The Rainbow Maker's Tale Page 3

  “What was that for?” Cassie laughed, regarding at me with interest.

  “The sunlight feels so good after being trapped in that little room,” I grinned back, before turning my face upward to fully capture the warm glow. It was nice to share something – even such a tiny truth about myself – with someone else. Realising this was a surprise.

  My eyes closed and I focused for a few seconds on the hot pinky-red colour of my eyelids, as they were backlit by the afternoon sun. I inhaled deeply.

  “And here’s me thinking that you love examinations… Trapped doesn’t make it sound like you enjoy them that much.”

  Cassie was teasing: throwing my own words back at me. It made me smile again.

  “That’s just the room, not the activity,” I explained, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on my face too much to turn away from it. My guard was clearly down because when a question ambushed me a moment later I repeated it aloud before I could stop myself. “Don’t you find that living here is just…” I struggled for the word, trying to tie down what the feeling I had was, “…claustrophobic sometimes?”

  As soon as the words had passed my lips I regretted them. Why would Cassie find the world as negative a place as I did? In the same instant, another thought struck me: now that I had said this aloud to someone else, I wanted to explain myself. The compulsion to do so was undeniable.

  “Even out here, I feel it sometimes.” I looked at her now, the warmth from the mirrors forgotten: I wanted to see her reaction to my feelings. “Perhaps it’s because I know that when I look up and see the sky, that it is not really the sky: there are no clouds, no stratosphere and troposphere, nothing… Just thousands of mirrors, precisely angled to follow the path of the sun as we orbit around it and recreate day and night as though we were still on Earth. It feels real, but I know that it isn’t and so that feels wrong somehow…”

  Cassie watched me closely, listening intently it seemed, as though she were truly engrossed in what I was saying. “Don’t stop,” she encouraged when I paused. The intensity of her voice was persuasive, but I felt unsure now. My earlier confidence was fading fast and revealing my thoughts unedited no longer seemed as appealing as it had a moment before.

  “Sorry – I have a tendency to waffle once I get going – you don’t need to listen to my morose views on life here,” I sighed, reining myself in. My attempt at nonchalance hit a false note and I wondered whether Cassie would notice.

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to hear you speak,” she said.

  It was obvious that she was the one who was speaking without thinking now, surprising herself as well as me I thought. Cassie blushed attractively, blood pooling beneath the soft, creamy skin of her cheeks as she struggled to explain her words, clearly trying to take back what she had just openly admitted. I suppose it was a little mean of me not to step in and save her the effort, but again I selfishly found myself enjoying her unease, hoping that it was more to do with me than it probably was.

  “What I meant is you’re normally so quiet – ”

  She sputtered to a stop and I could see her mentally revising her words before she continued. I decided it was too cruel to leave Cassie scrambling for apologies and so I turned away before she looked at me, feigning indifference to make her feel better. It was a struggle to keep the smile from my lips, but I managed it.

  We lapsed into a comfortable silence, moving through the late afternoon pedestrians meandering on the plaza, each of us preoccupied with our own thoughts. I paid little attention to the people milling around – reverting to my normal behaviour in company – with the exception that I was thinking for once. Right now, I was thinking about the pretty girl walking by my side.

  Now that I was focused, I realised that the comfortable silence was no longer so simple. Long ago, I had been told that Cassie held answers, before I really knew what the problems were. From everything I knew of her, that seemed doubtful, but at the same time, it felt a shame to waste the short time I would have with her. I wanted to know more. If I could, I’m sure I would have wanted to know everything – I always did – but that was never going to be possible. I settled for the first question that came to mind.

  “Why don’t you use automatic discourse in your exams?”

  “I don’t always use the keyboard,” she disagreed. “I was using the headset today.”

  A new wariness crept into Cassie’s eyes, and I watched her for a moment; mildly surprised that such a simple question would make her seem so on edge. I might not be good at reading body language, but I definitely got the feeling that she didn’t wanted anyone noticing her behaviour as being different. It seemed odd, and in my experience, being odd usually meant something.

  “Not for the whole exam though – what made you change?” I pressed on, looking for an answer.

  “I just like to use the keyboard for answering certain types of question.” Cassie shrugged casually, as though to convey that it was nothing.

  “What types of question?” I couldn’t harness my curiosity. Then, found myself wondering if perhaps Cassie’s reaction wasn’t wariness, but irritation. Why did I always have to know the answer to everything? I was so annoying.

  “It’s usually the longer, essay-type ones. I find it easier to arrange my thoughts in my head and then type them out, rather than trying to organise and regurgitate them simultaneously. I find myself doing that with the headset sometimes.”

  Cassie answered me – irritating as I perhaps was – and I realised that she actually seemed to enjoy responding to my odd questions. I was busy realising this, not expecting her to turn the focus back onto me.

  “What about you? I noticed you using the keyboard this afternoon – ”

  How do I answer this? Honestly?

  Well, to tell you the truth, Cassie, I was daydreaming about how – out of pretty much everyone I’ve ever met on the station – you hold a particular fascination for me, which I’ve never been able to understand. Instead of answering the exam question, I was pre-occupied with completing an in-depth assessment of the creamy appearance of your skin, but then you turned around and saw me and so I pretended to be typing, so you wouldn’t think I was weird. Or, even worse, a bit of a stalker.

  No. The truth was not an option.

  Keep it simple, I told myself. “I’ve seen you use the keyboard in the past and wondered why – just thought I’d try it.” Accompanied by a relaxed shrug, I was sure I looked the picture of casualness.

  “And?” she encouraged, her eyes widening to emphasise the question.

  “And…” I echoed her drawn out tone. “Once I got used to it, I found that it helped keep thoughts clear in my head for answering the question, especially once I was planning out more complex arguments.” I was slightly surprised to find that my excuse was not actually a lie. Perhaps using the headset wasn’t everything it was made out to be.

  “Do you enjoy history?” Cassie asked as soon as I finished answering her last question.

  I thought she seemed genuinely interested…well, honesty was fine for this one I supposed.

  “Yes, but not like you do.” I forgot myself and answered a little too honestly; my knowledge surely revealing the particular interest I paid to her likes and dislikes. Stalker, I accused myself again.

  “What do you mean?”

  Of course my odd knowledge was confusing to her – it baffled me – I tried to be dismissive, back to being casual and thinking before I spoke this time. “Nothing bad, just that I always got the impression it was one of your best subjects, along with Literary Studies...”

  Apparently Cassie accepted this simple explanation. “And yours would be Astro-engineering I take it?” she replied.

  Her familiarity with my preferences startled me; perhaps I was not quite as invisible as I thought? Don’t flatter yourself, I scoffed, you’ve come top of the class every year; she’d have to be pretty obtuse never to have noticed that! Ignoring the pragmatic voice, I spoke truthfully once more, wanting this strang
er to understand something about me – something real.

  “Engineering is probably my best subject, but I think my favourite is Biochemistry.” I told her.

  A small groan of aversion escaped Cassie’s lips and at first I thought I had said something wrong – how could I have offended her? – then I saw the expression on her face and remembered that they were probably the least popular subjects for everyone else at school, why would Cassie be any different?

  “What’s the matter? You’re good at both of them!” I laughed lightly, causing her to grimace even more.

  “I get by,” she amended. “Don’t get me wrong, I find both of them interesting, but neither of them is a natural strong point for me.”

  “You know what’s funny?” I realised suddenly, speaking my thoughts aloud as my feet froze mid-step – walking and talking seemed a little difficult for me today.

  Cassie paused too, curious once more. “What?”

  “Our parents have exactly the same jobs and had their children at the same time, but you and I are quite different.” Surely our genetically similar backgrounds and upbringings by parents working in the same professions would have generated some similarities between us? Even our basic academic preferences appeared at odds with one another…

  Cassie was regarding me with confusion, she didn’t appear to be convinced by my observation. “Why would that make us alike?” A dismissive shrug accompanied her words and I realised that she did this more than I’d ever noticed before: she repeatedly shrugged to down play her words or opinion. Was she less confident than I’d always thought?

  Pushing this observation aside, I answered her question, trying to explain myself. “Well, just that with the whole nature/nurture thing, you would have expected some similarities, but it seems we’re quite different.”

  Cassie moved off, apparently satisfied with whatever information my limited answer had given her. She had walked a few steps ahead of me before I reminded my own feet to move as well. With a couple of long strides I fell back into step beside her, content to simply walk beside her and remain silent for a while. I focused on my feet, padding along easily next to hers and lost myself in blank musings.

  The time passed far too quickly and the next thing I knew we were entering Park 17. Curling over the entrance to the park, the archway – designed in the style of heavy Victorian ironwork, but made of plastic – felt odd and contrived to me. The familiar stirrings of irritation swirled in my stomach as I noticed this.

  Crossing into the park, our footsteps made a new sound as the pathway changed from plastic to wood. It was constructed from the trunks of banana trees that were grown in the agricultural sector – its purpose purely decorative and intended to give the sense of a home none of us had ever known. I couldn’t imagine that the use of wood for this purpose was accurate: it would not have been durable enough to survive the natural elements on Earth for long, nor did it match the images I’d seen of Earth cities or settlements. As usual, the lack of authenticity aggravated me.

  Looking for a distraction from the acidic thoughts beginning to bubble in my mind, I quite gladly turned my attention back to Cassie.

  The features of her face seemed relaxed as she watched her own feet, examining the wooden pathway we were clumping along. She was still lost in her thoughts. I wondered whether she saw something different here than the frustrating artifice I did and I found myself eager to know what absorbed her thoughts so completely.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked gently, not wanting to startle her. It didn’t work and Cassie jumped at the sound of my voice. Turning abruptly towards me as though she had forgotten my presence altogether – easily done I’ll admit, given the effort I normally put into being invisible – Cassie began silently interrogating me with her eyes. In the first instance she looked apologetic, but that rapidly melted into the same unidentifiable expression I’d noted earlier. She was so confusing to me. There were questions in her eyes that I longed to understand, but it seemed she was in no hurry to make them known. The light rose that blossomed on her cheeks as she blushed at some unknown thought surprised me. Huh – that was attractive and frustrating…

  “Can I ask you something?” she finally replied, preventing me from bursting with impatience.

  I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to speak without my eagerness leaking through. She’ll think you’re completely crazy if you don’t restrain yourself, I warned sternly.

  Cassie’s face scrunched up as she concentrated – apparently searching for the words to articulate her question. For a moment I was distracted by how cute she looked when she did this, before my impatience began to leak through again.

  How hard can it be to ask a question?

  At length, Cassie found her words.

  “Do you ever feel like you miss the Earth? Even though you’ve never been there. Do you think it’s possible – or even normal – to miss something you never had?”

  Her green eyes sparkled now, inquisitive and eager to know my answer and I almost lost myself in them. I’d never had Cassie’s friendship – her attention – before now, but I knew that when I left the Family Quarter I would miss her. I would miss something I’d never had.

  But, did I feel the same way about the Earth…?

  Pulling my gaze reluctantly away from Cassie I focused blankly on the park around us, before lifting my eyes upwards as I pondered her question and considered how truthful or not I should be. Not that it matters, I reminded myself of my earlier promise: this is a one-off. You won’t need to see her after today.

  “I think it’s possible – likely even – to miss our original home. I wonder if it’s the same as the way I think about the sky: because I know it isn’t real, I find it disappointing. None of this is real – unlike Earth – and so it becomes false and you miss the reality.”

  “But, do you feel like you miss the sky?” Cassie’s insistence made it sound as though I’d answered the wrong question. “Do you miss the sky as though there had been a time when you sat beneath it to watch cloud patterns spreading over you, or marvelled at a great expanse of sapphire blue, unmarked by anything else…?”

  While I thought for another few seconds – trying to clarify what she was asking me – I couldn’t help smiling. Her tone was so endearing and wistful when she was talking about this; it made her sound like she was from another time, another world.

  “Is that funny?” she asked, sounding unsure as she noticed the expression on my face.

  No, not funny. I shook my head.

  It appeared that was not enough. Cassie’s eyes remained fixed onto mine, demolishing my defenses, and when I spoke again all I could do was be honest.

  “I was smiling because you sounded…happy or free or…something…” My voice sounded almost as wistful as hers, and I was unable to really find the words I was looking for. Nothing more came and so I rushed on without thinking. “I don’t know – when you spoke like that – you sounded like one of the romantic poets expounding on the beauty of nature asking me if I missed the hot and copper sky, the bloody sun at noon.”

  Poetry?! I instantly scoffed at myself as the words passed my lips and I had to look away from Cassie. You’re quoting poetry at this girl?

  I know…I know…I almost muttered my frustrated response aloud, but not quite. But yes, quoting poetry to someone you’ve barely ever spoken to…it was obvious I had issues – far too many to mention!

  I waited nervously. Waited for Cassie’s laughter, or confusion, or…something. There was just silence. Shocked silence?

  “I’m surprised you remember that kind of thing so well,” Cassie said at length.

  She sounded normal, perhaps even slightly impressed I thought. Even so, I couldn’t look over to meet her gaze to verify whether she had me pegged as crazy or smart.

  “So…” Cassie continued. “Do you actually miss the sky, or is it something else?”

  I smiled once more, as I became sure that I hadn’t ruined the conversation with m
y openness, and answered her new question. “It’s the reality I miss – or crave is probably a better description – I want to know what it feels like to truly be human. I want to live on the planet that created us, rather than floating around a few hundred miles away from it in space. We came from the dust of that place and I want to feel the same dust that created us beneath my feet.”

  “But there’s nothing left!” She was shocked. “When the expats came aboard the space station they were the last humans who were going to survive. The rest were…doomed!” Her voice faltered at the end, as though her initial reaction was being re-considered as she spoke.

  That was not what I had meant. I wasn’t thinking that I actually wanted to go back to the desolate Earth that our ancestors had left behind to protect us. Just that the reality of what had existed there would be natural for us to crave. If Cassie reacted so strongly to this, how would she feel about some of my more radical notions about what was and was not right about the community we lived within?

  I thought it best to appease her for now – make the most of our conversation while it lasted, as it would be the only one – and so I steered us away from this contentious topic. “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, that’s all a bit deep for a post-exam conversation, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” Cassie looked relieved that I was not going to press the issue.

  “What are you going to do with the holidays?” I enquired, opting for a nice, safe topic. It was not something I would normally be interested in – my ability to make small-talk was extremely limited – but once I’d asked the question, I realised that I might actually be interested in Cassie’s answer. Until she pulled a face that is… How did I manage to keep getting it so wrong?

  “I’ve not got any holidays. I’m going straight to my first work placement with my parents,” she revealed. “There was the option to start the rotations early if you were going for placements in the medical or engineering fields. Seeing as I had to do both, I thought it would be better to start sooner – more practice, or something like that.”

  This calmed my initial doubts that I had said the wrong thing again. Cassie was not happy with the situation, rather than me. This realisation prompted me to laugh – at myself, of course for jumping to conclusions – but then I had to disguise it as a reaction to her words. “Why the face – it can’t be that bad can it?”