Chapter 3--Escape from Cabot's Landing

Approximately 2000 words

Chapter Three

         

Since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved.
                         — Niccolò Machiavelli

Cabot’s Landing
Lansbury Monorail Station
Monday, 1130, 02.13.2462

         

Taggart pulled his ball cap lower over his face while the noon crowd on the monorail platform jostled against him. Kendi stood nearby, wearing a hooded parka and a floppy straw hat that hid his features. Brilliant sunlight flooded the broad, concrete walkway, and a crisp easterly wind prickled his cheeks. The salty scent of the Great Ocean blended with the homey odors of onions and fennel that oozed from the backpack of the woman in front of him. She must be headed to the farmer’s market in the Industrial Port to sell her wares.

         A chime sounded and the AI announced, “Industrial Port Shuttle arriving in three minutes.”

         The crowd shuffled forward.

         Kendi muttered, “So far, so good. Mind the cameras.”

         Taggart frowned and glanced at the black sphere mounted on a post near the track. He didn’t need Kendi to nag him about the blamed things. He meant well, but Taggart wasn’t a child. After all, they'd managed to sneak out of the village without attracting notice, despite Deacon Deiner and his Holy Guardians being all riled up over something.  Taggart chewed his lower lip.  Surely they hadn't found the body.  Not so soon, anyway.

         The train arrived in a rush of air and the flash of reflected sunlight off its shiny, titanium surface. The doors swooshed open and the crowd on the platform edged aboard.

         Taggart found a pair of rear-facing seats at the forward end of the middle car and settled into the window seat. Kendi plopped next to him and pulled off his hat. “That feels good. Damned thing made near smothered me.” His gaze roamed over the other passengers. “I think we’re home free.”

         “For now.” Taggart resisted glancing at the camera mounted on the wall behind them.

         Kendi must have seen him look, because he whispered, “It can’t see us.”

         “I know. It just gives me the creeps.”

         Kendi leaned back and closed his eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get some shut-eye. Sleeping with the chickens last night wasn’t exactly restful.”

         Last night, Keith had sneaked thiem into an empty chicken coop on his parent’s farmstead. Taggart said, “There weren’t any chickens. Be glad it was heated. Way better than sleeping Outside on the cold rocks.”

         “I meant metaphorically. Besides, I didn’t say I wasn’t grateful.” Kendi closed his eyes and stretched his legs out in front of him.

         Whatever “metaphorically” meant. Taggart loved the guy, but he sometimes spoke in riddles.

         A chime sounded and the AI announced, “Doors closing.” Moments later, the monorail accelerated away from the station, the silent maglev rails lifting and propelling the train. In minutes, they exited the cultivated region around the village and entered the vast wasteland of Bountiful.

         Taggart leaned his head against the window and let the cold seep through. He had to admit, a nap sounded good after a restless night. Still, he felt too keyed up by events to sleep.

         Kendi’s plan was simple, at least as he’d outlined it last night. Get back to the Industrial Port and, from there, flee to South Island where they could hide out with help from his mother. First, though, they’d need to contact his mother without attracting notice, which involved getting to the land-line in Kendi’s apartment in the Port.

         Taggart had asked why they didn’t just catch a regularly scheduled flight to South Island, like they did when they’d visited last month. But Kendi had pointed out that, unlike monorail passes, flitter tickets required an ID. If anyone was still looking for them, that would give them away. Instead, he said, one of his mother’s colleagues had a private flitter and could pick them up anonymously.

         Before last night, he never imagined wonders like private flitters even existed.

         Taggart closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Their future had looked so bright just weeks ago. Their vocal teacher, Madam Chaminade, had arranged for both Kendi and him to have scholarships at le Conservatoire de Saint-Saëns on Patrie. Before his rumspringa, Taggart barely knew places like Patrie in the Grand Concourse even existed, and now he had an opportunity to cross light years and go there to study music. The song he’d sung at the last recital buzzed in his head, ‘Non, Je Ne regrette Rien. He hadn’t even known what singing was before his rumspringa.

         But now this mess with Sattari put all of that in jeopardy.

***

         Someone poking at his shoulder woke Taggart. He blinked grainy sleep from his eyes and pushed Kendi’s hand away. “You can stop now. I’m awake.” He peered out the window. “Are we there already?”

         “We pulled in just seconds ago. You were snoring. The other passengers complained.”

         Taggart ignored him and stretched. “I must have been tired.” Passengers bustled about in the aisle, gathering their belongings and chattering to each other. The doors swooshed open and they began to stream out into the terminal at the Port.

         Polished Terrazzo floors, gaudy playbills on the concrete walls, and lilting synth music greeted them as they stepped out of the train. It had been a bewildering wonderland when Taggart had first seen it, less than a year ago. Now it was just a noisome nuisance. He let Kendi lead him up the escalator and to the street level where public transit waited.

         Kendi opened the door to a two-person tram and held it for Taggart, who climbed inside. A cloying female voice asked, “Where to, sirs?”

         Kend responded, “Regal Arms Apartments, on the Overlook.”

         The tram accelerated away while Taggart fastened his seat belt. “Very good, sir.” He felt foolish, recalling his first encounter with the public trams. In Lansbury, the farming trams used a male voice that was both gruff and obviously machine-generated. The voice in the public trams in the Port sounded like he imagined angels on high might.

         Kendi peered out the window. “Seems to get less crowded every day.”

         Taggart agreed. “It must be the evacuation.” He sighed. “You think we’ll get to go to Patrie?”

         “Madame Chaminade said she’s working on it. Just so we don’t get swept up into one of the big troop transports, we’ll be okay.”

         Mention of the transports chilled Taggart’s belly. Sattari’s death wouldn’t change the ultimate fate facing the passengers trapped on those ships. Last week’s news of the investiture of Sparta by the Alliance Fleet was bound to have repercussions, just like enslaving helpless refugees would. He didn’t need the Bible to foresee the inevitable outcome of the eye-for-an-eye logic behind the Alliance's actions.

         Taggart said, “We just need to get away from here.”

         Kendi nodded. “My mother wasn’t happy about me going to Patrie, but things have changed pretty fast. I’m not sure even the Grand Alliance will survive.”

         The intricacies of interstellar politics were beyond Taggart. He just knew he wanted to be with Kendi. And study music, if possible. But being with Kendi was the most important thing.

         The manicured flower gardens outside the Regal Arms Apartments were like an entirely different world from the austere, utilitarian village of Lansbury. Sure, there were a few marigolds and amaranth here and there, but nothing like the splendor of these gardens.

         He stepped out of the tram and inhaled the heady perfume of the flowers. “What is that odor? I can’t even smell the wheat.”

         “I believe you’re smelling the hyacinths. Mother brought some bulbs up from the horticulture labs on South Island and planted them when I moved here last year.” He pointed to the purple and white blooms clustered around the entry to the apartments.

         “They’re beautiful.” God’s creation was truly wondrous.

         Then he remembered. He no longer believed in God, or at least not the hateful one his father worshipped.

         Kendi used his key card to open the gate and they climbed the stairs to his apartment. Taggart had moved in with him a few short months ago, but it already felt like coming home. He dropped his backpack on the floor and headed to the kitchen. “Hey, there's a note taped to the refrigerator."

         Kendi had followed him into the kitchen and said, "It's from my mother. I recognize the handwriting."  He opened the envelope and a smile lit his face.  "She spent last night here!  She wants me to call her.  Says she's been looking for us."

         "She must be worried that we weren't here."

         "We have been hiding. I shut my phone off so Sattari couldn't use it to track us.  I'll give her a call right now."  He started for the living area and the secure line to the servers on South Island.

         Taggart asked, "Want some coffee?”

         Kendi called over his shoulder, "Sounds good. There’s still some beans left from our visit to South Island.”

         Taggart dumped beans into the coffee maker, put in fresh water from the tap, and punched the buttons to start the brewing cycle. The machine whirred while it ground the coffee, then spun into the brewing cycle. Finally, a dual stream of brown fluid flowed into two waiting cups.

         By the time Taggart returned to the living area, Kendi was just hanging up the phone. He accepted the coffee with a smile, and took a sip. “Ah, that hits the spot. Nothing like real coffee.”

         Taggart had to admit it was better than the bitter, wheat-derived brew he’d grown up with. “I take it you spoke to your mother?”

         “I did. It turns out she and Dr. Golitsyn--he's her colleague with the private flitter--are still here in the Port, with plans to return south in the afternoon. We’re to meet them at the flitter field at eight tonight.”

         “Really? That’s convenient.” He paused and frowned. “Strange she hadn’t told you she was visiting.”

         “In point of fact, she'd tried to reach me and couldn't. She was here looking for us. She told me that both she and Dr. Golitsyn were in Lansbury yesterday afternoon.”

         Taggart lifted an eyebrow.  “At the same time as us? And Sattari?  Really?”

         “She was there looking for us, and to try to convince your father to let you accept the fellowship on Patrie.”

         Taggart scowled and his face heated. “He can’t stop me.”

         “But wouldn’t you rather have his blessing? It would make it easier on your mother and the rest of your family, too.”

         “He’ll never change his mind. Once he’s spoken, it’s settled.” Taggart frowned. “Strange that we were all there at the same time, though, and no one told us. I mean, Keith knew all about Sattari’s visit.”

         “But according to him, Sattari was there about the pigs, right? That’s how Keith knew he was there.”

         “Yeah. That devil Sattari killed them all and burned them in the incinerator. Even the baby piglets.” The little things were cute as could be, and momentary rage tightened Taggart’s lips.

         “Well, they were one of Dr. Golitsyn's genetic experiments.  Maybe they didn't work out for some reason. I coud see wild pigs being a probelm, from an ecological point of view.. That’s probably why he was there, to gather data before they were destroyed. I bet Mother tagged along just to speak with your parents.”

         Genetic experiments and wild pigs sounded like the devil's work to Taggart. Still, it was hard to see how baby piglets threatened anyone.  He thought for a moment, and then frowned. “Wait a minute. If they were there yesterday, how’d they get back here? The Sunday flight is an in-and-out, so there’d be no stop-over time for appointments, and the next scheduled flight isn’t until tomorrow. I sure didn’t see them on the monorail.”

         “She said they flew here last night in Dr. Golitsyn’s private flitter.  That must be how they got there, too."

         “I guess that makes sense.” Something still nagged at him, though. Then it clicked. “The flitter we saw last night. The one that dumped the body. You said you thought you might have recognized the men who did it.”

         “I did. I’m pretty sure one of the two men dumping the body was Dr. Golitsyn.”

         “Then this Golitsyn person must be the murderer.”

         “Maybe. Or maybe it was the other man who was with him. Or someone else., and they just dumped the body. It's just our bad luck those kids found it this morning.  At least we took the nametags off, so it'll take 'em a while to ID him. With any luck at all, we’ll be long gone from this place before anyone can connect Sattari’s death with us or anyone else.”

         Taggart wasn’t used to such twisted thinking. He trusted Kendi, though. Not that he had much choice.