THE FOREVER GENE (THE SCIONS OF EARTH Book 1) (37 page)

Wasting no more time, he gunned the engine, and the car leapt forward.  The engine wheezed and spluttered a few times, but it had been made to last and it was soon purring gruffly as he headed along Beacon Street.  He turned right down Dartmouth and followed the road all the way to the South East Expressway.  From there, it was short hop to Joe Moakley Park.

When he got there, he saw a very similar scene to the one at Boston Common.  Crowds of people had flocked to the park and were being held back by a cordon of armed men.  He saw a few policemen in the cordon, and his hopes rose.  But they were dashed a moment later when he realised that they were members of the Prince's South Boston gang.  He parked the Aventador down a back street well away from the crowds.  No-one would steal it; he was more concerned about mindless vandalism.

He locked the car and pushed his way through the people until he reached the cordon.  The admission fee being demanded was almost as much as at the common.  He asked to see the Prince, and was given a peculiar look.  The Prince is on the shuttle, one of the gangsters told him.  David would have to wait until he returned.

He didn't bother to test the cordon.  He knew it would be solid.  But he couldn't afford the admission fee and he didn't have time to wait for the Prince.  None of the gangsters had any idea when he would return or, indeed, whether he would return at all.  There was nothing to stop him from taking up the Faerie Folk's offer of sanctuary himself.  And even if he didn't, David had no guarantee that he could persuade the man to let him through the cordon.

All he had to bargain with was the apartment, the mansion and the Aventador.  The Prince would have no use for the first two as they were not on his turf.  The third would only appeal to him as some sort of trophy and, in David's experience, the Prince was not usually interested in anything that could not be reduced to cold, hard cash.

As he stood wondering what to do next, Chunky called again.

"David, our shuttle is about to take off.  Have you been able to get onto one of the others?"

"Not yet.  I'm at Joe Moakley but the Prince has the place sewn up as tightly as the common.  And he isn't even here; his thugs say he is on the shuttle.  They don't know when he will be back.  If I wait for him I might miss the opportunity of getting onto another shuttle."

"Don't wait," said Chunky.  "Try the one at Donnelly Field.  If you have no luck there, you can always come back to Joe Moakley."

"You're right.  With no traffic on the roads, the Aventador will get me across town in twenty minutes."

Chunky was silent for a few seconds.  "Look, David, this is our last chance to get off the shuttle.  You need to tell me whether you are going to make it.  If you aren't, then we should all stay.  Only…"

"What's the problem?  What aren't you telling me?"

"The physician says that Pris needs to stay on her drip for at least twenty-four hours to make a full recovery.  If we get off now…"

"No," said David quickly.  "We've made our decision and we aren't changing it.  Stay on the shuttle.  If I can't get on one of these shuttles I will drive out of the city and find one somewhere else."

"But today is the last day.  What if you can't find one?  What if they have all left already?"

David gritted his teeth.  "They can't have all left already; it is still early in the day.  Stay on the shuttle.  Whatever happens, I don't want Pris to spend the rest of her life in this place.  What if she gets sick again?  Or what if something happens to me, or you?  Who is going to protect her?  No, I will find a way to get onto a shuttle."

"Okay," said Chunky, "if you're sure."  He paused.  "They are closing the doors.  I probably won't be able to call you again.  How will I know if you've made it or not?  How will I find you?"

"Don't worry, I'll find you.  If we aren't on the same star ship, I will ask the Faerie Folk to help me.  They owe me as far as I'm concerned."  There was an awkward silence before he spoke again.  "If I don't make it, tell Pris…"  He couldn't finish the sentence.

Chunky cleared his throat.  "I'll tell her."

David heard a faint roar in the background.

"They've started the engines," said Chunky.  "Good luck, David."

The call ended.

David walked quickly back to the car.  There were a few curious onlookers standing around it.  He got in and started the engine, alert for any trouble.  Thankfully, no-one tried to interfere.  They would regret it if they did, he fumed. He raced through the city, revelling in the feeling of breaking every speed limit in the city.

But when he reached Donnelly Field, his worst fears were realised.  There was a mob of people around the shuttle and the scene had turned ugly.  Members of the Cambridge Street gang were trying to control access to the shuttle, but there were too many people.  David watched from the car as the mob broke through the cordon in a number of places.  As they ran towards the shuttle, some of the gangsters opened fire.  Scores of people were hit and pandemonium reigned.

The mob, incensed by the slaughter, turned on the gangsters.  The sensible ones ran for their lives and the mob let them go.  The ones who stayed and fought had their repeaters ripped from their hands and themselves beaten to a bloody pulp.  When he saw them fall, David leapt out of the car and raced towards the shuttle.  This was his chance.

Unfortunately, many other people had the same idea.  They converged on the shuttle from all angles, some bloody and wounded, others clutching captured laser repeaters.  But no-one reached the vessel; they all slammed into an invisible barrier.

When David reached the barrier he desperately tried to find a way through it or around it.  He even asked other people to lift him onto their shoulders so that he could try to climb over it.  But it was impregnable.

Then someone tried to shoot a hole in the barrier and, within seconds, everyone holding a repeater followed suit.  David flung himself to the ground as laser fire ricocheted in all directions.  More people were killed and injured, but the barrier remained intact.

Lying on the ground with his hands over his head, David heard a dull, rumbling sound over the screams of the wounded.  He looked up and saw the shuttle lifting slowly off the ground.  The Faerie Folk had seen enough.  The shuttle's engines roared and, in less than a minute, it had disappeared into the thick clouds scudding across Donnelly Field.

He pushed himself to his feet, checked for injuries, and then ran back to the Aventador.  The Prince was now his last hope.  He gunned the engine and sped off, almost hitting some people hurrying away from the carnage.  He raced back the way he had come, crossing the river and testing the car's top speed when he got back onto the South East Expressway.

As he neared Joe Moakley Park, he stole a glance at his 'link.  It had been just over an hour since he had left.  Surely the Prince would be back by now.  He took the off-ramp leading to Old Colony Avenue and took some of the bends at hair-raising speed.  He was definitely getting the hang of driving the Lamborghini again.

When he came around the final bend, the sight that met his eyes was the last thing he expected.  The park was almost empty. Most of the people were gone and there was no sign of the shuttle.  A few individuals were wandering slowly away from the flattened area where it had stood, but otherwise the place was deserted.

He was so shocked, he almost forgot to brake.  He swerved, narrowly avoiding a lamp post, and brought the car to a screeching halt.  He opened the driver's door and got out, staring in disbelief.

"What's that, man, a Ferrari?" asked a grimy looking youth who had wandered over.

David looked at him in consternation.  "What happened to the shuttle?" he asked.

The youth looked back over his shoulder at the park.  "Took off just now," he said, shrugging.  "I guess it was full."

David felt his world crashing down around him.  All three shuttles were gone.

Unless he could find another one, he was stranded.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

David drove back to the apartment, taking a bit more care.  He didn't want to damage the car now.

He parked it in the garage and then rummaged through the junk stored in its recesses.  He found the spare tank of fuel and wrestled it into the luggage compartment.  He didn't know how far he would need to go to find another shuttle and he might need to refuel.

He checked his 'link.  The Personet was still up and he tried calling Chunky a few times.  There was no connection.  He must be out of range by now.

David ran up to the apartment and flicked on a light switch.  He was relieved to see that there was electricity.  He thumbed the touchscreen panel set into the door frame, which activated the AVIC and wall-screen on the other side of the room.

"Search news Faerie Folk shuttle locations," he said.  It was cold in the room and he switched on the central heating.  He would not be able to pay the electricity bill at the end of the month but that hardly mattered. It would take some time for the room to heat up so he sat down without taking off his overcoat.

By then the search engine had populated the screen with a list of hits matching his command parameters.  He began trawling through them, looking for news of shuttle landings.  He soon realised that he needed to restrict the search to areas he could reach quickly in the Aventador.  Reading about shuttles in Nebraska or New Mexico wouldn't do him any good.

He started with Boston, and confirmed that all shuttles which had been in the city had already gone.  He tried the greater Boston area, and then widened the search to include Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Connecticut.  He found news of five or six shuttles, but each one had taken off already.

His heart sinking, he tried New York as a last resort.  A number of shuttles had landed there but he knew that the New York gangs were even bigger and more ruthless than the ones in Boston.  Even if he could get there before the shuttles left, which was extremely doubtful, he would not be able to get on one without a great deal of money.

A chill ran down his spine, literally and figuratively, and he shrugged his shoulders deeper into his overcoat.  A wave of panic threatened to engulf him and he hunched down, hugging his arms to his ribs.  His mind raced, desperately trying to think of something he might have missed.  Some way he might find a shuttle and get on it.  But he came up empty; the situation was hopeless.

Through a haze of mounting despair, he realised that something small and hard was digging him in the ribs.  He could not think what it was.  Desperate for a momentary distraction from his misery, he unfolded his arms and opened his overcoat.  He saw nothing there, so he thrust his hand into the recesses of the old coat's cavernous inner pocket.  When he pulled it out again, he was holding a small pebble no bigger than the top of his thumb.

He stared at it stupidly, trying to remember why he had put a pebble into his pocket.  A moment later it came back to him.  It was the pebble Pris had given him in Buenos Aires when they had been joking about the Faerie Folk turning stone into gold.  The memory hit him with the force of a solid blow.

With it came the realisation he had been trying to avoid.  The Faerie Folk's shuttles were all gone.  And Pris had gone with them.  He had no way of going after her; no way of contacting her.  Even if he could somehow speak to her, she would have no way of getting back to Earth.  The Faerie Folk were going home and they were not going to send a shuttle back at the request of one person.  He was never going to see her again.

When he had reached into his inner pocket for the pebble he had felt something else in there.  He felt around again and pulled it out.  It was a piece of paper folded in quarters.  Opening it, he saw that it was the leaflet he had been given on Boston Common by the bearded young protester from DOPE.

"DON'T TRUST THEM," it said in large red letters above a caricature of Ambassador Ba.

David almost smiled.  The looneys had been right all along.  If only he had listened to them that day on the common.  Things might have turned out very differently.  But he had been so arrogant; so sure of himself.  He frowned.  Had they known something that no-one else did?  And if they had, where had their information come from?

A spark of desperate hope ignited in his mind and he scanned the rest of the leaflet.  Below the text, near the bottom of the page, was a Personet link.  He stared at it for a moment.  What did he have to lose?  He was not exactly awash with options.  If there was the faintest chance that the looneys knew something; the location of a shuttle that had escaped attention perhaps…

He commanded his AVIC to connect to the link and waited.  A site opened on his screen, and he quickly scanned the messages posted on it.  Some of them were very recent; it looked like the site was still being maintained.  The only message he could see concerning shuttles was a warning to stay away from them.

He wasn't going to give up so easily.  He found the contacts link and opened it.  Disappointingly, there was only one contact.  It seemed that the site was the sole dominium of one Edgar Cole.

He initiated the contact and an old fashioned instant message window opened.  The picture that accompanied it showed the bearded face of the man who had approached him on the common.

"Hello Edgar," said David aloud.  The words appeared in the window.  "My name is David and I need your help.  Send."

To his surprise, he received a response almost immediately.  "Hello David.  I have no money, booze, or drugs.  If that is the kind of help you need, look somewhere else."

"Nothing like that," said David hurriedly.  "I'm just looking for information."

"What kind of information?"

"I need to know about the shuttles.  Are there any that haven't taken off yet?"

"Why do you want to know?"

David raised an eyebrow.  "I need to get on one."

"Why?"

David was a bit taken aback by the questions.  "What difference does it make to you?"

"Call it the price of my information.  Why do you want to leave the planet?"

"My wife has gone with the Faerie Folk.  She was very ill and they were the only ones who could help her.  I missed the shuttle and need to go after her."

There was no response for quite a long time and David began to think that Edgar had gone.  As he was about to speak again, another message appeared.

"As far as I know, the shuttles have all gone.  But I have some other information which may interest you.  Do you have anything to trade for it?"

David almost cut the connection in despair.  If there were no more shuttles, what interest did he have in any other information?  He decided that there was no harm in finding out what Edgar was talking about.

"I have an apartment in Back Bay, a mansion in Westwood, and a car.  Not worth a whole lot these days."

"What kind of car?"

"A 2014 Lamborghini Aventador."

"You have an Aventador?  You aren't kidding me, are you?  What about fuel?"

"Some."

"Enough to get to California?"

"Not that much.  What is in California?  I thought you said that all the shuttles had gone."

"They have, but I think we can help each other.  Do you know MIT?"

"Yes, I went to MIT."

"Meet me outside Lowell Court on Memorial Drive and bring the car."

David sat back, unsure of what he should do.  He hadn't forgotten that he was dealing with a looney from DOPE; a stranger he had very little reason to trust. The guy could be a gang member for all David knew.  "Are you a student at MIT?" he ventured.

"I was until the Faerie Folk arrived.  When I started warning people about them, I was suspended from lectures.  That was when I founded DOPE."

"What made you suspicious of the Faerie Folk?"

"It was obvious, wasn't it?  A superior alien race arrives out of the blue and says it wants to be friends; no strings attached.  I don't think so.  And look what happened.  It starts handing out technological goodies and the world goes to hell in a hand basket.  And then they come back and start whisking millions of people away in their star ships.  If you ask me, that is what they were planning to do all along."

David's estimation of the man's intelligence rose a notch.  He decided to take the plunge.  "Ok, I can meet you in thirty minutes.  But I have had a very bad day and if you are just yanking my chain I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Don't worry; I think you'll like my plan.  You can see what I look like.  How will I recognise you?"

"I'll be the only person in a Lamborghini Aventador."  David ended the chat and sat there for a few minutes.  He was pretty sure that meeting Edgar would be a colossal waste of time.  But he couldn't think of anything else to do.  He couldn't just give up and sit in the apartment.  At least if he was out and about, there was a chance he might hear news of another shuttle.

He sighed and got to his feet.  He quickly packed a bag with some spare clothes and as much food as he could carry.  It sounded like Edgar had a long journey in mind.  He hoped that the man had some money on him or they weren't going to get very far.  The Aventador wasn't going to get to California on the remaining tank and a half of fuel. 

He clattered down the stairs and into the street.  It was still pretty much deserted and, preoccupied with his problems, he didn't pay much attention to his surroundings.  He reached the garage in Beacon Street and shoved open the door.

That was when someone spoke right behind him.

"Going somewhere?"

He started, and spun around.  Standing there was Westside Phil.  One of his goons stood to one side, clasping the mandatory laser repeater.

David was in a hurry and not in the mood to trade pleasantries with anyone; especially not a nasty piece of work like Phil.  If the man was looking for more taxes, he was going to be sorely disappointed.  "What do you want?" he growled.  "Haven't you taken enough from me today?"

Phil's eyebrows shot up in an expression of mock offence.  "Is that any way to speak to your new boss?" he asked.

David looked at him blankly.  "What are you talking about?"

Phil walked into the garage, admiring the Aventador.  "Nice car."  He sat on the bonnet.  "The way I see it, you owe me an admission fee."

"What?  I paid your admission fee."

"You paid for one person.  Three people got onto the shuttle."  He spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture.  "The old lady I let in for free.  I'm a nice guy.  But you told me your friend was just a delivery boy.  He was supposed to come back out.  He didn't, so you owe me his fee."

David shrugged, eyeing the driver's door and wondering whether he could get in and lock it before Phil could react.  "I have nothing left to give you except the apartment.  If that's not good enough, then I can't help you."

Phil's eyes narrowed.  "I think you can," he said.  Your apartment doesn't interest me.  Neither does your car.  They are both pretty worthless.  And if you have no money, then you are going to have to work off your debt."

"You want me to work for you?  Forget it, I'm no gangster."

Phil pretended to ignore David's belligerent tone.  "No, you're not, and I am glad to see that you are not getting any ideas above your station.  Once you have worked off your debt, and if you prove yourself useful, then maybe I will consider letting you join up."

David bit back another angry reply.  No purpose would be served by antagonising the man.  He just needed to get rid of him as soon as possible.  "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"That's better," said Phil.  "To start with, you can put this pretty thing to good use."  He slapped the Aventador's bonnet.  "I have a shipment of medicine which needs to be in New York pronto.  Do you have enough fuel to get there and back?"

"I think so," said David, guardedly.

"Good."  Phil gestured to his sidekick, who put down his laser repeater and stooped to pick up a large cardboard carton which David had not noticed earlier.  "Where should I put it?" asked the thug, as he carried it into the garage.

David looked at the carton, and then at Phil.  "In the passenger seat," he said, hurrying around the front of the car to open the door.

The thug put the carton on the seat and stood back as David closed the door.

Phil jumped off the bonnet.  "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you how valuable that box is," he said.  "And what will happen to you if it doesn't get to New York."

"I will look after it," said David.

Phil handed him a slip of paper.  "This is the address.  Off you go then, no time to waste."  He and his sidekick walked out of the garage.

David started the car, and eased it onto the street.

Phil gestured to him to stop and leaned towards the driver's window.  "You know," he said.  "I think I'm starting to like you.  When you get back, maybe you can take me for a spin in this thing."

"Sure thing," said David.  He closed his window and pulled off.

He drove down Beacon and turned left into Charles Street.  When he was well out of sight of the gangsters, he couldn't help pulling over and opening the carton.  It was packed with all sorts of medicine.  The box was worth a small fortune.  He could probably buy enough fuel to get to California and back three times.