Robyn's Egg (31 page)

“Again, my deepest condolences,” Perko said.

Robyn regarded the coupon. Her legs felt weak and she was unsure she could get up from the chair. Robyn was positive if Perko knew the Judge was still alive or that she wouldn’t ever come back to cash in the coupon, she’d be killed before she reached the door. She took the coupon and walked away feeling numb. She stared at the coupon again in disbelief. One baby dead and another offered up like a discount item at the grocer. Surely this was a nightmare and when she awoke, everything would be all right.

After the door closed behind Robyn Winfield, one of the guards spoke. “I don’t think we should let her leave the building, sir.”

Perko watched Robyn inside the elevator on a video screen. She was slumped into a corner still gazing down at the coupon. “No, let her go. We have to take them together. One without the other could be a problem. We don’t want one of them flushed into hiding.”

Perko leaned into his chair and grinned. “No need to worry, though,” he chuckled, “I know mothers, and the maternal instincts in that one are very strong. She’ll go straight to hubby and they’ll soon be back to cash in their coupon. I guarantee it.”

Chapter 31

R
obyn showed the coupon to Moyer. “You were right. They flushed Jessica. He gave me this to try to make it right.”

Moyer slid his fingers across the smooth polymer as he read. “It’s a trick, an excuse to get us to come in together.”

Hawthorne moved to Moyer’s side for a look. “Now I’ve seen everything. It reminds me of cutout coupons in the newspaper when I was a boy. Two credits off soap with coupon.”

“What did he say when he gave this to you?” Moyer asked.

“He said we could schedule an appointment for donor cell collection at any Hogan-Perko, and our child would be free. I scheduled us for tomorrow evening.”

Moyer nodded. “We can’t go. It’s a trap. They should already have donor cells from when we went in for Jessica. If we go in, we’ll never come out again.” Moyer felt Robyn starting to crumble emotionally. Everything Robyn had been through; years of trying to save, parenting classes, psych evals, to get her baby, to be as close as a layer of polymer only to have it jerked away at the last moment.

“I know,” she said.

Moyer rubbed his forehead mussing his hair as he tried to formulate a plan. He went into the bedroom and carried out their bags. “On your way back, did you get on the net?”

Robyn nodded.

“Have they discovered yet that the Judge isn’t in the rubble?”

She shook her head. “They were just starting to search.”

“We don’t have much time then,” Moyer said. “Once they know, Perko will send a squad of security agents after us. We’ve got to go.”

Moyer pulled a mesh cap from his pocket and put it on Robyn’s head, tucking the wire down her collar. He stood back inspecting her appearance and shook his head. It was too conspicuous. “What do you think, Judge, will she blend in?”

“Are you sure those are necessary?” Hawthorne asked.

“Once they realize we’ve run, they’ll track us through the net,” Moyer said. “I don’t know what we’re going to do about you. I only have two caps. Perhaps we can get another on the black market.”

“I don’t need one,” Hawthorne said, “I don’t have a net-chip. They were optional when I was born and you had to pay for them. My parents had very little money, so they didn’t.”

Moyer walked into the bedroom and returned a moment later with a broad-brimmed sunhat. He propped it on Robyn’s head and shifted its position till it covered as much of the mesh cap as possible. “That’s better. What do you think, Judge?”

Hawthorne grinned, “Every woman will want one.”

Robyn’s animosity toward the Judge eased. Moyer put his cap on and donned a light hooded sweatshirt. It promised to be a hot day. Robyn’s hat wouldn’t draw attention, but his hoodie wasn’t exactly summer wear. He had no better options and time was running short.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?” Robyn asked.

Moyer pushed the bags outside into the hallway and armed the security system. “Mannington,” he said.

“Where is that?” Robyn asked.

“It’s in the hinterlands west of the city.”

Robyn’s jaw went slack. “For how long?”

“I don’t know, honey.” Moyer sensed the beginnings of an argument coming on.

“I don’t want to die in the wilderness. Can’t we stay with my parents? They have room.”

Moyer grabbed Robyn by the shoulders and squared her to face him. “It’s already gone out over the net that the Judge is dead. That’s Viktor Perko’s doing. Soon he’s going to find out the Judge is still alive. He can’t afford for that to become public knowledge or for evidence of his involvement to surface. Honey, we are that evidence. Viktor Perko is going to hunt us down to kill us. What do you think he will do to your parents if they harbor us?”

Robyn bent down and lifted her bag without a fuss.

“The people in Mannington will help us, and we’ll be free of the net there.”

“I visited Mannington when I was a boy,” Hawthorne said. “It’s a nice place.”

Moyer pursed his lips and kept silent. There was no point telling them what had become of the nice town the Judge remembered. They needed to get moving and there was no time to argue.

At the end of the hallway, Moyer hesitated at the elevator with his finger hovering over the call button. “Let’s take the stairs,” he said. “Are you up to it, Judge?”

“I can manage.”

Moyer was mildly surprised Hawthorne didn’t protest. Inside the stairwell, Moyer trailed Hawthorne down the stairs, watching in case he faltered, ready to shoot out a supporting hand. The old man huffed, but was steady on his feet, taking each flight at a slow, steady pace. Three floors from the street an alarm sounded. “They’re in our apartment,” Moyer said. “I thought we’d have more time.”

Robyn’s face went pale and she raced ahead. Moyer implored her to slow down. “We can’t afford a fall.”

The emergency exit at the bottom of the stairs opened onto an alley. The streets were empty as they usually were on a weekday. They headed down the block toward the nearest tube terminal. “Walk naturally,” Moyer warned, “we don’t want to draw attention.”

As they neared the Washington St. Station, Moyer took Robyn’s hand and slowed. “They’re waiting for us down there. I can feel it. Where is the next station west?”

“Um, IrsayPlaza I think, across the river,” Robyn said. She glanced at Hawthorne. Moyer noticed too. Hawthorne’s mouth hung open and he was panting like a hound. Sweat trickled down his forehead.

“I’m all right,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Concern painted Robyn’s face. “It’s over two kilometers, Moyer. Are you sure?”

Moyer took Hawthorne’s bag from him and trudged toward the MichiganStreetBridge. As they walked, Moyer tried to anticipate the next move of Security Services. Would they set roadblocks to seal them off from the tube? It seemed likely. He struggled to stay calm. He had to in order to keep his perception open. Fear and mental clutter were the enemies now.

Moyer detected nothing remarkable ahead, but he’d been wrong before. He remained alert. They looked out of place on the barren streets and were easy targets. They needed luck and a lot of it if they were to live to see another day. And the engineer in Moyer hated relying on luck for anything.

By the time they reached the bridge, Hawthorne was a wreck. He wheezed for air so desperately he couldn’t speak. Perspiration soaked his shirt dark. Before they crossed the river, Hawthorne had removed his hat to cool down. By the time they arrived on the other side, the Judge’s pale skin was pink and tender.

Moyer’s shoulders ached and only willpower and Hawthorne’s refusal to stop prevented him from abandoning the bags along the way. At the station entrance, he lowered his load to the sidewalk and let the tension and pain ooze from his arms and back.

After catching his breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to envision the underground spaces within the station beyond the shadows of the stairway. He sensed only the hum of machines.

“I think it’s clear,” Moyer said. “A train should be arriving in another few minutes.”

Robyn started down for the landing.

“How are you holding up, Judge?” Moyer asked.

Hawthorne tipped his head, “I’ll be okay.” Moyer lifted the bags and followed Hawthorne down the stairs.

Ahead, Robyn approached the turnstiles. “Stop, honey,” he shouted. She turned toward him, a tense frown conveying her impatience. “We can’t swipe our transit cards or holograms. They’ll know we’re here.”

“Yeah, but they can’t stop the tube.”

“I’m pretty sure they can,” Hawthorne said.

“Then how do we get through?”

Moyer surveyed the entrance. Gleaming bars blocked the way with four, two meter high rotating turnstiles providing the only portals through. “Does anyone have a battery?”

Robyn shook her head.

“I do,” Hawthorne said. “I have a computer so I can access the net.” The Judge took his bag from Moyer and rummaged out a small handheld.

“I didn’t know you brought a computer,” Moyer said. “I wonder if they can track us through it.”

“It’s been off the whole time,” Hawthorne said.

“Yes, but it still might be connected to the net.”

“If it were,” Hawthorne assured, “we’d already be dead.”

Moyer realized the Judge was right. He popped the cover off the side port and tipped the coin-like battery into his hand. “Get ready Robyn.” She picked up her bag and moved inside the turnstile. Moyer licked the bottom of the battery, set it on the reader plate, then licked his finger and touched the top of the disc. The turnstile hummed to life and rotated. Robyn was through.

“Where did you learn that?” Robyn asked.

Moyer combed the hair away from his eyes and couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “From the bad boys in the underground. It was a trick I used to get around when my father grounded me and took away my transit card. Get ready, Judge. I’m going to need you to take your bag.”

Hawthorne waited his turn in the turnstile, his bag clutched to his chest while Moyer performed the trick again. The turnstile rotated and the Judge shuffled to the other side.

From past experience, Moyer knew as the last one through, timing was critical. He placed his bag inside the turnstile, licked his finger and stretched to touch the battery. The turnstile slowly spun. Moyer sprinted two steps to the opening as it closed. He snatched up his bag and slipped between the rotating bars and stumbled. He slammed hard to the ground and tumbled out on the other side.

“Are you all right?” Robyn asked.

Moyer rose to his feet and brushed the dust from his knees. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was better at it when I was a teenager. But I never tried it carrying a bag either.”

Hawthorne peered through the bars at the reader plate. “My battery.”

“I’m sorry, Judge. That was always the downside of that technique. There’s no net where we’re going anyway.”

Two more flights of stairs put them on the tube platform. The terminal was empty. An electronic route map above the platform showed a train approaching. A breeze stirred on the landing. The increasing rush of air gained a mechanical component. Braking magnets deployed inside the tube with an audible clunk. The train squealed to a smooth stop with the cars aligned with the platforms. Moyer pointed at an empty middle car. “This one.”

Further west, the tube passed through Labor Housing. Laborers had defined work shifts. The trains would run empty until five in the afternoon, when they would be packed tight as pickle jars for the commute home.

Moyer sat next to Robyn and scrounged through his bag before locating a bottle of water. He cracked the seal and offered it to her. “Be careful,” he said. “I don’t know how long it has to last us.”

Robyn’s eyes conveyed betrayal and distrust. Moyer realized he should have better phrased his last sentence. Robyn had read between the lines and recognized they were ill prepared for what lay ahead, and that Moyer had no idea how to contact the people who would help them. Maybe she was right to be angry. Moyer had withheld information about the rigors they were apt to face. He wasn’t sure he understood them all, but they had no other choice.

Robyn tipped up the Calabash bottle and drank. Bubbles drifted to the top. The cylindrical bottle provided a warped, panoramic view of the car – orange seats and shiny steel. A black shadow drifted across the bottle like oil spreading across water. Moyer turned and saw an agent approach.

Chapter 32

S
hock. Fear. Emotions that were intended to jump start Moyer’s reflex to flee, instead, overwhelmed his system and froze him in his seat. The agent closed the distance with purpose. He knew who they were. How had Moyer not sensed his presence? Was he that distracted?

Moyer tried to stand. The agent’s hand came up quickly. The wand caught Moyer below his ribs. The initial electric jolt seemed to detach bones from their joints, and his scalp from his skull. Then his muscles began firing and jerking on their own. A metallic drumming filled his ears. It was the sound of his head beating against the floor while he convulsed. He was loosing consciousness when an explosion hit his ears.

Throbbing pain between his temples welcomed Moyer back to consciousness. His muscles ached and were weak. He cracked his eyes open, suffered the stab of overhead lights, and closed them again.

“Get up, Moyer,” Robyn pleaded. “We’re coming to the end of the line. We have to go.”

Moyer turned his head and opened his eyes again. The black clad security agent lay sprawled on the floor. Cracks radiated outward from a single hole in the agent’s faceplate. A pool of blood encircled his helmet. The Judge stuffed his pistol back into his pocket.

Robyn tugged on his arm. “Move, Moyer! The tube is stopping and they’re going to be coming after us. Get up!”

Moyer tried his legs. They were weak and sore; incapable of supporting his weight. “I can’t. The two of you go.”