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Authors: Catherine Jinks
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inclined his head solemnly. ‘Whatever you say.’
‘I’ll try to be home by six,’ Saul concluded, raising his voice as Cadel’s door slammed shut. ‘You got enough money, Cadel?’
‘I’m fine.’ Though he didn’t want to appear ungracious, Cadel couldn’t help being a little brusque. He wished that Saul wouldn’t fuss so much in the presence of someone like Gazo – who, at twenty-one, was already leading a completely grown-up life, with his own job, flat and car. The car might be a bomb, and the flat might be tiny, but they were still enviable accomplishments.
Cadel, in contrast, was living the sheltered existence of a suburban teenager, receiving handouts and obeying curfews. And although he enjoyed being an ordinary kid, he didn’t necessarily want to publicise the fact. It made him look like a wimp.
‘Bye, Saul,’ he said, moving towards the kerb. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’ Not until he was well clear of Saul’s car did it head off, gathering speed; Cadel watched its receding number plate for a few seconds, then cleared his throat.
‘I doubt there’ll be any problems,’ he assured his friend. ‘If Prosper was anywhere
near
Sydney, he wouldn’t be trying to pretend he was here.’
‘Yeah. I know. That’s what your dad was saying.’ Gazo scratched his neck. ‘Still an’ all, it’s best to be on the safe side.’
‘I suppose so.’ After a moment’s hesitation, Cadel added, ‘Sonja and Judith want to meet me at Coffee on Campus before my lecture starts. Is that okay with you?’
‘Course it is.’ Gazo’s smile revealed jagged clumps of chipped, brownish teeth. His early life in England had been one of homelessness and deprivation; to escape it, he had agreed to enrol at the Axis Institute – where his disabling stench had been regarded as a blessing, rather than a curse. ‘Why
wouldn
’t it be okay?’ he asked. ‘We musta done it a million times before.’
‘Yeah, well … it’s different, now. There are security issues.’
‘Are there?’ Gazo stared at Cadel in astonishment. ‘I didn’t know that.’
Not for the first time, Cadel had the sense that he and Gazo were trying to communicate through a very thick glass wall.
‘Gazo, you’re on
bodyguard
duty.’ Cadel glanced around to check for eavesdroppers. But the footpath was empty in both directions, as far as the eye could see. ‘Wherever we go there’ll be security issues. It’s part of the job.’
‘Oh! Right.’ Gazo’s tone was apologetic. ‘I fought you was worried about that cafe, for some reason.’
‘No. Not especially.’ Shouldering his computer bag, Cadel headed down the brick-paved route to building K17. This particular road was lined with spindly saplings, parked cars and clusters of garbage bins; Cadel found himself falling back into his old habits, scanning every face and window and potential hiding place that he passed. With a sinking sense of despair, he realised that he was beginning to behave as if he were still at the Axis Institute. As if he constantly needed to watch for hidden threats.
No
, he thought.
Forget it
.
I’m not going to do this
.
Not again
. And he made a huge effort to switch off his antennae, deliberately focusing his entire attention on the spruced-up figure beside him.
‘Saul told me you were taking a week off,’ he said to Gazo, who nodded.
‘Yeah. That’s right.’
‘Is he paying you?’ Cadel wanted to know.
Gazo gave a snort. ‘Nah,’ he scoffed, as if the question were utterly ludicrous. ‘Doesn’t afta, does he? I still get me ’oliday pay.’
‘But it won’t be much fun. Spending a whole week as my babysitter.’ Cadel shook his head, trying to shake off the guilty feeling that troubled him like an importunate blowfly. ‘This doesn’t seem right,’ he went on. ‘You’re giving up your holiday for nothing. You should ask him if there’s some kind of police fund that he can dip into, for a little extra cash. There’s bound to
‘I’ll try to be home by six,’ Saul concluded, raising his voice as Cadel’s door slammed shut. ‘You got enough money, Cadel?’
‘I’m fine.’ Though he didn’t want to appear ungracious, Cadel couldn’t help being a little brusque. He wished that Saul wouldn’t fuss so much in the presence of someone like Gazo – who, at twenty-one, was already leading a completely grown-up life, with his own job, flat and car. The car might be a bomb, and the flat might be tiny, but they were still enviable accomplishments.
Cadel, in contrast, was living the sheltered existence of a suburban teenager, receiving handouts and obeying curfews. And although he enjoyed being an ordinary kid, he didn’t necessarily want to publicise the fact. It made him look like a wimp.
‘Bye, Saul,’ he said, moving towards the kerb. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’ Not until he was well clear of Saul’s car did it head off, gathering speed; Cadel watched its receding number plate for a few seconds, then cleared his throat.
‘I doubt there’ll be any problems,’ he assured his friend. ‘If Prosper was anywhere
near
Sydney, he wouldn’t be trying to pretend he was here.’
‘Yeah. I know. That’s what your dad was saying.’ Gazo scratched his neck. ‘Still an’ all, it’s best to be on the safe side.’
‘I suppose so.’ After a moment’s hesitation, Cadel added, ‘Sonja and Judith want to meet me at Coffee on Campus before my lecture starts. Is that okay with you?’
‘Course it is.’ Gazo’s smile revealed jagged clumps of chipped, brownish teeth. His early life in England had been one of homelessness and deprivation; to escape it, he had agreed to enrol at the Axis Institute – where his disabling stench had been regarded as a blessing, rather than a curse. ‘Why
wouldn
’t it be okay?’ he asked. ‘We musta done it a million times before.’
‘Yeah, well … it’s different, now. There are security issues.’
‘Are there?’ Gazo stared at Cadel in astonishment. ‘I didn’t know that.’
Not for the first time, Cadel had the sense that he and Gazo were trying to communicate through a very thick glass wall.
‘Gazo, you’re on
bodyguard
duty.’ Cadel glanced around to check for eavesdroppers. But the footpath was empty in both directions, as far as the eye could see. ‘Wherever we go there’ll be security issues. It’s part of the job.’
‘Oh! Right.’ Gazo’s tone was apologetic. ‘I fought you was worried about that cafe, for some reason.’
‘No. Not especially.’ Shouldering his computer bag, Cadel headed down the brick-paved route to building K17. This particular road was lined with spindly saplings, parked cars and clusters of garbage bins; Cadel found himself falling back into his old habits, scanning every face and window and potential hiding place that he passed. With a sinking sense of despair, he realised that he was beginning to behave as if he were still at the Axis Institute. As if he constantly needed to watch for hidden threats.
No
, he thought.
Forget it
.
I’m not going to do this
.
Not again
. And he made a huge effort to switch off his antennae, deliberately focusing his entire attention on the spruced-up figure beside him.
‘Saul told me you were taking a week off,’ he said to Gazo, who nodded.
‘Yeah. That’s right.’
‘Is he paying you?’ Cadel wanted to know.
Gazo gave a snort. ‘Nah,’ he scoffed, as if the question were utterly ludicrous. ‘Doesn’t afta, does he? I still get me ’oliday pay.’
‘But it won’t be much fun. Spending a whole week as my babysitter.’ Cadel shook his head, trying to shake off the guilty feeling that troubled him like an importunate blowfly. ‘This doesn’t seem right,’ he went on. ‘You’re giving up your holiday for nothing. You should ask him if there’s some kind of police fund that he can dip into, for a little extra cash. There’s bound to
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