Chasing Stars

Chapter 21

Sunday morning at the Peacock Feather in Lakeborough. Exactly two weeks since my first meal there. I was jittery from too much coffee and not enough sleep, so I ordered an orange juice and a plate of potato cakes to settle my stomach.

I sat in the same seat as last time, one by the window with a clear view over the streets outside. The storm had passed, but the sky was still low and threatening. A dozen paps were gathered outside the diner, attempting to film me through the window, but I knew the smoked glass would make their pictures pretty worthless. Clarence had said he would meet me at eight. By nine o’clock he would be on his way to New Marseilles to help with his father’s election campaign. By nine o’clock, Peg and I needed to be on the road too, if we were to get to the spaceport in time to clear the medical and security checks.

I checked the time on the clock by the front door: eight fifteen. I hated relying on other people, but I couldn’t do this on my own. For the hundredth time I wished I’d got round to buying a port-com; I had no way of contacting Clarence to find out why he was running late and he had no way to contact me.

The waitress brought me a plate of potato cakes – thick pancake-shaped discs flecked with browned onions and oozing with oil. I ate quickly, checking for signs of Clarence between bites. Outside, shopkeepers were pulling up the metal shutters on their storefronts and turning on the lights inside their shops.

Eight thirty. At four o’clock, when Peg had gone to bed, I’d made him set his alarm for now. Half an hour to dress, grab something to eat, convince Lyra to help us and pick me up. He’d been exhausted. What if he slept through the alarm? We couldn’t afford to lose an hour. It was a two-hour drive to New Marseilles if the roads were clear. We had to be there by noon at the latest. I should have borrowed his port-com; I could have called him to make sure.

I finished my potato cakes and pushed the dirty plate to one side. Time was moving too fast and too slow. I ordered another juice. The diner was beginning to fill. The oil had clogged the inside of my mouth, but the juice was too sweet to be refreshing. I longed for a toothbrush and toothpaste to scrub away the stale coffee taste. I wanted to shower. Most of all I wanted to sleep.

A sleek black limousine pulled up outside the window and Clarence climbed out of the back. He was wearing a pale grey suit, freshly pressed, and his hair was neatly slicked back. Dressed for the campaign trail. I checked the clock: eight fifty-five. He was nearly an hour late. The car stayed put. My guess was that Mrs Wolfe was in the back, waiting for her son before they both headed for New Marseilles.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Clarence, sliding into the seat next to me. ‘My mother made me wait for her. It’s a big day for Dad. I’ve only got a few minutes.’

‘I wanted to apologise for last night,’ I said. ‘I left you on the beach. I didn’t know what to do.’

‘I should be the one apologising,’ said Clarence. ‘I have no idea what happened. I just passed out.’

‘If I’d known it was going to rain, I would have asked someone to help me bring you inside,’ I said. ‘But I thought you’d probably just sleep it off.’

He rested his hand on my arm. ‘As soon as I get back from the campaign trail, I’ll make it up to you.’

‘That sounds great.’

‘I should go,’ he said, taking back his hand and pushing himself up.

‘Clarence, wait. I have a favour to ask you.’

He sat back down again.

‘My friend Lyra is going to the University of New Hampshire in a few weeks as a journalism major. Right now she’s interning at the Lakeborough Times and trying to write a story about the rich kids of Lakeborough.’

‘Yawn.’

My stomach twisted. ‘I know. So, last night I told Lyra about your dad’s campaign and the trip to the moon with Ryan. She’d love to be able to go along too. It would make a great story.’

‘You spoke to Lyra last night?’

‘She drove me home from the Institute.’

Clarence began inspecting his fingernails. ‘You may not know this, Eden, but Lyra Thornhill dated Orion for a year or more. Has it not occurred to you that she may still have feelings for him?’

‘It has occurred to me.’

‘You don’t mind?’

‘Ryan and I were friends. But . . . well . . . some people are a lost cause.’

A lazy smile spread slowly across his face. ‘You’re right about that. Now I really have to go.’

My throat clenched. ‘I told her you probably couldn’t make it happen.’

Clarence looked at me, his eyes blazing confidence and arrogance. ‘I could make it happen.’

‘Really? Your dad would listen to you if you asked?’

‘Of course. But why would I want to do anything to help Lyra Thornhill?’

‘Because her other idea is a bit ordinary. She was telling me she had some information about a drink-driving cover-up. Someone well known.’

He drummed his fingers on the table and frowned. ‘She said that?’

‘Yeah. But I think she’d do better to write about Ryan. I mean, his story is much more interesting. I think that if she had access to a story like that, she’d drop the other one completely.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll call my father’s personal assistant from the car and get Lyra’s name added to the passenger list. But make sure she knows I helped her out.’

‘I will.’

He leant forward and smoothed my hair. ‘If I do this for you, what are you going to do for me?’

I blinked slowly and forced myself to smile. ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘When I get back from the spaceport, I’m taking you to my family’s home in Quebec for the weekend. Just the two of us.’

‘Can’t wait,’ I said.

The wipers whipped across the windscreen, but they couldn’t keep up with the water pouring from the sky. Thunder rumbled from the other side of the mountain.

We were on the expressway just outside Lakeborough and the traffic had slowed to a crawl.

‘We get a lot of localised thunderstorms here in the mountains,’ said Peg. ‘Once we get past the rain, things will speed up a bit.’

‘How long a drive is it?’ I asked.

‘Two hours on a good day. Bad weather, traffic, it’ll take longer.’

The battery on my old phone had long since died; I had no way of knowing the time. I couldn’t see a clock on the dash.

‘It’s half nine,’ said Peg. ‘We’ll need to be at the check-in by noon. So we’re cutting it fine.’

‘We have to make it,’ I said.

Forked lightning split the sky and thunder bellowed overhead. Why couldn’t Fate just work in my favour for once? The cars ahead of us slowed down even more. There were six lanes on the expressway, but each one was solid with nose to tail traffic, crawling along at twenty kilometres an hour.

‘Can’t you just drive on the hard shoulder all the way to New Marseilles?’ I asked.

Peg pulled a face. ‘You can’t drive manually on the expressway. We just have to be patient. When the storm passes, traffic will speed up.’

‘What if it doesn’t pass in time?’ I said.

He scanned on the traffic news and we listened as the announcer reported on all the lane closures, accidents and heavy traffic in the area.

‘Do you think the weather will delay the flight?’ I asked, groping for a glimmer of hope.

He shook his head. ‘There’s no weather in space. Not the sort of weather you’re talking about, anyway. And we’ll be portalling off the planet.’

We inched forward, close to the next exit off the expressway.

‘Is there an old road? A road used before this one was built?’

Peg shrugged. ‘I suppose there might be.’

‘Have you got a map?’

He reached across me to the passenger glove compartment, pulled out his port-com and dragged a few icons across the screen. ‘Here you go.’

It was open to a page that showed our location in relation to Lakeborough. I zoomed in close and searched for smaller roads. It looked like there was one. It ran almost parallel to the highway, though it was less direct.

‘Take this exit,’ I said.

‘An old road might be longer and slower,’ said Peg. ‘If we stay on the expressway, eventually traffic should speed up.’

‘You can drive manually on the old road, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So let’s go.’

He took the exit and followed my directions to a narrow road with just one lane in each direction.

‘This road will take us all the way to New Marseilles,’ I said.

The rain was still heavy, the storm circling overhead, but there was no other traffic on the road. Peg increased his speed, hurtling round the corners and racing down the hills so rapidly I thought I was going to be sick. I focused on the small flashing dot on the map that showed where we were.

‘Was it difficult to convince Lyra to help us?’ I asked.

‘No. This story will be a real coup for her. A trainee journalist with the inside story. Orion will talk to her in a way he won’t talk to a journalist he doesn’t know.’

‘Fingers crossed that Clarence manages to sort things out at his end,’ I said.

If he did, she would be on the same ship as Ryan. She would get to speak to him and spend time with him. The thought that I might never see him again if I didn’t make this work tore at my insides.

‘Where will she meet us when she gets to the spaceport?’

‘Apparently there’s a bar that’s open to residents and visitors. She’ll meet us there as soon as she’s allowed off the ship and let us know where he’s being held.’

‘When I said goodbye to Ryan at the Institute, he asked me if you and Lyra were together yet,’ I said.

Peg glanced at me sideways, before turning back to the road. This was not the sort of road where you could afford to lose concentration, even for a moment. Especially at this speed.

‘Did he?’ It wasn’t really a question.

‘He said he wants you to ask her out.’

Peg laughed.

‘He thinks you like her. And that she likes you.’

Peg said nothing.

‘You do like her, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, I like Lyra.’

‘And he said he’s not going to be around so it wouldn’t be weird. I think he wanted you to know that.’

We rounded a corner and were met with clear blue skies. Bright sunlight glared from the wet tarmac.

‘You were right about the weather,’ I said.

‘You were right about the road.’

‘Peg?’ I said. ‘Do you think we can pull this off?’

‘Ordinarily, I’d say no. No way. You’d have to be crazy to even think it. But I have the feeling you’re gonna make it happen.’

We made it to the New Marseilles spaceport with five minutes to spare. The port was shaped like a clock: a large round central building with twelve smaller round buildings ringed around it.

‘What are they?’ I asked Peg.

‘Each one is a spacedock. Some are for freight, some are for cruise liners, some are for workers. We’re employees of the spaceport now, so we’ll get the cheap seats.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘They won’t be offering us peanuts and drinks or allowing us to unclip and enjoy the experience of weightlessness.’

My insides began swimming around as we walked through the main entrance into the terminal building. What if Ben hadn’t managed to send our papers? What if I didn’t pass the medical exam? Or clear security? I looked around me. The other passengers were a mixture of men and women, all dressed in uniforms of various styles.

‘All employees of the spaceport,’ said Peg quietly. ‘Back from shore leave probably.’

He pointed towards the Customer Services desk. ‘You go and get our papers. I’ll check in our luggage. I’ll meet you by the entrance to security, OK?’

I nodded and strode over to the desk, trying to look as though I travelled through space all the time. There was no need to be nervous. We hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet.

The assistant handed me two cards: one with Peg’s details and one with mine. Easy.

‘We go through security now,’ said Peg, ‘and then we’ll be separated for our medical exam.’

‘What sort of things do they look for in your medical?’ I asked as we joined the line for security.

‘Simple things. Cardiovascular health is the main one. They’ll also check you for any signs of infectious diseases. Check your bone density – that sort of thing.’

‘What if I don’t pass?’

‘Then we don’t get on the flight. But you’re not feeling sick, are you?’

‘Only sick with nerves.’

Peg’s fingers found mine and he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I’m kind of nervous myself,’ said Peg. ‘I’ve never been further than low Earth orbit.’

‘Is it dangerous?’

We shuffled forward in the queue.

‘It’s the safest form of travel there is. Statistically. Still, there’s something a bit unnerving knowing that you’re surrounded by the vacuum of space.’

I gripped his hand tighter. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do in an emergency.’

‘Relax. Travelling through time is much more dangerous and you survived that.’

We reached the security checkpoint. I handed over my paperwork from Ben and the flexi-card the Institute had given me when I’d arrived.

‘Eden Anfield?’ asked the emigration officer.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Says here Eden Anfield is a minor,’ said the emigration officer. ‘Sixteen years old. We’ll need authorisation from your parents for a trip into space.’

‘I’m her legal guardian,’ said Peg, handing over his port-com.

The officer looked doubtfully at Peg, but scanned through his details. ‘OK,’ he said eventually. ‘Males that way, females over there.’

‘See you on the other side,’ said Peg, finally letting go of my hand.

I was directed into a cold, curtained-off cubicle that smelt of antiseptic and metal, and told to strip down to my underwear and lie on the trolley. I folded my clothes up and placed them in a neat pile on the floor. There was nothing to cover myself up with – no gown or sheet. I sat up on the trolley in my bra and pants, my arms cradling my body to keep warm.

The curtain snapped back and a nurse came inside, pushing a small trolley filled with bottles, a stethoscope, a port-com.

‘First trip into space?’ she asked, staring at my records on her port-com.

‘Yes.’ Now didn’t seem like a good time to mention my time-trip or that Peg had taken me into low Earth orbit.

‘You will probably experience nausea for the first twenty-four hours.’ She met my eye with an unsmiling face. ‘Most people do.’

I lay shivering on the trolley as she checked my heartbeat and blood pressure, took several swabs from the inside of my nose and my throat and made me breathe into an inflatable bag.

Through the flimsy divider, I could hear other women undergoing the same procedures in the cubicles either side of me.

Finally, she handed me two plastic bags. One was empty; the other contained a bright orange outfit.

‘Put your own clothes in the empty bag and dress in the flight suit,’ she said. ‘When you’re done, leave the curtain open and go to the departure lounge.’

‘Have I passed?’

The curtain clanged as she pulled it to one side, revealing me in my underwear to the passengers waiting for their medical. ‘You’re free to fly.’

Embarrassed, I pulled the curtain shut quickly and tore the plastic wrap from the flight suit. It was a thick, tight-fitting boiler suit with a high collar that reached to just under my chin. Immediately I felt too hot. I stuffed my own clothes in the other bag and left the cubicle.

Peg was waiting for me at the entrance to the departure lounge. He was dressed the same as me.

‘Nice clash,’ he said, picking up a strand of my hair and holding it against the flight suit.

‘Why on earth would you choose orange?’ I said, looking around. ‘Anything would be better than orange.’

‘Easier to spot you in the event of a self-eject,’ he said.

‘Why would anyone self-eject?’ I couldn’t disguise the tremble in my voice.

‘If there was a problem with the ship and we had to eject, the bright orange is easier for the rescue crews to see,’ he said. ‘It’s just a health and safety thing. Don’t worry. We’ll be safe.’

‘How come we didn’t wear them when you took me up before?’

‘Strictly speaking, we should have. But it was only a quick flight and I wanted to show you a good time, not scare you to death.’

An electronic voice announced that our flight was cleared for boarding. We walked down a tunnel to the spacecraft. It was much the same as the shuttle Peg had taken me joyriding in. There were seats for fifty, laid out in wide rows just like on a bus except that the space around each seat was much greater.

‘It’s a Westland Shuttle,’ said Peg. ‘About twenty years old. These ships were designed for short distances. Utterly reliable. This one is a more recent model than the one I took you on.’

We found our seats on the back row.

‘How long will this take?’ I asked, as I strapped myself in.

‘Twenty-four hours.’

‘Really. It only took two minutes to get here from 2012.’

‘That’s because you portalled all the way,’ he said. ‘Uses a lot of fuel and is much higher risk. Like I said, we’re in the cheap seats. We’ll portal to just beyond the reach of Earth’s orbit and then cruise towards the spaceport.’

The cabin crew came round with small glass bottles. They passed me a green bottle and gave Peg a blue one. ‘Please drink all of your medicine right away,’ said the flight attendant. ‘We will be attaching helmets ready for portal in five minutes.’

‘What was that all about?’ I asked.

‘It’ll send you to sleep,’ he said. ‘When we wake up, we’ll be at the spaceport.’

‘Do we have to drink it?’

‘Yes. It’s not a cruise ship, it’s a bus. They don’t want to deal with people unstrapping to go to the toilet or experiencing motion sickness or having to feed us in a weightless environment. Much easier to send us all to sleep, strap on our helmets and go.’

Peg unscrewed his bottle and downed it in one.

‘Why do we have to wear helmets?’ I asked.

‘Safety precaution in case of eject. The cabin’s pressur­ised.’ He leant across for my bottle and untwisted the top. ‘Drink up.’

I swallowed the contents. It was a clear, sweet liquid that made my throat sting; like so many medicines it had been over-sweetened in an attempt to disguise its bitter taste.

‘Thank you for coming with me, Peg,’ I said quietly.

‘I wouldn’t have missed a trip to the spaceport for anything.’

My tongue felt thick in my mouth and my eyelids were growing heavy. ‘If we have to eject, will you hold my hand?’

‘I’ll hold it now,’ he said, his fingers intersecting mine.

‘Don’t let go.’

‘I won’t let go.’

I had a sudden desire to tell him how much his friendship meant to me, but my mouth couldn’t form the shapes, and then I was gone.