8 - Cello

"Wait, what does it mean to be a Spare?" I backtrack.

"I don't know," the receptionist answers moodily. "It never happened before." She touches the small communication-board next to her screen, it rings several times, a male voice answers. "Madrig, I need your help."

"Can it wait, Arla?" Madrig's voice asks from the communication-board.

"Well," Arla, our receptionist sighs and eyes us, "if you think two Undefined who share the same birthday can wait, then sure."

"What do you mean, share the same birthday?"

"I mean, according to them and the Council records, they were both born, on the 5th of April '66."

"I'm coming right now." The conversion ends with a little chirp from the communication-board.

While we're waiting for Madrig to show up, I look down at Syianne and am surprised to see her staring at me with the corners of her mouth pointing up into a small smile. "So, I guess we're like cosmic twins?" I say.

She nods.

Madrig arrives, he's another Undefined. He's rather thin and fit even though he's in his sixties, and he's as bald as an egg. He goes straight to Arla's computer and checks the matter out for himself. "Oh no," he whispers, "this is a very bad sign."

"Why?" I ask. He looks up at me as if only now noticing I'm there.

"Well," he says and I can see on his face how he's trying to find a way not to tell us something that we have every right to know. "It's complicated."

"Humour us," Syianne says dryly.

He breaths in, clearly, he's torn, but then he shakes his head, frowning. "I can't." We both open our mouths to argue, as he lifts his hand to silence us. "I'm not authorised to and I don't know for certain. Listen, this is what we're going to do." He leans over the desk toward us. "I'll set a meeting with the higher ups and they'll clear up any confusion you might be feeling, but it'll either be tonight or tomorrow morning, in the meantime, go enjoy the city a little, I mean you've come all the way from – " He looks at the screen. I see his mouth form the word Aafta and I see his eyes widen.

As he looks me up and down he notices Risa too. He's growing paler with every passing second, "A very, very bad sign," he whispers. Risa sticks her black forked tongue out at him menacingly. She's been rather clingy from the moment we've entered the Zephyr. "Have you learned how to ride it yet?"

"I can ride her?" I feel embarrassed at my ignorance.

"I suppose," he replies. "There are only two others of her kind that I know of."

"This is the biggest she gets and she doesn't fly," I offer.

"Perhaps she's still young then," he concludes.

"You've changed the subject," Syianne interrupts.

He rubs his bald head nervously. "Yes, right, so, listen." He opens a drawer in the desk, pulling out a handful of coupons. He sorts them out between his fingers. "Okay,  these will be enough to get you meals in the dinning dome, and this," he sets a voucher-ticket before us, "will give you a room and breakfast at the Lemming. That's just down the street from the front gate. Mind you, we've run out of these tickets so you two kids will just have to share a room, but I'm sure you don't mind, eh?"

I guess we both stare blankly at him, because his smile disappears momentarily. "You can have a tour of the neighbourhood today, get yourself acquainted. After dark I kindly ask that you stay at the Lemming in case I manage to get a meeting tonight. Understood?"

Both of us nod.

"Off you go." He shoos us away. We both turn to leave. "Oh wait," he says, "about this little issue, can we, perhaps, keep it between us? If anyone asks, just tell them..." he pauses, trying to think of what to say.

"We'll say that you've given us special assignments?" I suggest.

His face brightens and he nods. "Sounds about right."

We walk out of Reception and stand in the spring sunlight outside feeling bewildered.

"They didn't give us locker keys," Syianne says. "Let's go to the Lemming to put down our things." Just then, I notice her luggage — she's wearing a backpack as big as she is.

I grab her backpack's upper handle and lift it off her shoulders, it's heavy. "What did you pack? Rocks?"

"Just my clothes and stuff," she says drily, unabashed.

"Let's trade."

"What?" She seems startled. "No."

"Why are you arguing?" Compared to her backpack, my rucksack is weightless. "We're cosmic twins, you don't have to worry."

"But –" She's trying to find an excuse; I can tell she doesn't like it that I'm babying her. "It's pink," she finally says.

"I noticed. You like pink?"

She shakes her head. "I like colourful."

I can't help but laugh at the irony. We exchange bags and start making our way out of the Zephyr. "So, we drop our stuff at the Lemming, and then what?"

"And then we find a public phone."

"To call your boyfriend?" I ask unintentionally. My face flushes at my own words, the tone of voice I used was all wrong. "And your parents?" I add, trying to redeem myself. I can't call my mother now, she's probably at work. But I'm terribly curious if what Fellin said is true — will Syianne succeed to call her parents if she tries?

"Yes."

Then it happens very quickly. At the sound of running feet, I turn to see a group of about thirty people running right toward us, as we're standing in the middle of the street. Syianne lightly hops to the left, but I'm too fascinated to see so many people rushing at me that I freeze on the spot.

"OUT OF THE WAY!" yells the first man in the group. He's huge, nearly seven feet tall and about just as wide. His hand shoots forward hitting me square in the nose; I'm sent spiralling backwards, out of control, until I hit the wall. Syianne's backpack softens the fall.

The group begins to pass me, no one sparing me a glance. Blood trickles from my nose and tickles my upper lip. Cursing under my breath, I hold the bridge of my nose and tilt my head back to stop the bleeding.

They're just about past me; but then the last one of the group halts right in front of me.

"Stop," says a clear female voice that sounds almost familiar. The whole group stops immediately. I lower my head slightly – and stare.

"Who pushed this boy?" asks Risa Medrick. She's not yelling — she doesn't have to. It's as if she has a microphone in her throat, and her voice is furious. The group silently breaks apart until the first, huge lumbering man is left standing right in her line of sight. Only now I notice the blunt red tint of his Jewel.

"Jerral," she says contemptuously, "is barbarism a part of this exercise?" She says other things, he answers, but I can't hear a thing because she's even more beautiful in reality.

Trapped within that little screen at home, she was only a small portion of her true glory. I can't stop looking at how strikingly flawless her olive skin is, how her straight black hair falls in a smooth curtain down her back, the curves of her body, evident even in the unappealing Zephyr uniform. She's tall in a way that would fit perfectly inside my arms. The sun gleams off her hair, she suddenly turns her bright green eyes on me.

"Are you al – " Risa, the Alprine, hisses at Risa Medrick. The human Risa straightens, intrigued, before crouching down. My Alprine tenses, ready to spring to my defence.

"Risa, down." I say without thinking.

"What?" asks Risa.

"No, I meant, urgh, she – her name is Risa." I feel my head begin to spin with embarrassment, this can't be happening.

"My name is Risa?" her green eyes grow a shade darker as she begins losing patience.

"Alprine," I correct, feeling like I'm drowning in miscommunication. "Her name is Risa. Like yours."

And then she smiles at me, Risa Medrick's got perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth. And I don't know which direction is which. In fact, I've completely fallen off the map; I don't even remember my own name.

"Your Alprine is named after me?" She's delighted, my six-year-old stupidity has delighted her. Of course, Risa is a made-up name, Risa Medrick's real name is Rosalisa, and usually, if that's your name, you simply go by Rosa. That's why it can't be anyone but her, she knows it, I know it, there's no point denying it.

"I guess." I can't think of anything better to say, I feel completely dazed. Rockdem is a lot warmer than Aafta. At this very moment it feels smouldering.

"I feel honoured." Casually, as if we've been on speaking terms our entire lives, she reaches over and clutches my chin, tilting my head to one side, then the other, examining my nose. I feel excitement course through my body at having her touch me. Her fingers are cool against my overly hot face, I feel Risa – the Alprine Risa – bristling, but of course she doesn't move because I told her to stay down. Something feels strange though; it's like electricity that runs through my body. "It doesn't look like it's broken," she concludes quietly.

Our eyes lock and I'm not imagining it -- Risa Medrick is beckoning to me. I don't know if it's because she finds me attractive or if she just likes to be admired by me, but I don't care either, she's flirting with me.

The electricity, or whatever it is, feels pleasant at first, but then it just doesn't. It feels like my blood is on fire. My breathe catches in my throat and I can barely speak. "What are you doing to me?" I  gasp. "Stop."

She looks startled, and lets go of me quickly, her lips part in amazement. The burning stops and I release a sigh of relief. Her brow wrinkles as she searches my face, this time confused. "What's your name? Where are you going now? Have you been spoken for yet?"

I wipe away the blood from my upper lip. "We're sort of in-between."

"We?"

Syianne had been hovering by my side the entire time; Risa Medrick only notices her now. "We've been given a special assignment," she chimes in. Syianne says it so naturally I almost forget that it's my own lie she's telling.

"What special assignment?" Risa sounds suspicious.

"We don't know," Syianne answers. "They wouldn't tell us, whenever we tried to ask for details, they kept evading our questions."

"Sounds like them." I'm amazed that she bought it, but she turns to me. "What did you say your name was?"

"Cello Riles," I say.

"And yours?" She's examining Syianne's face. I'm briefly wondering if what Fellin said about the Blacks wanting young and good looking people surrounding them was true.

"Syianne Locke."

She nods and rises, she doesn't offer to help me up. "I'll be seeing both of you very soon," she says and turns, her group begins shuffling away.

"I love you, Risa Medrick!" Syianne calls after her. Risa laughs, I splutter on my own nosebleed – Syianne stole my line.