Lifespan of Starlight by Thalia Kalkipsakis Read Free Book Online

without realising, Mason writes. Sometimes
whole hours, whole days, fly past. Right? Other times, when you face a split-second
crisis, everything slows down. Your mind will slow its experience of time in order
to survive. Think about it. Our sense of time changes because we control the passage
of time within ourselves.
    I lean back, thinking it through. I’ve never heard time described this way. We control
the passage of time within ourselves.
    Soon I lean forwards and re-trigger the session. I pick up the rest of the conversation:
    That’s all very well about controlling time, Einstein, Boc says in another message. But you haven’t said anything about travelling through time. Jumping ahead like the
gap you found on the grid. That’s way different.
    Mason replies: I had trouble getting my get my head around that, too. Maybe it will
help if you think of time as a river. Okay with that?
    Sure. Okay. The river of time.
    Mason continues. Everyone thinks they’re stuck inside the present moment, being carried
along with the flow of time. But the whole river exists at once, not just the bit
you’re travelling in, right?
    Got it.
    So instead of being swept along with the river, imagine if you could freeze it. Then
you could move to a different part of the river – just pick whichever part of time
you want to be – then unfreeze the river so time starts flowing again. Only you’ve
changed where you are in it.
    Yeah, I guess. Except time isn’t really a river is it, Mase?
    No, Boc – I was making a point. Here’s the thing you need to understand: we need
to learn how to slow our sense of time to a stop. From there, you have the power
to return at any point you choose. In theory, at least.
    Fine. No problem, replies Boc. But how exactly do you plan to do that?
    Mason’s reply came back as a single word: Meditation.
----
    Alistair’s in the share kitchen when I collect our evening delivery on Saturday.
‘Agent X, reporting for duty?’ he calls slowly with his eyes still on the chopping
board.
    I dump our bag on the island bench and check out his spread of ingredients. Baby
carrots, bean shoots and a shrivelled green capsicum half. ‘What you cooking?’
    ‘Stir-fry surprise.’
    ‘What’s the surprise?’
    ‘Leftover chilli beans,’ he says, and glances up. ‘We’re in beta testing. Want some?’
    I shake my head, chin in my hands, because of course it’s rude to accept someone
else’s rations, even a five-year-old kid knows that. But I keep watching anyway.
Now that we have enough rations to cook some decent meals, I’m on the lookout for
ideas.
    We’re quiet while he chops, but that’s just how it is if you want to catch up with
Alistair. It’s a slower world where he lives, one with few words.
    ‘How long until the test?’ Alistair says after a while, still looking at the chopping
board.
    ‘Four days.’
    ‘How’d the practice tests go?’
    ‘They were okay. I got 93 for maths and 89 for problem solving.’
    ‘Reading comprehension?’ He picks up the half capsicum and slowly begins to scrape
out the seeds. His hands look stiff as he works, as if his joints need to be oiled.
    When I just shrug, he stops scraping and waits.
    A sigh. ‘76?’
    ‘That’s okay. It’s enough.’ Alistair pushes his chin forwards when he sees the look
on my face. ‘You’ll be fine, Scout.’
    ‘Maybe.’ But I don’t say more than that. Don’t want to jinx it by hoping too hard.
    Mum’s probably wondering why I’m taking so long, but I don’t take our delivery back
yet. Instead I hang around, pulling dry skin from beside a fingernail.
    ‘Have you heard of something called Relative Time Theory?’ I ask.
    Alistair stops with the capsicum and looks up. ‘Can’t say that I have.’
    ‘It’s sort of the idea that time is just in our mind. That it comes from the way
our brains make sense of each separate moment.’
    There’s no movement from Alistair at first, he just stares at a point on the bench.
    I’ve