Authors: Mark Souza
Hawthorne stared at him in disbelief but said nothing. He tugged Moyer up by the arm and dragged him in the direction of the tube.
No one took notice of Moyer staggering across the Circle or the old man helping him. All eyes were on the fire. Anyone who saw them probably thought Moyer was drunk. Moyer’s strength returned as they reached Freedom Circle Station.
Inside the terminal, Moyer examined the timetable. “Where are we going?” Hawthorne asked.
“To my apartment.”
“What makes you think it’s safe there? What makes you think Perko won’t come after you?” Hawthorne asked.
Hawthorne’s question caught Moyer off guard. “Why would he?”
“Because you and your wife are both potential witnesses.”
“But he knows we wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize getting our baby.”
“And what stops you after you have that child? On that day you become a threat to him. Why wouldn’t he eliminate that risk as soon as he could?”
Moyer slumped down onto one of the green plastic benches on the tube landing and held his head while he tried to think. Why hadn’t he ever considered this before? Was he that naïve? Or perhaps he had been as blinded by the prospect of having a child as Robyn. “Then where can we go?”
Hawthorne rested a hand on his shoulder. “I think your place will do for tonight. It’s going to take a while to put out that fire, and longer to sift through the wreckage. Besides, you need to collect your wife. But, we need to be thinking of the future beyond tonight. Do you agree?”
Moyer nodded.
A train pulled into the station. They shared the car with three other passengers whose glazed eyes faced forward taking in another reality. They were tuned into coverage of the explosion and fire in Freedom Circle. Moyer pushed back his cap enough to catch the signal and tuned into the net as well. A bulletin flashed declaring Chief Justice John Hawthorne dead. The bomb in his apartment had been traced to the radical group Begat.
The fact that Begat’s involvement was already being announced was confirmation that Perko somehow controlled the media. The Judge was right. It would be hours before the apartment was cool enough to search. Moyer snapped to consciousness back inside the car, cleared his head and repositioned the mesh cap. He whispered to Hawthorne, “They’re already reporting you dead.”
Hawthorne snorted out a sardonic chuckle. “Why muddle a good story with facts.”
“Is this bad?”
“For me it is. They’ve already told the world I’m dead. It would be more than a little embarrassing if I showed up alive. As soon as they discover their mistake, they will begin to hunt me to finish the job.” Hawthorne glanced at the other riders and cocked the brim of his hat low.
A knock at the door snapped Robyn away from the net and startled her out of her wits. She had watched the Capital Arms fire for over an hour, rocking on the sofa, her thumb braced between her teeth, tears streaming down her cheeks, all the while telling herself Moyer was safe — and sure at the same time it was a lie.
She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand and pushed her hair behind her ears. As her hand touched the cold metal of the door knob, it occurred to her that the knock might be official notification of Moyer’s death. But then again, what if she had left a fragment of evidence behind, some biologic that had survived the blast? She could just as easily be arrested as a terrorist. It might be Security Services coming for her.
She pulled her hand away wishing she had Moyer’s twinkle and could tell what was waiting on the other side of the door. The lock unlatched. They were coming in whether she wanted them to or not.
The door swung open and Moyer stood there, dark hair hanging over his eyes, an odd expression on his face. He looked tentative, as if he’d done something wrong. She regretted what she’d said before and wrapped her arms around him. The resistance of his flesh, his chest against hers, was reassuring. She breathed in the scent of him and exhaled in a long sigh against his neck.
A different odor, a background note, intermingled with the familiar scent of her husband. It, too, was something she knew, yet it was out of place. She opened her eyes. A small man lurked behind Moyer, his face shielded by the brim of his hat. He tipped up his head and Robyn saw the sparkle of blue eyes she’d seen before in holograms. In a mere instant her sense of relief was ruined.
“You bastard,” she screamed. “What is he doing here? What happens to us if he’s discovered?”
Moyer seemed hurt, not that most people could tell. But she’d had years of experience picking the emotions off her husband’s stoic face. Was it that Moyer didn’t understand the consequences his betrayal would have on them and their child, or did he not care?
From the very start she suspected his desire for children was not as strong as hers – that might be forgivable considering his upbringing and could be coped with. What truly disturbed her was that he might not want children at all, and had no qualms about putting their child at risk.
First he had brought banned books into their home. Then he had willingly disobeyed Viktor Perko’s instructions. His excuses of morality and larger issues were simply that – excuses. Being a parent meant putting other concerns aside to assure the wellbeing of their child. Nothing should be more important than that. And now the Judge, an enemy of the state, an enemy of Viktor Perko, stood at their door, and Moyer thought he had a right to feel hurt.
Robyn entered the net and tried to reach Viktor Perko. Maybe she could explain or work a deal to keep baby Jessica safe. Something struck her face. The sting of it brought her back to the apartment. Her cheek burned where Moyer had slapped her.
Moyer stared at her. There was no anger or malice in his face or in his voice. “Don’t!” he said. “I know what you are trying to do. If you tap the web, they may see the Judge. If they do, they will kill us all to cover their mistake. Go to Hogan-Perko if you must, if you think it will do any good. I know you won’t listen to me when I tell you you’re wasting your time. We will wait for you till noon. Then we leave for Mannington whether you’re back or not.”
Robyn saw in his face that Moyer wasn’t kidding. If she didn’t return on time, he would leave her. Moyer asked her to pack before she left. He followed her into the bedroom and packed a bag for himself.
As Robyn loaded her suitcase with three of her work uniforms, Moyer took her hand. “I understand why you must do this,” he said. “You can’t give up on your daughter. You hope Viktor Perko will honor his agreement. I know Viktor Perko, and I know he is not an honorable man. Jessica is proof of a conspiracy, payment for planting the bomb. He’s not the type to leave evidence behind. Robyn, I…”
Robyn waited wondering what it was he couldn’t say. “What, Moyer? Just spit it out.”
“I felt Perko give the order to flush Jessica. It happened right after reports of the explosion showed up on the net.”
Chapter 30
R
obyn left for Hogan-Perko early the next morning while Moyer slept. The Judge stirred restlessly on the sofa when she opened the door to leave, but didn’t wake. Her car on the tube was crowded with laborers heading in for early shifts despite it being Independence Day. They were tuned into the net and let the kilometers slip away unseen. She knew most would focus on the aftermath of the explosion. Heads would turn east as they entered the Circle, wanting to see with their own eyes what they’d seen earlier on the net.
New moving pictographs had been painted on the walls of the tube. The ad was for American Surety Insurance. As the car accelerated up to speed, images of a family watching their apartment burn played outside on the tunnel surface. The perspective shifted to the interior of their abode. Family holograms melted. Furniture burst into flame. Children’s toys disintegrated. The words
Don’t Think This Can’t Happen to You
appeared. The ASI logo flashed and the flames receded. Time seemed to reverse itself. Furniture was restored as if by magic, as were the toys and holograms. Outside, the family smiled. The placement of the new ad on the heels of the previous night’s fire was no coincidence. Advertisers never missed a trick or an opportunity.
Reports on the net claimed there was a water shortage the night before and that’s why crews were helpless to do anything but evacuate the area and watch the building burn. Black smoke still billowed from the Capital Arms as Robyn exited the station and crossed the Circle.
Crews working from hover platforms sprayed foam into the gaping cavern that had once been the top floor. Robyn knew she didn’t have much time before they discovered Hawthorne’s body wasn’t inside. She quickened her pace toward the Hogan-Perko tower.
Robyn tried the glass door into the lobby. It was locked. Clock pictograms projected on the window indicated open hours. She was half an hour early. She cupped her hands to the glass and peered inside. A woman behind a counter was setting out brochures. Robyn rapped lightly on the glass and the woman’s head lurched up. Robyn waved and affected a timid smile, then pointed at the lock. The woman set the brochures down and walked toward her. She opened the door a crack and said, “I’m sorry, were closed. But it won’t be long now.”
“I understand,” Robyn said, “I’m here to pick up my daughter. I couldn’t wait.”
The receptionist scanned the Circle and then turned back to Robyn and smiled. She pushed the door open and said, “I don’t think it will hurt anything. Come on in.” Robyn followed the woman across the lobby to the reception desk. The woman pressed a button and a view screen blinked to life. “Your name please?”
“Winfield,” Robyn said and then spelled it.
“Jennifer or Kathleen,” the receptionist asked.
“Robyn, with a ‘y’.”
The receptionist typed in the letters. Her eyes shifted from the screen to Robyn. Her expression was one of confusion and concern.
“What’s wrong?”
“You don’t seem to be in our records.”
“Try my husband’s name – Moyer.”
The receptionist pecked out the letters. Her lips pursed and she shook her head. “It must be a computer glitch. Who was your sales representative?”
Robyn closed her eyes and tried to remember. Events from the night before still occupied her mind. She drew a blank. “Short, silver haired, balding… Fredrick something I think.”
“Fredrick Duncan?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
The receptionist picked up a phone and in a low voice repeated Fredrick Duncan’s name. “Hi, Fredrick, this is Jordan. I have a woman here ready to pick up her baby. She’s not showing in the system. She says you were her rep.” She blinked as she processed the information, eyes focused in mid-air, and nodded as if Fredrick Duncan were standing in front of her. “Last name, Winfield. First name either Moyer, or Robyn.” Jordan’s forehead furrowed with worry. “No problem, thank you.”
She lowered the phone back onto its cradle and gave Robyn a forced smile. “I’m sorry; we have no record of a baby. I don’t know what to say.”
“No, I was here last week for a viewing. I talked to my daughter — patterning, that’s what they called it. Mr. Duncan was there.”
“Please calm down, Mrs. Winfield. Hogan-Perko has never lost a baby, not in over one hundred and twenty years.”
“I want to speak to Viktor Perko. He and my husband had an arrangement.”
“I’m sorry Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, or I’ll –” The phone rang cutting her off. The receptionist held up a finger as she picked up. Her eyes went wide and her posture straightened. She nodded as she listened. “Yes sir.” Jordan swallowed hard and hung up. “Mr. Perko will see you.”
Robyn pressed against the outrush of air when the automated doors to Perko’s office swung open. After the doors closed, the breeze calmed. A small bald man seated under a bright spot of light called to her. “Mrs. Winfield, please take a seat. I couldn’t help but notice the misunderstanding downstairs.”
Behind Perko, almost invisible in the shadows, a pair of security agents in black armor stood guard. Perko smiled, baring two rows of discolored teeth. There was something inherently frightening in his smile. Robyn tried not to react. She tried to smile in return, though hers was tense and probably didn’t convey the trust or confidence she’d hoped. Perko either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“I have a baby here,” she said, “a daughter. Last week, Mr. Duncan invited us in so she could pattern on our voices. Now I’m being told she can’t be found.”
Perko smiled again, head tilted slightly as if he empathized. “I understand and apologize. While you were on your way up, I checked our inventory. We truly don’t have your child. Every baby we have is accounted for and is genetically mapped to their parents. I’m sorry. This has never happened before.”
“But –”
Perko held up a finger to quiet her. “This reflects poorly on us,” he said. “We care about our reputation and will do everything in our power to make this right. Would it be acceptable if I made you another child at our cost?”
“Another nine months?”
“I’m afraid so. There is only one way to make a baby and there are no short cuts.”
Robyn remembered the neon light in the viewing room, gazing down on her baby’s tiny features in shades of red and black. Jessica was a reflection of herself and Moyer — Moyer’s dark coloring, Robyn’s chin and nose, and she was gone. “Are you sure she’s not here.”
Perko grimaced and nodded.
Robyn sensed a malevolent arrogance emanating from the man, and she knew then that Moyer was right. Perko had disposed of her baby the moment the explosion echoed across the Circle. Jessica was evidence. Moyer knew Perko had ordered the bombing, and Jessica was proof of a link between Moyer and Perko. Any remorse Perko showed now was a presentation aimed to mollify her, an act.
Perko pushed a slip of paper toward Robyn. “This is a coupon for another child. It will be honored at any of our locations. If you wish, you can schedule an appointment for a routine donor cell collection downstairs on your way out.”
The two agents stepped forward and Robyn knew the meeting was done.