Singing the Dogstar Blues

by Alison Goodman

  ‘Okay, calling Ingrid now.’

  I wiped my palms along my jean legs. The news channel flicked off and the CommNet logo appeared. It disintegrated into Lewis’s smiling face. He’d had some beauty advice and dyed his eyebrows a lighter shade. He still looked like a ferret.

  ‘Joss, whatever have I done to deserve two calls in two days? And so late at night,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Lewis. Sorry about the time. Can I please talk to Ingrid.’

  Those awful eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Well, that was very polite. Maybe …’ he paused, his head to one side. ‘No, she’s not available.’

  I didn’t have time for his garbage.

  ‘Tell Ingrid that if she doesn’t speak to me, I won’t help her get that interview with my partner,’ I said.

  ‘Hold,’ he snapped.

  The hold logo flipped up onto the screen. I only counted three seconds before Ingrid’s too-young face appeared.

  ‘Hello, darling. Are you having a lovely birthday? Did you get your pressies?’

  She was in phoney star mode. She used to put on that voice as a joke.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ I said.

  She sighed, all drama queen.

  ‘How much do you need, sweetheart? Surely that little advance Lewis gave you hasn’t gone already?’

  ‘No, it’s not money. I just want to talk to you about something.’

  ‘Have you been thrown out of that Centre? They can’t do that you know. I have over ten per cent of their shares.’

  ‘No. No, I’m fine. I want to talk to you about my father.’

  ‘Your father?’ She frowned.

  ‘I need his clinic code number. I know you’ve got it.’

  ‘How do you know about that?’ Her voice turned from honey to plasglass.

  ‘Louise told me.’

  Ingrid flushed. The colour was uneven on her rejuved skin.

  ‘You’ve seen Louise? How is she?’

  ‘She’s fine. She said you’d bribed some nurse to get the code from the clinic. I need it.’

  Ingrid suddenly swivelled her chair around to face Lewis who was hovering in the background. She ordered him out of the room, then faced the screen again.

  ‘I don’t know what Louise has been telling you, but I don’t bribe people. Anyway, that code is useless. The clinic files were all destroyed years ago. Now, if you’ve finished accusing me, I’ve got other crimes to get on with.’

  She reached for the comm off switch.

  ‘Mum, don’t go. I really do need your help,’ I said.

  Her eyes widened. I hadn’t called her Mum for a long time.

  ‘What’s this all about, Joss?’

  ‘Can you secure this line?’

  ‘If you think it’s really necessary.’

  I nodded.

  She flicked another switch in front of her. ‘Okay, we’re clean now.’

  ‘Great. I’m going to change to keyboard for a while,’ I said.

  ‘Why? I’ve secured the link.’

  ‘But I don’t think this end is secure.’

  Ingrid raised her eyebrows. ‘Okay, I understand. Fire away.’

  I switched to the comm-text option and keyed in an edited version of the whole mess, skipping the bit about the resonance thing. Far too soon for that. When I finished, I switched back to voice. Ingrid sat for a while just swivelling the chair from side to side, biting her lower lip.

  ‘This would make good newsvid,’ she said, then waved me back into my seat. ‘I’m not serious. And don’t worry, I can be discreet. I’ll get the clinic number for you although I don’t think it will be much use.’

  She bent down, moving out of frame. When she straightened up, she was holding a box.

  ‘This is where I keep all your kid stuff,’ she said, clicking open the lid.

  She placed a heavy old-style holo unit onto the desk and turned it on. A picture of me, circa three, lit up.

  ‘Cute, hey.’ She smiled, flicked it off and put it to one side. A very worn toy rabbit appeared, Bobby-Sox, I think, and a small plastic jar full of yellowed baby teeth.

  ‘Aha.’ Ingrid slid an old piece of paper out of the box, waving it. ‘Here it is. For some reason the Newman Clinic thought hard files would be more secure than digital.’

  She lifted an eyebrow. Exaggerated comedy movement 334. I’d seen her practice it in the mirror when I was a kid.

  She read through the file, nodding every now and again.

  ‘What’s the code?’ I asked. I wanted to reach through the screen and grab it out of her hands. ‘No, don’t tell me. Just send me a hard copy.’

  She fed it through the scanner. It took a few secs longer than I could stand. I ripped it out of the machine before it finished printing the last fancy border line.

  ‘That’s his code number written on the top,’ Ingrid said, pointing to it on her copy.

  Number 8796632. Written in Ingrid’s scrawl.

  ‘I had a lot of trouble getting that number. As the client, I was only ever supposed to know his code name. Charles. I’ve always liked that name.

  ‘Anyway, after a lot of leg work, I found out his number. My source told me it was linked to a hard-file at the clinic which had his real name in it. But, by the time I got the code, they’d destroyed the files. Standard procedure they said. I was this much too late.’ She measured the time between finger and thumb.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you tried?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t want to get your hopes up too much. You used to ask who your daddy was all the time. It nearly drove me crazy.’ She packed the jar of teeth back in the box. ‘Maybe I was just being chicken.’

  Her face was hidden by the fall of her hair. She picked up the holo unit, packing it away into the box too.

  ‘Louise said you comped me because you were afraid of being alone.’

  She jerked her head up.

  ‘Louise hasn’t changed a bit, hey?’

  She laughed, roughly pulling the rabbit’s ears through her fingers.

  ‘Well, she doesn’t know everything,’ she said. ‘You don’t have a kid for a single reason. No one does anything for a single reason.’

  ‘But why did you comp me?’

  ‘That’s not an easy question, you know.’ She sighed. ‘I wanted you to have the best. I also wanted a kid to my own specifications. A bit stupid really, since all kids are up to chance. Even comps.’

  She dropped the rabbit into the box then snapped the top shut. Her hair obscured her face again as she fiddled with the lock.

  ‘When you chose him, you checked out his genes and all that, didn’t you?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course I did,’ she said. ‘I got the clinic to check out both our genes.’ She licked her lips. ‘Why? You’re not sick or something are you?’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. You come from good healthy stock.’

  She paused, her eyes flicking down the brief description of my father.

  ‘You know, this sounds silly now, but one of the reasons I chose him was Hamlet. Look, he put it down as his favourite play. I thought you could trust a man who understands the “To be or not to be” soliloquy.’

  ‘To be, or not to be — that is the question,’ I started. Ingrid joined in, her deep trained voice supporting mine.

  ‘Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them?’

  She laughed. ‘I taught you well.’

  We looked at each other, eyes not quite meeting.

  ‘I appreciate your help,’ I said awkwardly.

  ‘I know,’ she said, wrapping her arms around her body. She suddenly looked a lot smaller.

  ‘Take care of yourself,’ she said.

  ‘I will.’ She’d taught me how do that, too.

  I cut the connection, slumping back in my chair.

  The clinic file lay on the desk in front
of me. The bare bones about my father. I picked it up.

  DONOR CODE NAME: Charles. PROFESSION: scientist. EYE COLOUR: brown. SKIN: medium. HAIR: black, straight. WEIGHT: 80kg. HEIGHT: 178cm. APPEARANCE: handsome, fit. PERSONALITY: vital, confident, warm. IQ: 280 on Saraen scale. HOBBIES: reading Shakespeare’s plays (favourite — Hamlet), plays saxophone proficiently. BLOOD TYPE: A.

  Hi Dad, whoever you are. Whatever you are. Ingrid couldn’t find you. Mav couldn’t find you. Maybe a spyder would track you down.

  Are You Sure?

  Lenny was pleased to see me.

  ‘The birthday been good?’ he asked, handing me a warm sake.

  I so-soed with my hand.

  ‘Ah, who needs birthdays anyway?’ he said.

  I threw back the sake. Yeow, it was the good import.

  ‘You want another glass, or should I just give you the whole bottle?’ Lenny asked drily.

  I shook my head, waiting for the throat-burn to pass. One glass of brain-damage was enough for me.

  ‘Len, I need to get a spyder again,’ I said, when I got my voice back. ‘Actually, I want Blackwidow. Can you contact her?’

  Lenny sucked his front teeth, holding his glass up to the light.

  ‘It’s not usual,’ he said, sipping the drink carefully. ‘They’re not keen on being individually flagged. It makes it that much easier for the feds to track ’em. But I’ll see what I can do.’ He looked at me slyly. ‘Maybe you won’t need Blackwidow when you hear what I found out.’

  ‘You’ve got news about Suka?’

  He touched the side of his nose.

  ‘I told you the network would come through.’ He sipped again, watching me over the rim.

  ‘Well, come on.’

  ‘I couldn’t get a name …’ He paused, dragging it out. ‘But Suka is after an heir to some Centre shares. So, it can’t be your little alien friend.’

  My mind went into overdrive. Sunawa-Harrod had willed his forty per cent share of the Centre to Camden-Stone. Suka was after an heir to Centre shares. Put two and two together and what do you get? A contract on Joseph Camden-Stone.

  ‘Holy screte,’ I breathed.

  ‘You got an idea?’ Lenny asked.

  ‘I gotta get going.’ I slid off the bar stool. At least one of the mysteries was solved.

  ‘What about Blackwidow? You still want her?’

  I pulled the copy I’d made of the clinic file out of my pocket.

  ‘Here, if you get hold of her, ask her to find the name and any other info linked to that code number up the top. Tell her the clinic was operating about nineteen years ago, at least.’

  Lenny took the paper. I ran towards the door.

  ‘You going to pay her with kisses?’ he called out.

  ‘Can you cover me? I’ve got the money.’

  Lenny nodded, waving me away.

  Although I didn’t like Camden-Stone, I had to warn him about Suka. No one deserves to die because of some lousy shares. It was way too late to catch him at his office, but Donaldson-Hono might still be in the security hut.

  The quickest way back to the uni was through Central and out through Mall 12. I was making good time until I dodged some people clustered around a fire juggler. Straight into a No-Sun woman. We both ended up flat on our backs. Her black masked companion and I were helping her up from the pavings when I noticed a familiar face in the crowd. The steroid guy. Was it a coincidence? A paranoid freak like me doesn’t know the meaning of the word. I took off again. Big guys like him usually can’t run fast.

  He kept up with me for a few kilometres until I dropped over the railing at Mall 10 onto the lower level. That fooled him. He went spinning along the top level towards the outer malls.

  Donaldson-Hono was overseeing some security diagnostics in the security hut. He told me to wait by the lockers. The man was worried, a deep crease across his forehead. Finally he walked over to me, telling me to keep it short. I told him my conclusion.

  ‘How do you know all this?’ he asked, suspicion in every cell of his wiry little body.

  ‘I heard it on the street,’ I said.

  He snorted. ‘So, one of your delinquent friends told you, huh?’ He leaned across the counter. ‘Which one of them?’

  ‘I have to protect my sources,’ I said. ‘If you don’t believe me, don’t check it out.’

  Donaldson-Hono licked his lips.

  ‘Oh, I’ll check it out all right.’

  That’s all I needed to know.

  Back at the suite, the computer told me I had two messages.

  I flopped onto the couch.

  ‘I’m too tired to move,’ I said.

  ‘I can play them loud or if you want to see them, project a 3D against the wall in front of you.’

  3D conference projection? This place had every gizmo you could ever want.

  ‘Project.’

  I flinched when a huge Gazza appeared, a 3D mould on the wall. It was a good image too, although his skin looked a bit blue.

  ‘This is a general memo to all Centre students,’ he said primly. ‘A memorial service for Professor Sunawa-Harrod will be held on Thursday at 11 am. All students are required to attend.’

  ‘On a happier note,’ he continued, summoning up a tight smile, ‘a cocktail party to celebrate Professor Camden-Stone’s official appointment as Director of the Centre will be held in the main hall on Friday between 8 and 9 pm. This coincides with Professor Camden-Stone’s fiftieth birthday. A donation for a gift has been added to all student’s training fees. That is all.’

  Camden-Stone wasn’t wasting any time. Memorial service one day, party the next. The last thing I wanted to do was contribute to a gift for him. I’d have to lodge a protest. If I was lucky, they’d ban me from the party.

  ‘Next message,’ I said.

  A 3D Lisa appeared.

  ‘Hi, Joss. I just heard about Mavkel. I hope he’s okay. If you need any help or anything, just give me a call.’ She leaned forward, lowering her voice. ‘I think you already know Derry’s not too keen on the Chorians, so just leave your name if he answers.’ She waved, pushing her long fringe out of her eyes with her other hand.

  The projection disappeared.

  Too bad she couldn’t produce my father’s name out of a hat. That was the kind of help Mav and I needed.

  The next morning I was struggling through a chapter on time mechanics when Mav was escorted back to the suite. He looked really bad. Not a sparkle on his skin and his ears were hanging like no-wind flags. His cold wasn’t any better either. He sneezed three times as he walked in, each nose playing an off-key fanfare. Refmol was right, Mav was running out of time and I was his last chance. But the whole idea of joining made me feel sick. There were so many unknowns. And deep down I was also mad at Mav.

  ‘Hello, Joss,’ he said, padding up in front of me.

  I turned around and faced the other way. He sidestepped until he was in front of me again.

  ‘Hello, Joss.’

  I grunted, keeping my eyes on my Reader.

  He knelt, sticking his face in between me and the unit.

  ‘I know not looking at me is rude,’ he said.

  I dipped the Reader around his head, bringing it up to my face again.

  ‘I know trying to get inside my head without asking is rude,’ I said.

  He pulled away, sitting back on his rear claws.

  ‘How did you know that?’ he asked. ‘It was a secret.’

  ‘Refmol told me.’ I looked straight at him. ‘Where do you get off trying to get inside my brain without asking?’

  ‘You said you would try the thought cube but you kept not trying.’

  ‘I tried.’

  ‘Not a true try. Five of your seconds is not a true try.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have nagged me so much. Joss, try thought cube, Joss try thought cube,’ I said in a screechy sing-song voice.

  Mav’s ears were straight up and stiff. ‘You said you would try,’ he sang stubbornly.

&
nbsp; ‘Then you just bulldozed right into my brain. You hurt me.’

  ‘I hurt you? I did not know you hurt.’

  ‘Some doctor you are.’

  ‘I did not mean to hurt you, I just try to join with you.’ He touched my arm. A quick stroke. I shrugged his hand away.

  ‘You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to join. You didn’t give me choice.’

  ‘I see your truth now,’ he sang. ‘You do not want a pair.’

  ‘How am I supposed to know if I want to pair? I like being a single mind. It’s what I’m used to.’ I turned to face him. ‘I’ve got my own plans! Things like jumping back to a Rogue Henry jam session by myself.’

  Mav watched me, his ears still.

  ‘What’s going to happen if we do join, Mav? Will I still want to see Rogue? Will I still be Joss?’ I drew my knees up to my chest, circling my arms around them. ‘We don’t even know if we can join.’

  ‘You are right,’ Mav sang. ‘We do not know.’ He pushed off the ground and sat next to me on the couch. His ears were flat again.

  ‘Joss, I understand if you do not want to pair,’ he sang softly. ‘You should be one and I should be two.’

  I straightened up. ‘Don’t you dare go all martyrish on me.’

  ‘I should have died with Kelmav.’

  ‘I don’t want you to die, Mav.’ I squinted up at the ceiling. ‘It’s just that … Refmol told me about this resonance thing. It scares the hell out of me. Do you understand that?’

  ‘I understand,’ he sang. ‘I am scared of being a one.’

  He put his arm around my shoulder. The weight was comforting. We sat still, only Mav’s sniffing breaking the silence.

  ‘I’ve hired a spyder to look for my father,’ I finally said.

  ‘You hired an insect with legs in many twos?’

  I laughed. Too hard, but it was better than crying.

  ‘No, a Net spyder. Someone who can find things other people can’t. The spyder will find my Sulon.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Mav whispered.

  Good Luck

  We ended up being a couple of minutes late to our morning class because Camden-Stone stopped me for a strange chat. He was giving instructions to Vaughn at the front desk as our mini army marched through. He called me over, telling Mav and the guards to wait at the door.