Singing the Dogstar Blues by Alison Goodman Page A

to have legally restrained Louise out of spite. Or there was the other option: Louise just hadn’t wanted to see me until now. But I didn’t like to think about that one.
    I would call her and say no. I told the computer to link me into the CommNet. The call-code request flashed up almost immediately.
    Maybe I should have a quick chat with her, just to let her know I was doing fine. Just to be polite. I repeated Louise’s number and waited. A stranger appeared on the screen.
    â€˜Hello. Can I help you?’ she asked.
    She was stocky, with eyes that were big and widely spaced. High arched eyebrows made her look like she didn’t believe a word anyone said. Was she Louise’s new partner? If she was, then Ingrid beat her hands down in the looks department.
    â€˜Louise called me,’ I said. ‘Can I talk to her?’
    â€˜You must be Joss. Hi, I’m Barb.’ She smiled. ‘I’m afraid Lou’s not here right now. Do you want to record a message?’
    Damn, she wasn’t home. A message was polite. Yes, I’d leave a message. I nodded.
    She punched a key on the console in front of her.
    â€˜Okay, go ahead,’ she said.
    The message logo came up then counted down to the recording.
    â€˜Hi Louise,’ I stammered.
    What was I going to say? I couldn’t get anything out. My pause lengthened into a silence. I had to say something, quick.
    â€˜I’d love to meet you. Eleven at Mario’s is great. See you then.’
    I signed off. So much for righteous indignation or grace under pressure.
    The coffee was at gulp temperature, so I finished it while I punched up the breakfast menu. I was waiting for my bowl of cereal when Mav walked into the kitchen.
    â€˜Hello Joss. Are you well?’ he asked. Not a hint of embarrassment about last night.
    â€˜Fine,’ I said casually. ‘Where’ve you been?’
    â€˜Rowley is teaching me slang.’
    Rowley was one of the night guards and a seriously hard case. She was probably teaching Mav the kind of slang that would get him killed in a bar.
    Mav sneezed, wiping his noses with a handful of tissues.
    He looked at himself in the chrome siding of his food dispenser.
    â€˜Look, I have wiped my noses so much they have no Toqua on them.’
    His usual covering of white powder stopped three quarters of the way down his noses, leaving stripes of sparkly white skin. He looked like he had dipped his noses in glitter.
    â€˜So what’s this white powder for?’
    â€˜It is Toqua,’ he said.
    â€˜What’s the Toqua for?’ I asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar guttural sound.
    â€˜My home is much hotter than this world. Toqua stops our skin burning from us.’
    â€˜It’s a sunscreen?’
    â€˜Yes, but I am making too much. I think it is the common cold. It is not bothering you, I hope?’
    He rubbed the side of one ear. I think he was embarrassed.
    â€˜No, it’s okay.’
    â€˜Can your doc-tor medicine take away these sneezes?’ he asked.
    I shook my head. ‘We’ve never found a cure for the common cold. You just have to wait it out.’
    â€˜Refmol cannot chant the cold. Refmol is very annoyed.’
    The food dispenser beeped. I pulled out my cereal. This stuff was so heavy it would keep a whale going all day.
    â€˜We’ve got our first physical training class today,’ I said. ‘I’ve heard they’re pretty tough. Better stock up on carbos.’
    â€˜What are carbos? Do they taste good?’
    I didn’t fancy getting into a lecture on human nutrition.
    â€˜Just eat something that will give you lots of energy.’
    I shoved a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. It wasn’t bad for something advertised as a high energy gut-filler.
    Mav flicked through his menu options, punched in a code and waited.
    Everything about Mav was a bit heavier than a human. Arms a bit chunkier, shoulders a bit wider, legs a bit shorter. The