And All the Stars

Chapter Seven

"Morning, kiddo."

"Tyler!" Madeleine almost dropped the phone. She settled for depositing her shoulder bag on the floor, and sitting beside it. "I’m – I’m so glad!"

His bubbling laughter enveloped her. "So am I. You didn’t sound too hot last time we spoke."

"Are you okay? Are you–?"

"Now in technicolour? Very much so. Embarking on a brave blue world, or what have you. Have you noticed the potential for a soundtrack?" he added irrelevantly. "Blue Hotel. Blue Velvet. So many songs, such a dreadful wealth of puns."

"Where are you?"

"At a hotel, just by the airport. We walked here after the stain began to show."

"Do you want me to come pick you up? I, um, found your car keys."

"Did you? Felt like a drive in the country?"

"Went out to see Mum and Dad. They’re still stuck in the house, and I took them some supplies."

Noi had driven, fast and confident, the M5 wide enough that even the occasional abandoned wreck was easily avoided. They’d stood tins and bags of rice on the front path of Madeleine’s home, and hosed them off in case they’d brought any dust with them. Then they’d hosed the house, trying to get places the recent rain would have missed.

"How dusty is it out there now? Are they going to make a dash inland?"

"The cobwebs under the eaves were tinged purple. And you can see occasional flecks of sparkle in the grass. The inner city’s the same, except more so." She sighed. "I don’t see how the uninfected could ever risk going about without face masks. Dad said he and Mum are even sleeping with a sheer curtain over them, and that until there’s been a heap more rain they’re going to stick it out in the house. No-one had time to put in supplies, though. When we went to leave, the lady over the road waved at us madly through the window, and asked us to go get nappies and tins of baby formula. Your car doesn’t have enough boot space."

"Well, I didn’t really buy it with babies in mind." He chuckled. "Who are we?"

Madeleine apologetically explained his extra house guests. "We were just off to Bondi," she added, mouthing Tyler at Noi as she stuck a puzzled head around the door. "But that can wait till I collect you."

"No, I found a car. I’ll head home tonight after taking a friend to check his family. Why in the world are you going to the beach?"

"For some Blue powers tests. We’re trying to work out exactly what Blues can do so we can avoid doing it accidentally. We’ve ended up with a lot more people going than I expected, but I guess it is kind of a critical thing to know."

Tyler didn’t respond, and she said his name, wondering if they’d been cut off.

"I’m here. I–" He paused, a completely uncharacteristic hesitation. "I can’t do that, you know. Force punches. I don’t seem to create energy, but I need it. I’m lucky I made a couple of good friends out here – they keep me on my feet."

"You need it?"

"Mm. Let’s just say I was playing quite the wrong character on Blood Mirror."

"Seriously?"

"Giant dust-spewing towers, and you balk at some mild vampiric tendencies?"

"I…guess not. That explains some of the stories going around, at least."

When Tyler rang off, Madeleine grimaced apologetically at Noi, but only said that Tyler would be in that night, since she wanted more time to think over mild vampiric tendencies. Grabbing the bag containing a portion of the lunch they’d packed, she headed down to the garage.

The Blues test session had spiralled into an event. Fisher’s discussion on BlueGreen of Madeleine’s experiences, and his plan to test and compare a range of Blues with different levels of stain, had swiftly been picked up by other Blues around the world, and multiple groups had organised to do the same thing – a couple of test sessions were already underway, and others were waiting for day wherever they were.

When the number of people wanting to join the Sydney test had risen to more than a hundred, Fisher had asked Madeleine, Noi and Emily to head to the beach a couple of hours early, to get Madeleine’s testing out of the way before too many people were around. At a little after seven in the morning it was chill with a hint of mist above the water, but the sky was a pale blue wash which promised a day worth being outside.

The apple-green Volkswagen was waiting by a white hatchback as near as possible to the centre of the massive arc of beach, six boys leaning on the railing above the esplanade. Noi pulled Tyler’s red convertible sports car in beside the hatchback, and grinned at Pan’s expression.

"That’s it, I’m riding back with Noi," Pan said. "I can’t take this any longer."

"We’ve collected about a dozen sets of keys," Noi told him. "Come back after and you can pick one out. I’ll throw in a couple of boats."

"You’re on!"

"This is Nick, and Shaun," Gavin said, nodding first at a freckled blonde boy and then a dark-skinned guy with cool mini-dreadlocks. "Part of our data collection team, and volunteer guinea pigs."

They were both Greens, and the brief discomfort that fact inspired bothered Madeleine inordinately. There was no reason to feel any different about Greens, and certainly Nick and Shaun were nothing but nice as they showed off the stain-coverage diagrams they’d created – a front, back, left and right outline of a generic person – and enthusiastically highlighted almost all of hers.

"Thanks for keeping my name out of it," Madeleine told Fisher, as Noi and Emily filled out their sheets.

He nodded absently, surveying the beach. "Another advantage to starting this early. You followed the discussion on fields versus punches?"

"Yeah." Naturally many Blues hadn’t waited for formal test sessions after his post on Subject M, and it had quickly been established that two different expressions of power were possible: punches focused and pushed out, or protective fields. Fields seemed a lot harder to create, but within an hour of the post Blues began reporting that they’d successfully paralysed themselves by surrounding themselves entirely with a field, and then trying to throw it like a punch. "Nice to know I did that ass-backward," she muttered.

"You destroyed a car with a shield," he said. "I don’t want anyone else on this beach when you try to punch. Let’s see if we can get into the lifeguard tower."

This was easily accomplished with the aid of "Noi’s Little Helper" – a small crowbar usually used to open delivery crates – and they explored the circular observation level, deciding to ignore the beach vehicles kept in a locked garage below.

Pan made a quick, efficient burglar. "Binoculars, first aid stuff – man, I keep expecting the lifeguards to show up and have a go at us."

"They might still," Nash said.

They moved down to the sand, Fisher leading Madeleine to the edge of the surf while the others waited by the stairs.

"The beach is a kilometre long, and we’re halfway, so you’ve got five hundred metres of unbroken sand in either direction," Fisher said. "We’ll do the tests right at the wave wash, so it’ll be clear each time. Do you think you can punch instead of using the shield?"

"We practiced yesterday afternoon." Madeleine pointed at a shell and focused the roil of energy inside her into the tiniest little blip, sending the shell shooting away in a spray of sand. "No more dramatic collapses for me."

Fisher smiled. "At least a softer landing here. And a better setting." He gazed down the vast stretch of beach to the rocky rise of cliffs at the south-western end, his face contemplative. After a moment his determined brows lowered in remembered anger, and he turned toward the centre of the city, but they were too low and too far for the Spire to be visible. "Go all out, " he added. "And try to keep the punch flat, scoring the surface rather than digging into the sand."

He strode back up the beach while Madeleine hooked off her sandals and hitched up that day’s maxi-dress. The damp sand felt incredible against her velvet skin, and she shivered when the water rushed up to caress her feet. The last trace of mist had already burned off, and the blues of sky and water were shifting, deepening. There were no seagulls, no voices, no cars; just the soughing of the waves.

Madeleine glanced back. They were all clustered together at the bottom of the tower stairs, more than fifty metres away, Nash and Shaun holding cameras at ready. The question of angles preoccupied her, and she eventually knelt, and cupped her hands before her knees, focused down the long, slightly curving line of surf, and poured everything inside her down through her arms, her palms, out.

THOOOOMMMMMM!!!

The noise shocked her, and she jerked. Since she’d angled a little low, gouging underground, this lifted the punch, sand exploding up for the whole of perhaps a hundred metres. The leading edge of water poured and foamed into the instant trench, and Madeleine took a deep, shuddering breath, wondering at the sudden rush of exultation.

"Damn, Maddie, I am never going to piss you off!"

Pan had run down, Noi and Shaun close behind. He was lit high with excitement, but paused to help her back to her feet and then pushed a brightly coloured stick into the ground a few metres to her right before trotting down the line of the trench with another.

"No pins and needles? Urge to imitate statues?"

"I’m fine." Breathing deeply, Madeleine took the sandals Noi held out, trying to reconcile the rush of excitement with a sick feeling in her stomach. "Like I’d run up a lot of stairs. Just…trying not to picture what would happen to any people in the way."

"If they were Blues, we think they’d auto-protect," Gavin said, coming up with the others.

"Auto-protect?" Noi repeated. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Tap me with a finger-punch and I’ll show you."

"Seriously?"

He gave her a mock-sultry look. "I know you’ll be gentle with me Noi."

"I’m immune to your lash-batting," Noi told him. "Okay, you asked for it."

Waiting till Nick and Fisher had moved out of the way, she pointed at his shoulder. Madeleine couldn’t see the punch, but she realised she was beginning to feel it happen. And she could just barely make out a visible ripple around Gavin’s shoulder as he stood, unmoved.

"Now do it again, a good solid palm-shot."

Frowning, Noi obeyed, and this time the shield was obvious, making the air around Gavin shimmer.

"It doesn’t work if you bean him with a cricket ball," Pan said, jogging up. "Not automatically anyway, though if you see one coming you can try to shield in time."

"While we just get punched," Nick said, pulling his shirt down so they could see a round, red mark above a patch of green. "Seriously cheated in the special abilities department."

"Could be we just haven’t figured it out yet," Shaun put in, looking up as he tied the end of a colourful ball of wool to the first stick. "You Blueberries can be brute force, and Greens will be the brains."

He trailed off down the beach, unreeling the ball of wool, which switched colours at regular intervals, and Pan followed him, pushing a stick into the sand at each colour change.

Madeleine’s punch had reached over one hundred and fifty metres. Her nearest rival was Gavin, managing fifty. Then Noi, Emily, Fisher and Pan, mildly indignant at measuring lowest. Madeleine spent her time on the lifeguard tower’s steps, sketching, snacking, and watching Nash, not surprised when he kept to his role as cameraman and did not test.

Pan dealt with any disappointment by playing the fool for Emily, drawing her out until she was pink-cheeked and giggling, convincing her to put her fine pale hair in a bun and calling: "Come on Tink!" as they raced along the line of sticks to confirm the length of each punch.

It wasn’t until they’d eaten a second breakfast, and Pan had led Nick and Shaun off to investigate the food opportunities of the Bondi Pavilion, that Madeleine had a chance to speak to Nash. He and Fisher had paused, as they all did eventually, to watch her sketch.

"Can I look–?" Fisher asked, pleasingly surprised and interested, and she handed the sketchpad to him, glad she’d taken the precaution of removing a couple of sheets before heading out.

Madeleine studied their faces as they turned over pages, stopping particularly at the portrait of Noi sleeping to say impressed things. Compliments were something she struggled with. Either she thought them over-effusive, a lie with ulterior motives, or she dismissed them as the opinions of people who didn’t know what they were talking about. Better than the alternative, of course, but she never expected real appreciation.

She found herself thinking about Mrs Tucker, something she hadn’t managed to do since she’d understood the amount of death a cloud of dust might bring. Mrs Tucker, who had been substitute art teacher for all of two weeks when Madeleine was in Year Ten, who had asked Madeleine to stay after class on her last day there and had mercilessly deflated an over-inflated bubble of pride, pointing out issues of composition, and Madeleine’s complete absence of backgrounds. Cutting her to bits for deliberately avoiding areas she was weak in, for acting as if she had nothing to learn.

Mrs Tucker, a scrawny, wrinkled, grey-haired woman, the wrong demographic for survival. She had given Madeleine the contact details of a talented university student willing to tutor cheaply, and left not the burgeoning art genius who had stayed back expecting praise, but a beginner, a pretender, overwhelmed by how far she had to go. Madeleine could only hope she’d been outside the dust zone.

And of course there were now new people to worry about, ones she didn’t have the luxury of ignoring – nor even wanted to. Proving Madeleine’s expectations wrong once again, Nash made several comments which showed he had a very good understanding. And Fisher – Fisher looked at her as if she had become suddenly real to him.

"I’m jealous," he said, handing the sketchbook back with a solemnity which lent the words weight. "I can’t do anything like that. It’s a revelatory skill, isn’t it?"

"Revelatory?" It wasn’t a word Madeleine associated with her work.

"You see Noi as beautiful, and when we look at these images, we realise that beauty as well."

"If we managed to miss it before now," Nash added, mouth curving.

Madeleine, suddenly very glad she’d taken out most of the sketches of Fisher, moved hastily on to another uncomfortable topic.

"I heard from my cousin before we left today. He’ll be back this evening." She pushed on through the beginning of their congratulations. "He’s a Blue, but he said that he doesn’t create energy, he needs it. That two other Blues have been keeping him alive."

She kept her gaze steadily on Nash as she spoke, and saw how his face closed.

"A revelatory skill," Fisher repeated. Rather than disturbed, he sounded almost pleased. "Also a skill which involves paying attention to people. Is your cousin returning home? We’re finding that it takes all three of us to keep Nash up – at least, without needing to frequently rest. Though he’s highly stained, which must impact on the need."

"Can Greens gives you energy as well?" Madeleine asked Nash, and flushed at the flat, accusatory note in her voice. "Is this why there’s been so many stories?"

"They can." Nash sounded resigned, then straightened, as if refusing to let himself be ashamed. "Shaun’s a good friend – he volunteered to allow me to check. It’s a different kind of energy." His candy-cream voice was grim. "And much less. If I had no other Blues around me, if I had spent the last few days surrounded only by Greens, I would now be a murderer. Or perhaps have found the courage to face the consequences of not killing."

"I’m surprised this isn’t already widely known," Madeleine said. "Though – I guess I’d…" She paused, considering how she’d instinctively wanted to hide simply the amount of her stain. "What are you going to do?"

Nash hesitated. "It makes most sense to be proactive, to clearly describe the situation and pre-empt any…less calm announcement. We’ve held back to gauge the environment at Rushcutters."

Now that most of the Greens were up and having opinions. If Madeleine was a Green, she’d probably have an opinion about Nash too. But then there was Tyler.

"Noi and I should be able to support my cousin," she said. "Though I guess he’s already managing. We’ve been working on the relocating plan, in case things get weird, and have keys to enough boats to stage a carnival. Is it okay if I tell her?"

They agreed to that, and left her considering the sketch she’d just completed: Shaun and Nash watching Pan. Would Tyler and Nash be able to feed off normal humans as well, or only Blues and Greens? Would all Blues be seen as dangerous monsters, either destructive or life-stealing?

Before long a car arrived carrying five Blues in their early twenties. More people drifted in while these were running through their tests, a trickle which became a stream, until there were hundreds, Blues and Greens, far more than anyone had expected. Someone had brought a portable stereo, there were picnic baskets, umbrellas. As the day warmed, a handful went east of the lifeguard tower to swim. Then Pan discovered that he could use a partial force field to launch himself into the air, and immediately after frantically found a way to slow his fall with another, splashing down into the surf in a minor explosion of spray.

Madeleine drew. Faces full of excitement, strain, hilarity, irritation, hope, suspicion. People who clumped together, never straying too far from their particular friends. Those who sat apart. The group around Fisher, Shaun and Nash, pontificating at each other. The handful who had decided to jump off the walkway and force shield bomb the sand, and the group who went to lecture them.

Among the small sea of strangers Madeleine spotted Finger Wharf residents, and stopped sketching to talk to Asha, and to meet Mrs Jabbour.

"It is the feeling of taking a positive step," Mrs Jabbour explained, gazing fondly at her husband and daughter as they prepared to test. "Even though we saw that you had more than enough participants, we still wanted to come, to take part."

"Saw?"

With a smile, Mrs Jabbour nodded at the railing above and behind them. "The special news broadcast. Did you not know?"

Madeleine looked, and saw two women with a professional-weight camera. Wincing, she turned away.

"We will be leaving, early tomorrow," Mrs Jabbour went on. "To the house of a cousin on the South Coast. If you and your friends wish to join us, you would be welcome."

"Aren’t the roads still closed?"

"The main roads perhaps. We will find a way."

The idea of just getting out of Sydney was tempting, but Madeleine didn’t want to go too far from her parents, and explained their situation.

"You, too, have been blessed then." Mrs Jabbour held out her hands as Faliha came bouncing up, glorying in the length of her punch. "Cherish that gift."

Like Madeleine, the Jabbours were rare in not having lost anyone from the very core of their little family. Even Madeleine’s grandparents were fine, off up in Armidale.

Reminded of Noi, Madeleine looked about and couldn’t spot her. Tucking her sketchbook into her shoulder bag, she climbed the stairs and wandered across to the Bondi Pavilion, a low, square building with galleries and a gelato shop, lockers and showers. No sign of Noi, no response to her tentative call in the toilets.

Not quite concerned, Madeleine headed back toward the beach and stood at the top of the flat series of stairs to the left of the lifeguard tower. Bondi Beach was enormous, large enough for ten thousand, let alone the few hundred clustered around its centre. Noi shouldn’t be hard to find.

Far to her left an isolated figure in a sunhat was standing at the very eastern end of the beach. Noi. Madeleine headed in her direction, and Noi must have seen her, starting back.

"I think they’re about through," Madeleine said, when she reached the older girl. "The flow of new arrivals has slowed, at any rate. Did you know it’s being broadcast?"

"Yeah. Casey and Djella, ABC Sydney’s newest – and only – roving reporters. One of them was a sound editor, and the other some kind of junior-league production assistant. They knew a heap of interesting goss. You know the home billeting thing being set up – people volunteering to take in some of the city outflow? Blues and Greens are going to be specifically excluded, no matter what the science types say about there being no sign of person to person transmission. And they want to collect any Blues and Greens who are already outside the city, and not let them stay with uninfected people. Even their own families that they’ve been staying with for the past week without any sign of passing this on."

"I guess it’s too early to be entirely certain we won’t start spewing out dust," Madeleine said, far from pleased. "It’s only going to get worse when they know there’s two types of Blues." She explained briefly about Tyler and Nash.

"Is that what’s going on with Nash?" Noi produced a low, appreciative whistle. "Just what we didn’t need. Damn, I was already looking forward to meeting your cousin. This makes him twice as interesting! Think I can talk him into biting me?"

Madeleine gave Noi a wary look, and realised she was being teased.

"People really did give you a rough time for having Tyler Vaughn as a cousin, huh?" Noi said. "I would have thought they’d be queuing up to ask you to wangle an autograph."

"Some did. But at that point I hadn’t seen Tyler for six years. We knew he’d come back to Australia, and then we spotted him guest-starring on Blood Mirror. It wasn’t until they asked him to come back as a rival love interest, and that whole you realise I’m physically male story was released that most people back home even recognised him. School got very strange after that."

She rubbed her forearm, still able to find a slight lump.

"It wasn’t the people objecting to the way he dressed who were my main problem. All his new Biggest Fans were angry at me for not producing him for some kind of show-and-tell session, and then decided to be offended that I didn’t refer to him as she."

"Tyler is Tyler," Noi murmured, repeating what had become his fan club’s catchcry.

"Yeah, this was before he gave that interview about labels, and what he identified as. I got trapped in an argument with a bunch of girls about me not being sensitive or respectful enough and, well, we were at the top of a flight of stairs. I ended up with a broken arm, Mum took me out of school for what was left of the year, and we moved to Sydney."

The two people in school she’d thought her closest friends had been in that group. None of it had been strictly intentional; it had all just escalated into stupidity. At her new school she’d almost gone out of her way to cultivate a stuck up bitch reputation, and had maintained total disinterest in socialising right up until she met Noi’s Devonshire tea.

For someone who had been so convinced friends weren’t worth it, Madeleine was aware of spending more and more time worrying about Noi. She wanted to find ways to make it easier for her, to relieve the hurt beneath her surface good humour. It was an impulse born of more than just a practical need for allies, or a change in herself to fit a new world. There were some people that you were just meant to be friends with.

"Will you tell me about your family?" she asked tentatively, and saw immediately that it was too soon, adding: "Some time?"

Noi had turned her head so the sun hat hid her face, but she nodded, and increased her pace, weaving through the clusters of people sitting on the east side of the lifeguard tower.

"Here you are!"

It was Emily, fine blonde hair tumbling out of its topknot, face strained, a waver in her voice.

"What’s up?" Noi sounded startled. "Did something happen?"

"No, I –" The girl stopped in front of them, suddenly shamefaced. "I just didn’t know where you were. I’m sorry."

Noi paused, expression quizzical, then her wry smile bloomed. "Don’t worry so much. We’re not going to run off and leave you. You must have seen that the car’s still here."

Patches of red blotched Emily’s fine skin, and she told them again she was sorry. "I just kept – I keep thinking I see those guys, and then it isn’t them. The thing is, I could have blown holes in windows just as easily as them. I could have blown holes in walls. But all I did was what they told me, and wish I could get away, and I don’t know if I could ever have stood up to them the way you did, and I feel so stupid and so angry and I just want to hit things."

"Millie the Mauler," Noi said, and tugged a lock of Emily’s hair. "Don’t forget I’m technically the responsible adult around here. I’ve had more time to practice dealing with dickheads. You’re, what, fifteen?"

"Thirteen."

"What?! You are not allowed to be thirteen and taller than me! Between you and Maddie I’m going to get a complex. But even with your unnatural stalkiness, I’ve still got your back. And you and Maddie have got mine, okay? We’re the Three Musketeers – except without swordfights. We can be dashing, and…y’know, I have absolutely no idea what the Three Musketeers did, except it involved swordfights. And hats with feathers."

"The Blue Musketeers. We can rescue people."

Emily took Noi’s hand and gave her a look of such unbounded admiration that Madeleine, a step behind them, was struck with an urgent need to get them home so she could paint them.

"Weren’t muskets guns?" Noi continued. "Why swordfights?"

Madeleine was about to suggest heading off for an artistic interlude when a woman sitting on the sand a short way ahead glanced in their direction, gaped, and sprang to her feet. She was pointing above and behind them, so of course they stopped and turned, and saw a pale ball of light dropping out of the sky toward them.

A falling star.