Singing the Dogstar Blues

by Alison Goodman

  We were watching a rerun of the moment when Mavkel chose me as its partner. It was weird seeing a tiny version of the ceremony from Mavkel’s point of view.

  First, I saw me being mind scanned. Suddenly the four Chorian Elders jumped up and down in shock. They seemed to move in closer together, as though conferring. Then they stopped, gestured with their hands and concentrated.

  ‘Your Elders scanned me again!’ I said, recognising the stance. Mavkel nodded, its eyes flicking to me. The image wavered.

  I hadn’t realised they’d scanned me again. They must have caused that sudden pain that had nearly knocked me out. Mavkel concentrated on the cube again.

  I watched myself start to fall. Tiny Mavkel caught me. The Elders closed in, but Mavkel stretched out its other hand, commanding them to stop. Mavkel had stopped the pain. That bright white burn that had ripped through my head.

  ‘Why did they scan me again? Couldn’t they tell it was hurting me?’ I said.

  Mavkel pushed itself upright. Immediately the tiny scene disappeared, the cube fading to its original matte-black. Mavkel twitched its ears around, almost as though it was looking over its shoulder.

  ‘Joss-partner has resonance,’ Mavkel said softly. ‘The Elders searched. Too deep.’

  ‘What resonance? I don’t understand.’

  Mavkel bounced gently against its heels, sounding a clash of frustrated chords. We stared at each other. Mavkel suddenly shielded its eyes with the milky second eyelids, a shutter being slammed down. It picked up the thought cube and placed it in front of me.

  ‘The thought cube is for Joss-partner. Mavkel has learned of your custom for gift giving.’

  That drove the knife of guilt straight through my snooping little heart. I could almost hear Louise ordering me to apologise.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry about going through your things,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to find out a bit more about you.’

  ‘Mavkel learned about sorry. Sorry is not right here.’ It motioned towards the two columns.

  ‘These two are the pair. Before the fire the pair was Mavkel and Kelmav. Now it is Mavkel and Joss-partner.’ It pointed to the long box. ‘This is that which connects Mavkel and Joss-partner.’

  ‘I’m sorry I opened it up.’

  It bounced up and down gently.

  ‘No. No requirement for sorry.’ It pushed the thought cube towards me.

  ‘Try the thought cube,’ it sang. ‘Joss-partner must try the thought cube.’

  The computer interrupted.

  ‘Joss, You’ve got a comm-message from Diana Rosso-Pike. She’s the head honcho at Foreign Affairs. Sounds like she’s real excited because she won’t log off. There’s also a group of people heading this way with a master-band.’

  So, the guano had finally hit the fan.

  ‘Try the thought cube,’ Mavkel sang, pushing it up against my knees. ‘Joss-partner must try and make pictures.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear the message? I bet your Elders are on their way.’

  ‘Elders coming?’ Mavkel closed its long hand over the cube, placing it in one of its pockets. ‘Joss-partner try later.’ Its ears folded flat against its head.

  What was the deal with that cube anyway? Mavkel was acting as if it was a gram of Bliss.

  ‘It might interest you to know,’ the computer said, ‘that Professor Camden-Stone, Elders Gohjec and Jecgoh, Chanter Refmol, and Sergeant Vaughn will be coming through our front door in five seconds.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Come on, Mavkel. We’d better go and say hi.’

  ‘Refmol comes?’ it asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ the computer answered.

  Mavkel’s ears stirred. Was it in relief? From what I could tell, Chorian ears gave away their feelings. I’d have to check that theory out. It could come in useful.

  I grabbed Mavkel’s arm and pulled it out of the room. We reached the middle of the hexagon lounge room just as the door slid open.

  ‘Don’t say anything. Just act cool,’ I whispered.

  Mavkel started to shiver.

  ‘Like this?’ it asked.

  ‘No, I mean act calm.’

  Mavkel stopped shivering.

  ‘Act is your pretending. Yes?’

  I nodded.

  The posse charged into the room.

  I couldn’t understand what the Chorian Elders were screeching, but Camden-Stone came through loud and clear.

  ‘Aaronson, what do you think you’re doing?’

  Good old Joe. Blame Aaronson and nine times out of ten you’re right. But this was the tenth time and I was going to enjoy it.

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’ I asked.

  The Elders were ignoring Mavkel, but their ears were straight up in the air, stiff as plasboard. Refmol, the Chanter, seemed to be acting as some kind of intermediary.

  ‘Mavkel left without authorisation. Then we find out it’s with you. What do you think I mean?’ Camden-Stone demanded.

  Refmol leaned closer to me. His ears twitched as the Elders sang their disapproval in nasty discordant twangs.

  ‘Mavkel has disobeyed the Elders. They may remove it from the school,’ it sang softly.

  Why was Refmol telling me? I studied its face, but that was a waste of time. Carefully expressionless. The Chanter’s ears were also at a neutral half-mast.

  I had to admit, it would be bad news for me if Mavkel was removed from the Centre. This partnership was the only thing that could keep Camden-Stone off my back and me in the course. I also kind of liked the prestige of partnering the Chorian. I realised I was going to have to bite the bullet and let Camden-Stone win the round.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I said loudly to Camden-Stone. ‘It’s my fault Mavkel left without authorisation.’ The Elders stopped screeching at Refmol and turned to face us. ‘I asked Mavkel to join me earlier than scheduled.’

  Refmol raised its ears. So, I had done the right thing, although poor Mavkel looked completely confused. It opened its mouths to protest, but Refmol flipped its ears. Mavkel got the message.

  Camden-Stone nodded with satisfaction.

  ‘I thought as much,’ he said, bowing to the Elders. ‘It is the fault of Cadet Aaronson not Mavkel. Now do you see why Aaronson is not a good choice as partner? I hope you will accept my sincere apologies. Aaronson will, of course, be disciplined.’

  I’d made Camden-Stone’s day. Not only was he ‘right’, he got to punish me. His favourite leisure activity.

  Refmol stepped forward. ‘Refmol sees this new pair is eager to join.’ Refmol bowed to me. ‘Perhaps such eagerness should not be punished. This pairing is, after all, a bridge between our peoples and their knowledge.’

  The Elders sang their agreement. No wonder Mavkel liked this Refmol character. Smooth as silk. But Camden-Stone wasn’t going to give in so easily.

  ‘In our culture when one has done wrong, one must accept the consequences,’ he said, looking at me. ‘Isn’t that right, Aaronson?’

  Refmol spread out its hands. ‘As it is with our culture,’ it said. ‘However, this young pair was fulfilling the natural law. Two must join. No harm to any pair has occurred. Perhaps the young pair is correct. The time has come for them to join. The universe does not work to our time or our convenience.’

  I’d hate to debate this Refmol character. Camden-Stone knew he was on the losing team. He inclined his head.

  ‘You have persuaded me, Refmol. Cadet Aaronson and Cadet Mavkel have now officially started their partnership. This episode shall be forgotten.’

  Refmol bowed again. Mavkel’s ears had perked up a bit. We were in the clear.

  ‘The official reception for Mavkel will be during the introductory lecture tomorrow morning,’ Camden-Stone told me. ‘You should both take the opportunity to get to know one another and settle in. I believe an official introduction to the rest of the class is important. You might do well to stay here until then.’

  Translation: don’t leave this room until I’ve organised proper protectio
n for Mavkel.

  ‘Diana Rosso-Pike is still on-line,’ the computer said.

  ‘I’ll take that,’ Camden-Stone said.

  While he calmed Rosso-Pike down, Mavkel sang its apology to the Elders. They ignored it. Refmol touched my arm.

  ‘Refmol has felt the resonance,’ it sang. ‘The universe has prepared for the pairing of our peoples and Refmol is vowed to help.’

  I was getting sick of these cryptic messages. Just as I was about to ask ‘what resonance?’, Refmol was called over by Gohjec. Very convenient. If you want to be mysterious, always have someone call you away at the critical moment. That way you never have to explain yourself.

  The posse was leaving. Gohjec and Jecgoh turned away from a low bow from Mavkel. Refmol gave me a cryptic mysterious look. I nodded back. Hopefully, it was a mysterious nod. Finally they all left the suite. Mavkel and I were alone again.

  ‘That was a close call,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. My ears were heavy with their silence.’ It stroked my arm quickly. ‘Mavkel thanks Joss-partner.’

  ‘I think we should both be thanking Refmol,’ I said, moving away from its insistent hand. ‘I’m going to unpack. I’ll see you later.’

  I picked up my duffel. Mavkel followed close on my heels.

  ‘Joss-partner will try the thought cube now?’ it asked, holding the cube out on its outstretched hand.

  ‘No, not now. I want to unpack. You should too,’ I said, stepping into my room and reaching for the door sensor. ‘We can get together later.’

  Mavkel started to hum an eerie low monotone, its ears collapsing until they looked like limp pigtails. My hand found the sensor plate and the bedroom door shut between us. I leaned my forehead against the cool plasboard, slowly rolling my head until my ear was against the door. Mavkel was still humming on the other side. The lonely sound snapped at my nerves like an alarm that no one turns off.

  I reached over to the sensor pad again, but dropped my hand. I needed to block Mavkel out, to block everything out. I dumped my duffel on the bed and wormed my hand through it. Of course my harp was at the very bottom. I can screen out the world when I’m playing the blues. I just slide behind the melody until the harp sings in my head. No more spooky humming. No more unanswered questions. No more Camden-Stone. The harp just fills in all my gaps.

  I stretched out on the bed and stormed out some percussive tonguing, the fuzzy hard sound used in blues solos. I bent an A down to an A flat and let the note reverberate through my bones. It was the start of the blues duet I was writing. The whole idea was to make the two melody lines weave around each other like a Chorian harmony. I was even going to call it the Chorian Blues until that stupid group with the freckly singer stole the name for their pop song. How did it go?

  Don’t be an alien to me, baby,

  Don’t be an alien,

  Don’t be an alien to me, baby,

  Cause aliens don’t have lips.

  What a load of tox and it wasn’t even blues. Anyway, I had come up with another name: The Dogstar Blues. Not bad, if I say so myself.

  The band at the Buzz Bar said they’d give The Dogstar Blues a go when it was finished. I’d even talked Jonas, the alto sax, into playing the second harp. The only problem was that I couldn’t work out how to finish the damned thing.

  I played the trill that I thought might work as the lead-in to the final section for the first harp. It sounded good, but I needed to hear the whole song to make sure it worked. So I started from the beginning, mentally humming the second harp part to check the movement. That’s probably why I yelped when Mavkel ran into the room. It harmonised a sound that dug straight through my melodies, souring the chords. I felt like I’d been doused with cold water.

  ‘Is Joss-partner ill?’ Mavkel shrilled, its ears flat against its head. ‘Mavkel will call Refmol. Refmol will chant.’ It ran over and cupped its hands over my ears.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘For God’s sake stop patting my ears.’ I pushed its hands away.

  ‘Why does Joss-partner make healing sounds?’ Mavkel had flicked back its second eyelids to peer closely at my left ear.

  I moved my head away. ‘I’m just playing some blues.’

  ‘What are blues?’ it sang, its hands were still hovering near my ears. Mavkel didn’t give up easily.

  ‘It’s a kind of music. Here listen.’

  I played the chorus of The Dogstar Blues, ready to block Mavkel’s hands with my elbows. It wasn’t necessary. Mavkel was completely still as I played.

  ‘Ahh, this blues has many of the sounds Mavkel uses to heal minds,’ it sang as the last note faded.

  ‘You use music to heal people?’

  ‘Yes, Mavkel and Kelmav were Chanters. What do humans use music for?’

  ‘We use it for lots of things. Mostly for fun and relaxation.’

  Mavkel sat back. I didn’t need to understand ear-speak to see that it was appalled.

  ‘Then how do humans heal?’

  ‘We’ve got doctors who learn how to heal. They use drugs and surgery. Things like that.’

  ‘Doc-tors.’ Mavkel repeated the word a few times. ‘Doctors heal?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Then Mavkel and Kelmav were learning to be doc-tors.’

  ‘You were going to be a doctor?’

  ‘Yes. Mavkel and Kelmav were learning the chants until the pair became a one.’

  I wanted to ask more, but Mavkel was backing out of the room.

  ‘This is a time for apology, yes? Sorry for disturbing,’ it said. The door closed behind it.

  How come no one had told me about the Chorian’s using music as medicine? Or that Mavkel was one of their Chanter-doctors? I felt like I was picking my way through a VR maze without the help icon. I tapped out my harp and slipped it back into its case. Maybe there was more information on that Reader I’d downloaded. I pulled it out of my duffel bag. Time to start studying.

  New Friends, Old Enemies

  The next morning I was whacked. Serves me right for reading until four. But I did find some very interesting articles and interviews about Camden-Stone and Sunawa-Harrod.

  The first thing I came across was a twenty-year-old Netnews article that reported a terrible explosion at the university. A young post-grad student, Joseph Camden-Stone, was critically injured during an experiment. His friend, Daniel Sunawa-Harrod, pulled him from the inferno and saved his life. Camden-Stone was reported to be in a critical condition with massive face and head injuries.

  Maybe that explains Camden-Stone’s strange mouth. Total reconstruction.

  Then came thirty articles about how Daniel Sunawa-Harrod returned to the scene of the accident and discovered the time-continuum field. About fifty more articles reported his Nobel-Takahini Prize and his directorship of the new Centre for Neo-Historical Studies. I skipped most of them since I’d had the history of the Centre drummed into me during the intro courses.

  Then I opened the most interesting file. It was a three part vid-interview with Sunawa-Harrod, dated fifteen years ago.

  The interviewer was a woman named Joanna Tyrell-Coombes. She looked like the prototype for Ingrid: a glossy blonde with big curves and a bigger mouth. She seemed very high profile, but I’d never heard of her before. She was sitting across from Sunawa-Harrod in some director’s idea of a ‘serious science’ lounge suite.

  Sunawa-Harrod looked a lot younger than his holo picture. He was kind of tired, but still exuded energy and confidence on the small reader screen. Most of the interview was pretty boring except for one strange moment when Sunawa-Harrod lied.

  ‘Of course,’ Joanna Tyrrell-Coombes said, ‘it was that awful accident involving Joseph Camden-Stone that resulted in you discovering the time-continuum field.’

  Sunawa-Harrod nodded. Wary. ‘Yes, one of my fusion reaction experiments went wrong.’

  Joanna leaned forward. Her smile was in place, but her eyes were ripping his throat out. I’d seen Ingrid in the same pose when she thought she had someo
ne pinned down.

  ‘Your experiment? My sources suggest that it was Dr Camden-Stone’s experiment that resulted in the explosion.’

  Sunawa-Harrod’s eyes flickered for a second. He shifted his feet on the plush carpet. Ingrid used to say that if they fidget their feet, they’re talking screte.

  ‘No,’ Sunawa-Harrod said. ‘I was conducting the experiment. Poor Joseph was just assisting me.’

  Joanna suddenly glanced to someone offscreen. She frowned slightly then changed the subject.

  In my mind there was no doubt: Sunawa-Harrod had lied. However, it seemed to be such a small thing to lie about that I nearly dismissed it. It was lucky I decided to check out part two of the interview, screened the following week.

  Joanna Tyrrell-Coombes was gone. Replaced by some dreary man who blatantly read the questions off a vid-cue. The third interview was the same. There was no mention of what had happened to Joanna.

  So, at about half-past three in the morning, I trotted over to my console and looked it up in the archives. After that series Joanna Tyrrell-Coombe’s career went downhill fast. She never interviewed again and got stuck presenting some wildlife show. Hopefully a spyder would get back to me soon. Every bone in my body told me that something had been zelcroed tighter than a pair of cling jeans.

  I was still on my first coffee when Mavkel’s four bodyguards arrived to take us to the lecture theatre. I swear every one of them could have won Mr and Ms Hardbody. Not a bad way to travel. It took the pressure off me too since five pairs of eyes on the lookout for an assassin is better than one. Although, according to Lenny, it was a bit early for Suka to strike yet.

  The Centre for Neo-Historical Studies is the only school in the university that has no Net students. Everyone has to be on campus and most of the teaching is done by old style lectures and classes. Camden-Stone says it builds better partnerships and invokes camaraderie.

  Mavkel was very quiet. Ears low, secondary eyelids closed. It was leaning towards me, but I kept on edging away until I bumped into one of the guards. He swung his gun around out of reflex.

  ‘You’re a bit jumpy,’ I said, holding up my hands.