Split Infinity (12 page)

Kessa starts telling me about her twin Malena, who only made it into a tech school, so I nod and listen as I watch the parents and kids in the playground. At the back of my mind I keep thinking about the way she was when I saw her in 2089, her face drawn and thin. The way she couldn’t answer with a yes when I asked if she was happy.

She finishes talking about her sister, leaning both hands on the edge of the seat and swinging her legs underneath. Kessa smiles when I glance her way.

‘Remember when we used to play shops with the polychips?’ I ask, nodding at a couple of little girls near the playground’s shop window.

‘Carrot sticks and apricot balls, right?’

Two kids race up for the same rotating swing and get into a small tug-of-war before one of them gives up and sulks away.

Kessa smiles. ‘And the swings? Acting like we couldn’t hear Mum yelling at us to give someone else a turn.’

‘But we had to wait so long to have both of them free at the same time!’ I say.

‘I know!’ A shared grin, partners in the memory. ‘The injustice, right?’

When I glance over at Kessa again her smile is sinking and threatening to fade. I know what she’s remembering. Around the time of our obsession with the swings, she asked if I wanted to do a friend link.

Automatically I cross my arms and tuck my feet under the seat, so used to hiding who I am. With no chip, of course I had to say no.

But things are different now.

I position my feet on the ground, reminding myself of the words Kessa told me not so long ago:
I wish you’d told me …

I press my lips together and check for cameras or mic towers around us. Take a breath. ‘Remember when you asked me to do a friend link when we were kids?’ I ask, testing.

Kessa nods.

‘About that …’ I’m standing on a cliff, about to jump off. The part that scares me the most is the fact that once I tell her, she won’t have the choice not to know.

I take a breath, and jump. ‘I
wanted
to do a friend link … and I would have loved to do it,’ I say quietly. ‘If I could.’

And I wait, because I’ve just shown her a door. It’s up to her to decide whether to go through.

Kessa’s eyes travel to my wrist.

‘I’ve wanted to do a friend link for a long time.’ As I talk, I lift my arm and wipe a thumb over the fake scar. It leaves a smudge.

With a gasp Kessa stands, stepping backwards and checking over each shoulder. For cameras? Or some official she can tell?

I drop my arm and press my hands between my legs, looking anywhere but Kessa.

‘But … but what about … we did a friend link on photo day? I used it to message you …’ Her voice is shrill, sort of pleading for another explanation. Anything but the harshness of the truth.

Already I’ve said too much, I can tell. Maybe this was a mistake. But it’s out now, I can’t take it back. What if she never wants to speak to me again?

‘Listen …’ I stand so that I’m facing her. ‘This is a lot to admit, I know. When I was little, my mum told me how careful I had to be. What it could mean for people if I told them. So that’s why I kept it secret. And I’m hoping that you won’t turn me in.
Asking
you not to …’

Her eyes narrow when I say that.

I can’t stand to see her thinking of me this way.
Liar. Thief. Cheat.
Especially since they carry some truth. I stole the chip. I’ve lied about who I am, and hacked my way into the select entry application for Karoly High.

But I sat the test fair and square. And I also know, more than anything, that if I’d already had access to rations, a chance to go to school, that I wouldn’t have lied. I wouldn’t have cheated. I wouldn’t be the type of person to do any of those things if I didn’t have to.

‘You might not want me to explain,’ I finish. ‘But if you do, I’ll tell you.’

She blinking fast, her jaw set hard, so I decide that’s enough. I’ve said as much as I can for now. I’ll be ready if she decides to come to me for the rest.

‘If I don’t hear from you, I’ll understand.’ I leave her standing beside the bench and walk away.

I’m halfway along the path out of the park when I hear footsteps behind me. As I turn, Kessa slows down.

She stops a distance from me, panting. ‘Listen, I’m sorry. It’s just … that was quite a bombshell. I wasn’t ready.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘And I’m …’ She arches her torso, a hand into the small of her back. ‘I’m not really sure what to say about it. I mean, it’s the mega population that’s causing such massive pressure on resources. If everyone did what your mum did –’

She trails off and her eyes go wide as she realises what she’s saying. ‘Sorry. That didn’t come out right. I mean, who am I to make that call?’

But how can anyone?
I want to ask. How can even a government make that sort of choice?

‘Anyway …’ She glances past me. ‘I just wanted to say: I won’t turn you in. I can help you, Scout. I’ll share lunch with you next year, at school. No-one has to know.’

I step closer and squeeze the top of her arm. The offer she’s just made is massive. ‘Thank you, but I’m …’ My hand drops. ‘There’s more that you need to know.’ I check over my shoulder. There’s only one way to do this.

‘Actually … do you want to come over to my place?’ Mum’s not due back from her walk until four, so we still have an hour or so.

As we catch the train home, I tell her in whispers about the woman I found in the cave. Kessa doesn’t seem surprised. The friend link we did the other day worked fine so she must have known that I found a chip. I fudge my way through an explanation about the grid, dropping hints about gaps as we walk along our street.

I swipe our door open to our room, and turn back to Kessa. ‘There’s one more thing you need to know. This is the best bit.’

On the morning of Mum’s birthday I’m up at six, ready for birthday take two. I already know how she’ll respond, so I’ve only tweaked and refined some bits. This one really will be a birthday to beat all others.

It was great fun, showing Kessa what I could do, watching the progress of emotion on Kessa’s face, from surprise to wide-eyed astonishment. The fabric of something that seemed solid in her world had just been ripped apart. She keeps messaging a bunch of questions, so I keep an eye on my compad while I quietly mix the pancake batter.

The second pancake is ready to flip when Mum’s alarm sounds. She’s barely moved, but her eyes crinkle in a smile as I carry over her tray of pancakes, a present balanced on the edge.

‘Oh … sweetheart.’ She sits up, rubbing her cheek as I pat the doona flat and position the tray in place.

‘Happy birthday, Mum!’ She’s warm with sleep as I lean in for a hug.

‘This is lovely, Scout. Thank you.’ She looks back at the present, and then up at me: ‘So, um … what first?’

‘Why don’t you have a shower? I’ll keep the pancakes warm.’

Her reply turns into a yawn, but then she says: ‘That would be lovely.’

When she comes back her hair is wet and pulled back in a bun. We sit with the tray between us on the bed, eating from the same plate like we used to when I was little. It gives me the tiniest twang about the future that’s waiting. If we can’t stop the fire we’ll be facing life on half rations again. We’re already a week into the adjusted food delivery, and the vac packs and other non-perishable food are slowly piling up in the cupboard. But there weren’t any vac packs in yesterday’s delivery. Today is to be enjoyed.

I grab her present and hold it out. ‘Happy birthday, Mum.’

‘Sweetheart, thank you.’ Inside is a big box with two layers of homemade chocolates, a mix of soft centres and hard.

Her eyes go wide and she bites a lip, pulled tight from her smile. ‘Yum. Thank you.’

‘That’s just the start.’ I pick up my compad and hold it out so she can see the credits I’ve been saving. I flip to another page that shows the total in her account.

Her mouth shapes the numbers as she adds the two amounts together. Already I’m flipping to the last page: the total we have saved. Her chip, and now mine, together.

I lifted my eyebrows. ‘These are your credits, okay? A gift from me after sharing everything your whole life. Spend them any way you like, yeah? They’re all yours.’

‘Well. Thank you, Coutlyn. That’s so thoughtful.’ She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘But we need to save every spare –’

‘No, it’s okay.’ I’m ready for this. ‘I’m not having the chip inserted in my wrist. It’s too expensive.’ And too dangerous. ‘So we don’t need to save up for a bribe. We can use those credits for something else.’

Mum’s lips part as she stares at me, as if I just read her mind. I don’t tell her that the truth is even stranger than that.

‘But it’s such a risk,’ she mutters. ‘And for the rest of your life …’

‘It’s my risk to take, right? And there are advantages too. Like accessing the underground spring in the cave during a blackout. If the chip is in my wrist I can’t get into the park after hours. And there’s always a chance the authorities will notice I’m visiting the same spot and come to investigate.’

Her silence at least is not an argument. I lean closer and take her hand in both of mine. ‘Just imagine if we don’t have to pay a bribe, right? Think about all the things you could do.’

‘Yes, I know …’ she drifts off.

‘Like maybe a new place to live? With your
own
bedroom … a
private
bathroom.’

A pause. ‘That would be nice …’ But she doesn’t pick up the game like I’d hoped.

I lean closer. ‘Okay?’

She doesn’t answer.

‘Mum?’

She looks up and there’s a moment before her eyes focus, as if only now registering I’m here. Her lips part, but no words come. All she does is push her lips together and squeeze my palm.

‘Thank you, Scout. For thinking of me. It’s the most thoughtful birthday present I’ve ever had.’

‘Really? You’re okay? It’s okay?’

‘
Really
. I mean it.’

‘So … when do we go shopping?’ I keep my tone light, trying to tease whatever secret she’s hiding out of her.

Her mouth relaxes into a wry smile. ‘Not for a while yet.’

Whatever plans she has for the credits, she’s not giving much away. But that’s okay, they’re hers now. She deserves extra credits and more. She deserves to be happy.

And I’m helping her get closer to that, one step at a time.

It’s after four on Friday when I rest my bike in the shade against the garage wall. The back of my shirt is wet when I pull off my backpack, so I stay in the shade and suck down half my water bottle.

It’s been hot every day of the two weeks since Mason and I first jumped together. Our returns have become clean and sharp, within a split second of each other and over long periods too: twenty minutes, half an hour. We even managed to synch an exact sixty minutes during a baking hot afternoon. But we’ve been planning, too. Mason contacted the Metro Fire Brigade, working out their depot locations in the north of the city and the info they need before they can respond to a fire report. We’ll be all over that when the time comes. I’m starting to think that maybe everything will be okay. It’s been good. Easy.

So easy that I’ve found myself counting down the days until tonight: the night of the blackout. Knowing what the future might bring does have advantages, after all. We’ll be alone together during those hours in lockdown, a chance to really hang out. Let us be
us
.