Split Infinity (20 page)
Mum’s a different story; she still hasn’t managed her first jump. At first I thought she was scared, but then I started to wonder whether she was just so used to living inside time that she didn’t know how to let it go.
After a while I began to push, tell her she was ready. ‘Just go for it, Mum.’
After saying this a few times though, she snapped: ‘That’s
enough
, Coutlyn.’
Her tone was so sharp, so
final
, that I sucked in a breath. Even though I’ve been careful this time around, done everything I can to help her chill about skipping, it’s starting to happen the same as it did before.
I’m not sure if she’s going to be ready. More than anything now, we need to stop the fire from taking hold.
The day before the hearing, we meet at the climbing centre for one last run-through. All the others have done a practice base-jump already. Mason first, on purpose this time, then Echo and Amon, seasoned climbers suddenly realising they can fly.
Boc has also headed out of the city a few times, climbing cliffs or data towers then diving off like a human bird. I don’t think anything could stop him. But now that the application hearing is so close even he seems to have eased off, focused on helping us prepare.
We’re packing up after my final run-through when Boc makes his way over to me.
‘You’re the only one who hasn’t tried a base-jump,’ he says.
As if that’s somehow news. I glance at the door. All the others have gone. ‘Yeah, well. There’s a reason for that.’
‘C’mon. I get that you’re scared. But I can help.’ Boc steps in front of me as if trying to block my escape. ‘Harness the fear,
use
it.’
That makes me stop and meet him in the eye. Well, I would, but he’s at least two heads taller than me.
‘Why do you want to help me?’ I ask.
‘Because.’ Boc crosses his arms, his shoulders square.
I wait for some sort of put-down about illegals being dead weight.
‘Look,’ he begins. ‘I get why you don’t trust me. You already know what I think of illegals. But you’re willing to negotiate a fast-track of my military career anyway. And you taught me to skip. I guess I feel like … I owe you.’
The tiniest smidge of guilt creeps over me. I let my eyes travel up the height of the wall. For some reason I find myself thinking of Mum, too scared to let herself drop into a skip. She’s missing out on so much by not letting go of her fear.
‘C’mon, you don’t have to do it on your own. I’ll help you the whole way. Use a harness until you reach the top landing.’
I take a sharp breath through my nose. I imagine myself preparing for a time skip, drawing on all I’ve learnt about facing the unknown.
I let the breath out. ‘Okay.’
A fruit flan with real bananas is sitting on the bench when I get home, a pot of creamy pasta steaming on the stove.
I’m not sure what was worse: trying to hold on to the wall as I climbed when my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, or having to let go at the top. But I did it. Even with my heart hammering the whole time. Even though I almost gave up more than once, I reached the top landing and survived a base-jump.
With Boc’s coaching I managed to push down the whirlwind of fear, and hold it deep inside. It was still there, but somehow contained. And for the first time since coming back here, I’m not scared of Boc anymore.
Mum serves the pasta, our last meal before the hearing tomorrow. We’re both quiet tonight. We’ve already agreed that no matter what happens, I won’t come back here straight away. There’s a chance the authorities might watch where I go, and I can’t risk them working out I grew up in the city once they know I’m illegal. It’s as good as turning Mum in for keeping an illegal baby.
And if the application’s accepted … who knows what will happen. Do I get access to rations straight away? Will they give me a place to stay? Will they cover it in the news? It’s all so far beyond everything I ever imagined, even my excitement feels weird.
Mum and I sit in our armchairs resting our bowls in our knees. It’s the way we always eat, but the comscreen is off at least so it feels a bit more like an occasion. The pasta is warm and creamy and full of mushrooms.
Neither of us speaks as we chew. The food is good but the meal is bittersweet.
‘You okay, Mum?’ I ask after a while.
‘Yes, of course.’ She swallows and finds a smile. ‘It’s just … I was thinking –’ Her eyes glass over.
‘What?’
‘No, nothing. Just that it will be strange living without you here. If the application is accepted, I mean.’
I rest my fork in the bowl. ‘I could still apply for a room nearby, couldn’t I? We could meet up by chance, strike up a conversation and, you know, get to know each other.’ I do this jokey head-wobble. ‘Maybe we could end up as housemates in the end.’
Her eyes soften. ‘Yes, of course.’
I rest my bowl on the arm of the chair, my eyes brimming with tears. All my life she’s made space for me in a room that’s meant for one person. We’ve slept in the same bed, worn the same clothes. I grew up sharing food off her plate.
No matter how far I go from here, she’ll always be part of who I am.
I reach out a hand and place it on her forearm. ‘You’ll still be my mum, no matter what they say.’
‘I know,’ Mum says. ‘It’s okay, Coutlyn. We can never be mother and daughter officially, even if you become a citizen. I’m not upset.’ She rests her hand on top of mine. ‘Just give it your all, okay? Don’t hold back. If you’re granted citizen status … you’ll be
safe
.’
I send a silent prayer to the universe. Let her be safe, too.
‘Keep an eye on emergency alerts while I’m gone, okay? Do exactly as they say. Don’t waste any time, understand?’ I say to Mum. We have months until the fire, and if everything goes to plan, there won’t be any firestorm at all, but I want her to be ready just in case.
Her mouth lifts at the corners. ‘This again?’ I’ve been banging on about this so much, it’s turned into a joke. ‘I’m the one who gave you a million lectures about taking emergency alerts seriously, remember?’
‘Yeah, I know.’ She’s the one who gave me everything.
The courtroom is silent when I return from the first skip of the application hearing. A collective intake of air escapes from the panellists, cutting through the still room. And then, I swear I pick the exact second when the energy in the room whooshes into overdrive.
Keeping my chin down and eyes low, I reach for a waiting cotton wrap. My hair has been dyed dark, and cropped short. Even my eyelashes and eyebrows have been darkened, which was way expensive but, given the situation, essential. Even so I’m aware that my face matches one that’s on file at Karoly High. The less these government officials see of my features, the better.
One of the panel members stands and leans over the panel bench. She’s tiny, with sharp features.
‘You can do that again?’ she barks.
‘No problem.’ I reposition my feet, trying to shine confidence while my gut twists tighter. ‘How many minutes would you like?’
A whispered discussion by the panel. ‘Ten minutes, please.’
‘Okay.’ And I’m gone.
More panellists have been called in once I return. Mason explains some vague points that he already explained, before one of them asks whether it’s possible to teleport during a skip, to change locations.
Just briefly, Mason hesitates before says, ‘We’ll explain the finer details once we have a guarantee the application will be accepted. We’re open to negotiation.’
A minute of whispering from the panel leads into a nod for us to continue, so we move into the second demo of six quick jumps in a row.
At one point I glance across for a quick eyebrow lift from Kessa. Her parents are here, as are Amon and Echo’s. You can see the pride on the faces of Mason’s folks as they watch.
That’s our son
. They’re all here to support Mason, that’s the line we prepared in case anyone asks. But it helps to know they’re also here for me.
The panellists ask more questions that are simply repeats of stuff we’ve been through already. They announce a recess while they consider the verdict.
It’s difficult to think anything coherent while we wait, impossible to form more than stilted replies. Alistair keeps glancing towards the exit to the back room so I make a point of sticking by his side. Maybe if we stare at the door hard enough we can will it open together.
I have no idea how long it takes. Thirty minutes? Fifty? A lifetime? Eventually the panellists return, six in total. There’s a rush back to seats, a game of musical chairs where the stakes are life and death. I find a spot between Kessa and Alistair, my hands trapped between my thighs and eyes on the backrest in front, my body contained as well as my mind.
This is it, right now. The words about to be spoken will affect the rest of my life.
The panellist who I’m pretty sure is a High Court judge begins a speech about the resource challenges faced by the city, and how we have to be careful with every portion that’s allocated. It’s only when he pauses to say, ‘We have to be smart, and work together,’ that I allow myself a flicker of hope. A sense of a waiting future, fresh with possibility.
Finally, the High Court judge nods at one of the clerks sitting to one side. The clerk reaches for a compad and, without glancing sideways, begins reading the verdict in monotone.
There’s a whole lot of legal jargon that he reads like a shopping list. The he finishes with a single clear sentence:
‘Application for citizen status by the illegal known as Carolyn Karimi: rejected.’
T
HE WORD LANDS
like a cold stone in my stomach. Rejected. All my life I’ve been rejected by the system. Why did I let myself believe this time would be different?
Beside me, Kessa grabs at the backrest in front of her so hard that the whole row trembles. Her head twists from me to her dad.
‘Can they do that?’ she says to no-one in particular, and then to her dad, ‘How can they do that?’
Alistair rests a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, slowly increasing in pressure. His body is still, but his jaw is clenched, his red-rimmed eyes flashing anger, and something else too.
I lean close and whisper, ‘It’ll be okay.’ I don’t like seeing either of them this way. I still have the woman’s chip safe at home, a place at Karoly High. We knew this might happen.
Mason’s lawyer requests to approach the bench, and whispers urgently with the panel. Does this mean they see no value in time skipping? It’s hard getting my head around any of this. They know now that it’s possible. Did we make a huge mistake to give even that secret away?
Boc glances my way, shakes his head and hunches in to mutter with Amon and Echo again. There’s no victory in his expression, just confusion. And even though I should be devastated, I realise I’m not. At least, not as much as I thought I’d be. The outrage on all the faces around me is holding me up, keeping me from sinking too far. We’re sharing the disappointment together. They all thought I’d be granted citizen status; they all wanted me to become one of them. It counts for a lot.
At least the press gallery is empty, although that says something too. The government doesn’t want to make it public that someone applied for citizen status. If they did, they might be overrun by slimy illegals applying, right? Even that small fact reminds me how far outside the system I am.
The muttering stills and all eyes follow the lawyer as he comes back from speaking with the panel. With a slight shake of his head, he mumbles something to Mason. His meaning is clear. There’ll be no more negotiating today.
‘Let’s go.’ I stand and turn to Alistair. Don’t want to be here anymore. It’s not that bad, I tell myself. At least I still have a future thanks to the woman’s chip, even if it’s a much riskier one.
Kessa sticks close by my side, Alistair on my right, and I can’t help feeling as if their public show of support is somehow holding me up. Mason comes close and for a moment I think he’s going hug me, but then he cups the back of my neck in his palm and stares so hard into my soul that I think I might cry.
‘We’ll fix this, okay?’ His eyes are soft, but his jaw is hard.