checking that no-one is watching. Only when I’m sure it’s safe do I tiptoe through the native grasses, past the trunk of the ghost gum and into the cave.

  Water trickles in the background; the air is damp and tastes of moss. Piles of clothes are dotted on the bare earth, reminders of the people who jumped years ago: Mason and Boc, Echo and her parents. The first two escaping the Feds like me, and the others escaping a world tainted when they lost someone they loved.

  The clothes also work as reminders of which spaces I need to avoid in case anyone returns from a time jump while I’m here.

  I crawl straight to the back of the cave and drink from the underground spring, savouring the chill against my teeth, my throat.

  Now I plunge my hands in and begin to rub, washing the blood away. Cleansing myself. I strip away Kessa’s clothes as I work my way through each limb, removing every drop of blood. The pair of tights wrapped around my wrist is the only piece I don’t peel off. The throbbing has faded a bit but I don’t want to tempt the pain. That can wait until I find the first-aid kit.

  I pull on Kessa’s jeans once more, which are mostly clean, and replace the top with one of Echo’s from the vacuum-sealed bags. It’s been opened, I think, but I can’t tell if any of the clothes are missing. Echo and her folks were bunny hopping through their ten years so I’m not surprised to find some stuff has moved.

  One of the compads is gone, I’m pretty sure, so I fire up one of the only two that are left and grab a nutrition bar. They’re manufactured for calories rather than taste, but it’s just what I need. I’m licking the crumbs from the wrapper by the time the compad starts up, low on juice maybe. I make a mental note to trigger a recharge. If I can, I’ll bring in more nutrition bars too.

  The screen lights up with the date: Thursday 11 April 2089. Even though Kessa already told me, the sight of it sends a shiver down my back, a weird kind of thrill. It’s chased by a smack of disappointment.

  I’ve come back early. Mason and the others aren’t due back for years. I could jump to catch up, of course, but there’s no way I’m leaving until I work out what’s going on with Mum.

  An update was run about eight months ago, so someone’s already been back. Echo, probably. The interface of the grid looks different but it’s essentially the same: a map of the whole city with every citizen pinpointed as a single bright dot. The coding hasn’t changed and I let out a whispered ‘yesss’ as the first old hack that I try works the way it always did.

  The Feds are still after me, but I’ll have a fighting chance now I can access the grid. Only police and officials are meant to see this. When you track back over a period of time, the dots become long worms stretching back from each citizen showing where everyone is right now, and also where else they’ve ever been. Entire lives, mapped out and stored forever.

  My main focus is to find Mum, but looking at the grid I realise I’m not sure how I’m going to do that. She’s not tagged on this compad, it’s Echo’s I think, and when I bring up the building where Mum works, I can’t find anyone there at all. No dots. Maybe it’s the weekend.

  Without any idea where Mum’s living, I realise I’m not sure where to look. Names and birth certificates aren’t stored with a chip because of privacy laws, so I’ll have to search using other identifiers.

  I punch in the date from the night I jumped in 2085, and I find two dots in our room: me and Mum. It’s so familiar, the safety of home settles around me as I stare at the grid. I can still feel the burn at the back of my throat from the curry we ate for dinner. The first question in the maths assignment I was about to start was about laying tiles in a geometrical design. It’s all so fresh inside me, as if I put my life to one side for a moment and when I turned back it was gone.

  How weird
this is, being here, my timeline stretched tight like an elastic band.

  Slowly I track forwards through the evening, until three other dots make their way along the hall to our front door. One enters the room. It sends a chill down the back of my neck: the police officer sent to bring me in. I’d been so careful to hide any trace of being illegal, at least I thought I had. How did the police work out I stole the chip? Now that I have access to a compad I’ll try to find that out too, but my first priority is Mum.

  Tracking forwards on the grid I watch as my own dot retreats towards the fireplace: the point when I decided to skip ahead ten years. And now I watch, mesmerised, as my dot disappears.

  I push my lips together, remembering the fear in Mum’s eyes as she realised what I was about to do. What was it like for her in those seconds just after I’d gone?

  Watching the grid after I disappear sends a strange silence through me. It’s like looking through a window back in time. Each moment that I missed is saved here, waiting for me to see …

  But I can’t think about that now, it’ll do my head in. And there are other things to worry about first. I clear my throat, tag Mum’s dot and pull out from the night I jumped.

  Once again I bring up the current time on the grid and run a search for the tag I just added.

  No results found, it says.

  My lips part with a sharp intake of air. Please. She has to be okay. My arms are heavy, weighed down, as I start searching again. One hand fumbles on the keypad and recovers as I zoom out to track her worm over the past four and a half years.

  Straightaway I find the moment when her dot disappeared. She was in our room, only a couple of weeks after I jumped. My eyes narrow as I zoom in to the exact second when she dropped off-grid.

  One minute she’s there, and the next … not.

  Warmth from the sun outside drifts in and mixes with the cool of the cave. I shuffle sideways and settle with my back against the dirt wall. I’ve seen what happens on the grid when people die: a trip to hospital or straight to a morgue. There’s no change to the chip until it’s tagged ‘deceased’ and permanently disconnected from the grid. But that’s not what happened with Mum. It’s almost as if she time skipped, except it can’t be that. This is Mum. There’s no way she could learn that fast, straight from never jumping to skipping more than four years; she was terrified of time skipping.