THE FOREVER GENE (THE SCIONS OF EARTH Book 1)

by Dean, Warren

  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 kn
ow 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.

  He shook his head. If things got any weirder, he would have to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming.

  He pulled off again and crossed the river on Longfellow Bridge. From there, it was a short drive to MIT. He stopped outside the stately old Lowell Court and looked around for Edgar. He didn't have long to wait before a thin, bearded youngster ambled over to the car. David wound down the passenger window, but didn't unlock the door.

  "Wow man," gushed Edgar. "You really have a Lamborghini Aventador!"

  "Yes, I do," replied David, "and you have two minutes to tell me why I should drive you to California."

  "Hat Creek Radio Observatory," said Edgar.

  "Hat Creek? That's the SETI station; the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence. Isn't that search over? What is the point of going there?"

  "The search is far from over. We need to contact the other alien races."

  David frowned. "What other alien races?"

  "The ones the Faerie Folk told us about. Look, let me in and I'll tell you the whole plan. If you don't like it, you can kick me out and be on your way."

  David considered his choices. He could either deliver his cargo of medicine to New York or use it to get to California. If he chose the former, he could look forward to a life under the thumb of Westside Phil. Once a gangster got his hooks into you, he never let go. If he made the latter choice, he would never be able to return to Boston, but there might be some faint hope of seeing Pris again.

  He unlocked the passenger door. "Get in, you can tell me about it on the way."

  Edgar moved the box of medicine to the luggage compartment and folded his tall frame into the low slung passenger seat. He offered his hand, which David shook briefly.

  "What about the rest of DOPE?" David asked. "Are you just going to leave everyone else behind?"

  "DOPE is pretty much a thing of the past," replied Edgar. "We once had over a thousand members, mostly MIT students, but there are now only about twenty of us. The others have already gone on to California. Over the last couple of weeks we have been cadging lifts from any
one going that way. I am the last one here. That is why I was so interested in your car."

  David pulled away from the kerb. He took the Massachusetts Turnpike out of the city and, as they drove through the suburbs, Edgar outlined his plan.

  "When I realised that most people were not going to listen to DOPE, I began to think about alternative strategies we might adopt. According to the Faerie Folk, there are many other space faring races out there. Some are even from our own galaxy. After a while, it occurred to me that, if there are other intelligent races in the universe, it is a good bet that not all of them are friends of the Faerie Folk."

  "Wait a minute," said David, determined to expose any flaws in the other man's reasoning before they got too far down the road. "How do you know they weren't lying about that too? What if there are no other space faring races?"

  "Think about it," replied Edgar, shaking his head. "What does any good liar do? He tells as much of the truth as possible. It makes it easier for him to keep his story straight and the false parts harder to spot. I believe that most of what the Faerie Folk told us is true. There are other races out there. That much we had worked out for ourselves already; that given the size of the universe, the odds are that we are not the only sentient life in it. Our doubts always stemmed from the fact that we had never found any firm evidence of other life. Well, those doubts have now been swept away and, logically, we must now accept as a fact that there are other intelligent races out there."

  "So," said David, intrigued, "if most of what they told us is true, what did they lie about?"

  Edgar adopted a pensive expression. "Their real reason for coming here. They said that it was because they needed help resolving their reproductive problem. That rings true, as far as it goes. If we accept what we have been told about their development as a race, it is quite possible that they really have a reproductive problem and that they are genuinely looking for answers. But that wasn't necessarily their real reason for coming here."

  "What do you think the real reason was?"

  The youngster shrugged his shoulders. "That is what we need to ask another intelligent race which has had contact with the Faerie Folk."