Stealing Phoenix by Joss Stirling
‘Can I help you?’ the woman on the conference reception asked as I walked up to her. I hope she didn’t notice the shadows under my eyes or my unease as I mustered a smile for her benefit. She had a pile of folders and plastic badges arranged alphabetically in front of her. I let my eye drift across the selection, settling on ‘Ann Peters’. I glanced quickly over my shoulder to check no one else was behind me who might give me away.
‘Hi, I’m Ann Peters.’
She gave me a warm smile in return and handed me the badge and conference material without another word. Then again, who in their right mind would break into a meeting about—I checked the title—Modelling Climate Change? I suppressed a snort as I had an image of a bunch of science geeks floating down the catwalk wearing a range of raincoats and sunglasses.
‘The first session doesn’t start for an hour but you are welcome to go to the café or visit the exhibition in the college library.’
‘OK, thanks.’ I liked libraries; they’d always been a haven to me. Tucking the pack under my arm, I hurried off in the direction she had pointed. I was trusting that she wouldn’t remember that I’d already taken the Ann Peters badge and put the fact that it was missing down to a mistake, but just in case I worked on changing my appearance. I ducked into the Ladies and tied my hair up with a dull brown scarf. Then I put on my favourite pair of clear glass specs which gave me a studious air with their thick black frames. I’d made sure I looked very different from the day before, choosing a long-sleeved white shirt, cardigan and frumpy skirt. No earrings and thick-soled shoes completed the fashion-disaster look. As a final touch, I turned the name card round—didn’t want to bump into the real Ann with her name around my neck like an albatross. I wrote ‘Wendy Barrie’ in the slot, the first name that came to mind, following on the tail of Peters. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I thought I’d pass as a completely different person: Wendy, the ugly sister of the Cinderella who had lost her shoe.
Still, the make-up would have to go. Removing the glasses and running the water in the sink, I washed it off and dabbed my face dry with a hand towel, leaving my skin bare. Even I could see that no mascara or eyeliner made me look vulnerable and tired. I’d not slept in twenty-four hours or had so much as a sip of water for twelve. If I didn’t get this done quickly, I was going to be in no fit state to try again. I already knew the Seer was going to be disappointed with me; my target would not have had time to replace his stuff and all I could get from him today would be a wallet and a passport—that’s if I was lucky. My confidence had taken a battering. I couldn’t forget that the boy had resisted me yesterday; now he knew what to expect perhaps I’d not even get those few seconds of time-freeze. But unless I successfully stole something from him I’d die of thirst—that focused my mind like nothing else could.
Taking a deep breath to steady my fluttering nerves, I consulted the map at the front of the conference programme and headed for the library. I had no intention of looking at the exhibition but had decided it would be the best and least conspicuous place to spy on conference-goers. Finding a quiet corner in the environmental law section, I pulled a book off the shelf and propped it up in front of me, a barrier against the rest of the world. I had a good view—I could see the courtyard where the café was doing a good trade in early coffees and croissants, as well as the exhibition they were all supposed to be taking in.
My stomach rumbled, telling me I was hungry but a stranglehold on my throat warned me not to eat.
What would it be like, I wondered as I watched the students gather in the sunshine, to have such opportunities—travel, friendship, education? The couple of girls I’d spoken to on the site crossed my line of vision like gazelles on the veldt, slim and elegant. They were another species from me, superior beings unaware of just how lucky they were. There were a number of elephants too, lumbering boys who didn’t know what to do with their limbs, or how to juggle their stacks of books; I felt a bit less intimidated by them. A short Asian boy stalked through the crowd, a wading bird at the waterhole, picking up choice bits here and there. And then came the leopard, prowling into their midst with the fluid motion of the big cat, shrugging out of his backpack with a ripple of shoulders. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My target. He sat next to the gazelles, accepting a bite of croissant from the fair one. They chatted and laughed together, completely at ease in each other’s company. How did people become friends so quickly? Didn’t they know you couldn’t trust anyone? I watched from the sidelines, envious of that comfortable companionship but also suspicious. Nobody I knew behaved like that.
Coffee drunk, the three of them rose and headed in my direction, my leopard pausing briefly to say something to the wading bird. I shrank behind my book. It would be perfect if they came in here—I could get the job done with no fuss. Peeking over the top, I saw that he had left his bag behind in the charge of the Asian student. I felt a snap of annoyance; it was as if he did it on purpose to thwart me. So you aren’t making this easy for me then, big guy.
They were talking as they came in, their voices carrying in the hushed atmosphere of the library. I had already noticed that it was deserted out of term time, normal students already on holiday, and none of the others attending the conference were showing much interest in coming in from the sunshine.
My three targets circled the display boards.
‘Yves, have you rung your parents about your iPad yet?’ the dark gazelle asked, patting his arm.
Yves. So that was his name. Like Yves Saint Laurent, the fashion designer, pronounced ‘Eave’, though it was spelt with a ‘Y’.
‘Last night. But it’s OK, Jo—fortunately, it was a freebie. I’d been given it by Apple to test—the next generation.’ He had a great voice, what I thought of as a hot-chocolate tone. I could listen to him for hours, even if he were just reciting the phone book.
‘Wow.’ She gazed adoringly up at him. I had a bizarre urge to slap her out of her worshipful daze.
‘Yeah, it was supposed to be a secret.’ He shifted a step away, a little embarrassed by her full attention being on him. ‘As it got destroyed rather than stolen, that won’t bother the company so much as if the thief had gotten away with it. They might be annoyed, but not at me.’
At least that explained why the Seer might be so insistent on getting his hands on this guy’s stuff: a new model of anything by Apple would be worth a fortune.
The Scandinavian girl stopped in front of a photo of melting icebergs. ‘It was so mean of that thief—why run off with your bag and then burn it—that’s just spiteful.’
He shrugged. ‘No telling what makes someone do that. Probably on drugs, high as a kite.’
Never. I had enough problems without adding a habit to the heap.
Jo scowled. ‘But she was good at it—I didn’t even see her make the snatch. Did you, Ingrid?’
‘No. It was all very strange. Hey, look at this.’ She tugged them away to the display board at the far end. With their backs to me, I took advantage of their distraction and got up to leave, hoping I could get at his bag while he was inside.
I wandered out into the sunshine, assessing the café to see if it was suitable for one of my strikes. It didn’t take me long to decide that there were too many people and the place was overlooked by hundreds of offices. Would the old-fashioned thief method of walk-up-and-grab work? Headphones in ears, head back to enjoy the sunlight, the Asian boy was sitting over the bag like a hen on an egg. I could just imagine the hue and cry that would hound me and I was too far from the exit to be sure of making it out of the campus. I’d have to wait until they got into a more confined space. Flipping through the timetable, I spotted that they had seminars at eleven in something called ‘break-out’ rooms. I hadn’t ever had the chance to go to college but I guessed from watching TV and films that seminars were smaller than lectures. My power worked on a maximum of thirty at any one time, so that sounded my best chance.
Confident that my disguise had no one
The audience filed out of the room discussing which groups they were going to go to next.
‘I’m going to “Scientific Evidence”,’ declared Gazelle Jo pertly. ‘How about you guys? Ingrid?’
‘I’m thinking of “Human Impacts”.’ Ingrid turned hopeful eyes on Yves who had replaced his shades with a cute pair of rimless glasses.
Cute? Get a grip, Phee!
‘I’m down for “Ecosystem Impact” so see you both later, OK?’ He turned left at the corridor junction. Both girls looked upset by their wrong guesses. I nearly laughed; they were so transparent in their desire to shadow the fittest boy at the conference. Yves, for his part, didn’t seem sorry to be free for a time of their rather obvious attempts to snag him as their conference romance; I concluded that he wasn’t sure how to handle such blatant signals of female interest. Poor big good-looking guy, I smirked, as I set off on his trail.
Us Ecosystem Impacters (I had just elected myself to the group) took our places in a small room in one of the older buildings of the campus. I sat behind my target near the window. We were on the first floor with a balcony overlooking a lawn and white clock tower—a bit of nineteenth century posh on the Mile End Road. I had the reassuring glimpse of my world—that of the cars, taxis, and pedestrians—just the other side of a low white wall. I couldn’t make my move until everyone was gathered in case I was interrupted, so I slowly counted the numbers coming through the door, getting worried when we reached twenty-five. Sweat began to trickle down my spine. I had to allow for a speaker yet and we were almost at my maximum.
And then he decided to be nice.
Yves turned round and smiled. He had probably decided I was a safe female as I’d not yet asked him for his telephone number like every other girl he met.
‘Hi, um … ’ he peered at my label,‘Wendy. You just arrived today, am I right?’ A gentle, humour-filled sound that made something inside me want to purr like a contented cat.
‘Yes.’ My voice was a whisper—not my fault as I hadn’t had anything to drink for ages.
‘Any relation?’
‘Sorry?’
He flicked a pencil at my name. ‘To J. M. Barrie. You know, Peter Pan and Wendy?’
He knew that? This science genius knew that the book had first been published with both names in the title? I thought only rejects like me who haunted the obscurer corners of public libraries took an interest such arcane stuff. But he needed an answer. I couldn’t keep on gaping at him like a stranded fish.
‘Er … no. I wish.’
‘What school are you from?’ He was looking at me now as if he thought we’d met but he couldn’t quite place me.
I grabbed at the first place that came to mind. ‘Newcastle … um … School for Girls.’
‘Newcastle. That’s in northern England, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ Wendy wouldn’t say ‘yeah’. ‘Yes, not far from the border with Scotland.’
‘Never been there.’ That was a relief. The way my luck was going he would have had close family in my birthplace. ‘Going to college up there too?’
‘Um … yes.’ I grappled to think of a place he wouldn’t know. ‘Aberdeen.’
‘Oh, cool. They’ve a great Geoscience department which is doing really cutting edge stuff on petroleum extraction. Have you read their recent paper on CO2 storage?’
No. ‘Well of course. That’s why I applied. Me, Miss Geoscience. Petroleum … um … attraction is so fascinating.’ Shut up, Phee.
Yves gave me a sceptical look. ‘Extraction, you mean.’
‘Sorry, slip of the tongue. Extraction.’
He still looked dubious. ‘So what’s your course?’
‘Geoscience.’ Duh, he couldn’t catch me out that way.
‘Yeah, but within that you have to specialize, don’t you?’
I did? ‘Well, I thought I’d concentrate on the Geo bit to start with.’ That sounded dumb. ‘I mean, Geography.’ Was that a geoscience? I didn’t know.
My answer seemed to satisfy him. I felt like someone who just avoided a car crash by a last-minute braking, tyres still screeching in my head.
‘I’m taking Environmental Sciences at Berkeley in the fall, but I’ll be dipping into the Geography programme too. So we have lots in common, then.’ He turned back to face front as the teacher came in.
We did? ‘Er … yes, that’s really interesting. Berkeley.’
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘California.’
From his expectant expression I guessed I was meant to know that. ‘Absolutely. I’ve heard of it. Of course I have.’
There: I’d confirmed him in the impression that Wendy was an idiot who really shouldn’t be taking Geography as she didn’t know where to find Berkeley.
The lecturer, a young Indian woman, came to the front of the room and held up her hand, mesmerizing me with her clinking rows of bracelets. I never wore things like that because they got in the way of stealing.
‘Hello, everyone. My name is Dr Sharma. I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see so many of you have chosen this option.’
Not me: by my count, we were on thirty-two in the room. I’d never tried to hold so many at once.
‘You’ve all been chosen as you are the top science students from your colleges and schools—our brightest stars who we hope will shine for the next few decades at least. And, as you all know, Ecosystem Impacts is where the action is really going to be for any innovative scientists. Let’s start by doing a table round and finding out a little about each other.’
Let’s not. I had to stop this before she asked me. Closing my eyes, I reached out for their mental patterns. Most whirred away in cool blues and greens, images of mountains and rivers flicking through; a couple of girls had Yves’s face dreamily floating in their meadows; my target was stuck in a black and white zone, my appearance yesterday crossing with how I looked today.
Bloody hell, he was working it out, suspicion fracturing the black and white with orange flames.
‘Girl at the back—sorry, I don’t know your name—are you all right?’
I opened my eyes to find Dr Sharma was addressing me. The carefully gathered patterns scattered like sheep escaping from a fold. I nodded.
‘Good, because I usually expect to send my students to sleep after I’ve spoken for a bit, not before I even get started.’
Her audience laughed politely.
‘Yes … er … sorry,’ I said hesitantly.
‘Shall we begin then? Perhaps the student in the seat in front of you would like to introduce himself?’
Yves jolted out of his own thoughts. ‘Yes, Dr Sharma, I’d be happy to.’
I would’ve liked to listen to him but I had to do this. Stretch my mind out to gather in the threads of their thoughts, reel them in, and then …
Stop.
It worked—for a second. Someone was pushing back hard, trying to untangle himself from my trap and I didn’t have to look to find out who that was. There was no time to search his stuff; I just grabbed his bag and ran, stumbling over the legs of the boy opposite stretched out in the aisle.
How can you? The protest sliced into my mind like an ice pick. I crashed into the door, holding my head in my hands. My whole body was ringing with the telepathic message, unlike anything I?
My connection to the mental patterns in the room fractured and everyone snapped into awareness and saw me crouched at the exit.
‘How did … ?’ Dr Sharma swung her head between my chair and the door in confusion. To her senses it would have appeared that I leapt the gap like some superhero.
Yves did not bother to gape like the rest. He vaulted over his desk in pursuit. Shocked back into motion, I slammed out of the room and sprinted down the corridor. What had just happened? I couldn’t outrun him so I would have to do something he wouldn’t. Darting into the next empty class, I made for the window. Only first floor. My world just a fifty metre dash away if I could get down without breaking an ankle. I ripped the window open and climbed on to the balcony, his bag slung over my shoulder. Not quick enough. A hand grabbed my calf.
Who are you? What do you want with me?
His thought-speech shivered through me. I couldn’t get my brain in gear. Go away. Just go away!
He went still, then his grip tightened on my leg as he tried to haul me back into the room. How do you do that? You … you’re different. Speak to me again.
Bugger off.
He had the gall to laugh, his whole demeanour changing from fury to a weird exhilaration. It’s you—I know it’s you!
I didn’t know who he thought I was but I wasn’t planning on staying to find out. This strange intimacy of our thought-speech was freaking me out. I kicked hard, thanking Wendy and her thick soles when I managed to get a connection with his stomach, but the bloody Yank wouldn’t let go.
Uh-uh, none of that, Wendy. He tumbled me to the floor by the window and solved the problem of me struggling by sitting on my back. ‘I’ll take that, thanks.’