I feel like a high school senior, basketball superstar, and Olympic legend wrapped up together. Here I am on an electric cycle, free to go where I want instead of having to follow bus routes and schedules. I’m on top of the world until I walk into the station with its beehive of activity surrounding Lieutenant Scarlatti and Voss the Boss.
I scurry like a mouse down the side corridor into the break room. It’s empty except for Liz Cameron refilling her thermos. She doesn’t look up when she hurries out, hustling to get back to her desk before Voss notices her absence.
Surprised that the electronic scanner takes my ID, I clock in for what limited pay internship brings. I check the roster. Janine’s on the clock. Brooks is out on a call. I hope she took my sister.
With all the commotion downstairs, I sneak up to Voss’ reception area. Dwarfed by her desk, the plump, motherly Liz guards the captain’s office while she drinks decaffeinated coffee by the quart. I swear she’s addicted to caffeine and believes that if she drinks enough decaf she’ll get her buzz.
“Captain’s downstairs,” Liz says with an exhausted smile. “I suppose you already know that.”
“What’s all the fuss?”
“Since you’re leaving the force, I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll ask downstairs. I’m sure they’re closer to what’s happening.”
“Not so fast, young lady. They’ll tell you there was a breakout from Michael’s School last night. Boys had help on the outside, Underground Railroad, I’d say. A hundred boys. Think of that, 100 ruffians stirring trouble.”
I slump against her desk to steady myself. Morgan? I can’t breathe.
Liz is too involved in talking to notice. “We can’t have that, so Voss is calling all officers to hunt them down before they reach the Outlands. For transport they stole buses and cabs. For food they broke into Union Burgers & Subs.”
Mom? Are you helping them? Tell me you’re not. I can’t lose you, too. Not again. Think of poor Janine.
“They must have bypassed checkpoints, or else they’re still hiding here in Knoxville.” Liz shudders. “How do you hide 100 boys? They’d stand out like ants at a picnic.”
That’s what I want to know. Mom?
“This all happened last night after you left. We simply have to find those boys and send them to a more secure facility far, far away.”
I hurry downstairs, stealing a glance up at Voss’ office. She has the best access to government files that might tell me where my birth mother is. How many more chances will I get before I’m off the force? Tonight doesn’t look promising, but I get another idea.
Two dozen cops crowd around Voss and Scarlatti. I slip around the outside of the large room to avoid them. Voss is red-faced, embarrassed. I don’t want to run into her and absorb her wrath. I don’t see Brooks or Janine, so I check the electronic roster. Brooks is still out. Janine doesn’t qualify to be on the posting roster.
I sneak into Scarlatti’s office and root around her desk. For a bright, tough cookie, she has no memory for passwords. She recorded them on her wrist-pad, which she left in her desk next to her confirming electronic fob. How sloppy. No wonder the boys escaped.
After memorizing passwords, I pass the fob over the verifying node on Scarlatti’s desk to access her files on the holographic monitor. I push through to the police database and discover that access is limited. I’m surprised Scarlatti, as Voss’ favorite, can’t see more. No wonder she isn’t worried about her passwords.
I pull up my file. On top are transfer papers sending me to Hollander’s Resocialization Facility in Nashville this Friday. There’s a notation: Suspended by assignment to mech training. I don’t see a termination date. I guess that means I’m still a cop intern. Am I also in school when I’m not with Sam or the cops? How confusing.
Janine’s file has a bold reference to me and Mom–sins of the mothers and sisters. It pisses me off. It’s criminal to hassle Janine just because Mom opposes Governor Battani, and I’ve transgressed.
Files dating to the Second Civil War are archived and unavailable. Prison files only show jails and prisons in the Knoxville area. A notation comes up that Scarlatti can’t access what I’m looking for. So that’s why she spends so much time in Voss’ office.
Several notations point to local prison breaks and round-ups. Voss’ name shows up next to many of the round-ups, along with Scarlatti. Many escapees died rather than return to prison. Voss’ teams captured the rest. None of the prisoners made it to the Outland over the three years covered in the files.
Pulling up records on Michael’s School for Boys brings a listing of students, including a Morgan McDermott, 17. His picture shows a doe-eyed redhead. He’s handsome when not covered in mud. They list him as a good student, and athletic. His curriculum shows that he’s years behind me, and I’m security-tracked. I wipe a tear from my cheek. They’re not educating boys for careers, are they?
Morgan made three attempts to break out of school, the last on Monday, which I watched. There’s a notation that they’re transferring him to a work-farm in western Nebraska. Despite wanting to know more, I realize Scarlatti will return to her office before going on patrol. I shut down my searches and then, to cover my tracks, do mundane look-ups into food and clothing I know she likes.
I sneak out of the office. When I slip around the corner toward the break room, the crowd still gathers around Voss, who is giving painstaking directions. I hurry into the break room with its refrigerator, microwave, vending machines full of bland offerings, and Liz’s decaf machine.
Someone hits my left shoulder and body-blocks me against the wall. “Damn you.”
For a nanosecond I think Dara. Then I see Janine. She buries her face in my shoulder and sobs, holding me like a desperate child. “I thought you were dead.”
I can’t hold back my tears. “I’m so sorry about last night. I passed out. I feel wretched that I got you into so much trouble.”
Janine pulls away. “Trouble? I’ve been worried sick about you all night and today. That’s trouble.”
“Mom wasn’t angry?”
Janine whispers, “She didn’t come home last night. I begged Margarite to go back for you. She refused. I would have gone myself, but I couldn’t remember how.”
Mom out, Underground Railroad, escaped boys. Oh, shit. Why couldn’t you take me with you? Because I was stupid and got that maroon collar. Is Morgan still with you? Where are you? I can’t let Janine know. What to do? I can’t sit around. I can’t let Janine follow me.
I brush tear-streaked hair from the side of her soft face. “I’m so sorry I got us into a fix last night.”
“I can’t believe how cozy you got with Dara.”
Chills worm their way up my spine. “I don’t remember what happened, Babe.”
“She fancies you, doesn’t she?”
“I don’t fancy her. She got me drunk.”
Janine pulls away.
“I’m sorry, Babe. I have to work with Dara. That’s why I went. I just need to be more careful. I promise I won’t let it happen again.”
Her eyes soften. “Where’s Mom?”
“I don’t know.” And I don’t. “Why don’t you finish your shift? I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
“I’ll come with you. Then you won’t have to do all those bus transfers alone.” Janine touches my neck. “Glad they removed that horrid collar.”
“I got an electric cycle for being in the mechs. I’ll find Mom and come back for you so you don’t have to catch the bus.”
“Don’t get into any more trouble. Please. I’m sorry I got mad at you.”
“I deserved it.” I hug Janine and savor how she melts into my arms. “Is Brooks taking you on?”
“I guess. She took me out. I really like her.”
“Do what she says and I’ll come back for you. Let her know…tell her…don’t tell her about Mom.”
Janine nods.
* * *
Relishing the freedom the electric cycle offers, I pray that storm clouds blowing in from the southwest hold off. I hurry home, thrilled to cover 45 minutes of bus transit in 10. I text Mom, no reply. I call and get voicemail.
I park my cycle in the empty garage. No Mom, though it’s early. I hurry inside. Mama Grace stands in the kitchen with the aroma of baked gingerbread cookies. My sisters don’t get home from school until five. Surroc says extending our school days provide all girls the same educational opportunities. Mom says it’s so schools can socialize and watch us and so women can work, most women, anyway. Mama Grace stays home.
I hug her. The sight and smell of gingerbread tempts me. Though I know the sugar-free taste will disappoint.
Mama Grace moves her treasures. “Hands off. You have explaining to do, young lady. You didn’t come home last night and kept Janine out late.”
“I was socializing with other mech trainees.” I hope she’ll see that as a good thing.
“I don’t like you girls out late, particularly when we have city-wide curfew on account of that Michael’s School.”
Despite wanting to ask about Mom, I don’t want Mama Grace to connect the dots. “Tell Mom I’ll be late. I’ve got to work and then bring Janine home.”
“Be careful. Too many hooligans out there.”
Without commenting, I return to my cycle. I feel important, having my own transportation. I call and text Mom again, no response. Is the senate in session? If so, she’ll have her wrist-com off. I decide to check it out, since I don’t need two bus transfers to get there.
The state government building takes up a full city block, which was torn down and rebuilt with Roman columns. It’s hard to reach. Nearby streets are blocked to all but authorized traffic. I reach a checkpoint set up after yesterday’s “riot” and breakout from Michael’s School. A pimply blonde in a cop’s uniform grips her stun-gun. Trigger happy, are we?
“Is the senate in session?” I ask.
Pimply Blonde glares at me as if divulging such secrets could lead to revolution, successful, as opposed to civil war, failed. That gets me to wondering why we call the separation of the Outlands a civil war. The war’s been over for 17 years and we’re still separated.
I sigh. “My mom’s in the senate. I’ve been trying to reach her. If they’re in session, fine. If not, I need to find her.” I hold up my cop intern ID.
The pimply blonde grabs my card, scans it and relaxes. “The senate’s not in session. Have you tried her office?”
I want to slap my blonde head and say, duh, wish I were smart like you. Instead, I smile and nod. I ride out toward the mech base to enjoy speed on the lonely road and to satisfy myself that Mom didn’t head that way. I don’t see anything that looks like 100 boys. Can’t imagine concealing that many. I’m proud that Mom can, and that she got George to safety.
There’s nothing along the tree-lined road to the mech base to indicate boys went this way. I wouldn’t. I’m certain Mom wouldn’t. How would I do it? I’d flee Knoxville–too many eyes. I’d cross the river and find the most sheltered path, under cover of woods. Head toward no-man’s-land and then the barrier. But the closer you get to the border the more cams, listening devices, and satellite tracking. It sounds impossible. Way to go, Mom. Just don’t get caught.
I don’t know where to look and don’t want to expose Mom by tipping off Sam or the cops, so I return to Knoxville, and keep going. Janine doesn’t get off for another two hours. I don’t want to run into Scarlatti or Voss. I can’t go to work, since I’m too worried about Mom. And I need to find alternatives to the mechs.
At each passing bus stop I study restaurant choices: Union Burgers & Subs, Tenn-tucky Bistro, American Fine Dining, our good, better, best. It’s the same boring stuff in different settings. I want to believe there are others like me who relish variety. Now and then, I see a Barry’s or such that adds spice within Union restrictions.
I hunger to give it a shot. I’d bring Janine in so she didn’t have to do security. Might even sneak Morgan in to help, let him live in the attic or basement. A restaurant would be a perfect place to hide boys and feed them. I like this more with each mile.
As much as I hated waking up next to Dara this morning, and the way she takes charge and got me drunk, she’d know how to get a club or restaurant working. Before I know it, I’m in front of the old plantation house. Two dozen cycles nestle up to the porch like horses tied to a hitching post. It’s Dara’s posse from mech training.
When I turn to make my escape, Dara pops out in jeans and yellow pullover. “I wondered if you remembered how to get here.”
“I’m not interested in a repeat of last night,” I tell her.
“Don’t be so thin-skinned. You’ve got to toughen up for the mechs. Come on in and let’s party.”
“I have to go. I was just trying our new toy.”
“Heather’s cooking up something illegal.”
The thought of new tastes grabs me and won’t let go. A restaurant is my ticket out. I hold up my hand. “Okay, but I can’t stay long. I’m not drinking. And I’m not getting cozy.” I feel ill imagining what happened after I passed out.
“Loosen up. We only go around once. Make it count.”
Not your way. I park my cycle next to the others and tuck the starter fob into an inner pocket I sewed into my skorts. I follow Dara through the huge marble façade of the plantation’s foyer. The dusty, expansive interior returns the nightmare of last night. I keep my distance so Dara can’t put her arm around me and be buddies again. The light beat of catchy music fills my ears, something I could dance to or at least move to, since I haven’t danced to anything other than Union melodies with Janine.
In the long, high-ceiling room, beanpole Margarite sits with a few of her basketball friends. Dara stands along the side with mech recruits, including the boisterous sandy-blonde Capra and Rox with her shiny cornrows. Several recruits stand at the bar drinking shots. Who will wake up next to Dara tomorrow? Will they wash out of the program when they don’t make it to training? That’s right. It’s not until Friday.
Dara tugs my arm. “Come on. Just a quick drink.”
I yank free and step back. “I don’t like being touched. I don’t want a drink, and I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“You find me ugly?” Dara moves closer, softens her look, and poses her elegant profile.
“You have a striking face. You’re passionate about what you want. But I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone.”
“You’re sleeping with Janine, aren’t you?”
I glare up at her. “We sleep three to a room. That’s all. I love my sister and won’t let anyone hurt her.”
“Is that a threat?”
“A promise.”
Dara laughs. “You’ve got spunk. I like that.”
The subtle implications have me on edge. I move to the counter next to the bar and find sandwiches. Starved, I grab what looks like another bland turkey-soy-on-wheat.
“Careful,” Dara says. “It has kick. You might want a drink with it.”
I fill a glass with tap water and taste the sandwich. I don’t smell anything unusual, but the sandwich bites back, something tangy I can’t place. I swig water. After the burn dies down, the taste compels me to try again. This time I get a broader taste with the kick. I savor the experience with my eyes closed. It piques long-dormant taste buds that scramble to describe the yummy taste.
When I finish the sandwich, my chest rumbles. Acid rebels against the prickly taste. “What was that?”
“Sharp mustard with jalapenos,” Dara says. “From the Outlands. Here, try these.” She holds out a tray of illegal chocolates.
Popping one into my mouth, I get a minty flavor, then cherry. The silky blend slides down my throat and quiets the acid burn. I’m in heaven, seduced by the dark side in rebellion against the Union.
Music grows louder with a peppy beat. Dara takes my hand, drags me to the middle of the floor and begins to dance. Not wanting a repeat of last night, I break free and head for the door. I don’t need whatever she’s pushing.
“Don’t go.” Dara taps my arm. “We caught two of the Michael’s School boys. We’re gonna have some fun with them.”