Free Unseemly Science by Rod Duncan

Tulip was correct we would be across the border in a few hours. I imagined the iron collar and chains that would be waiting for me on the other side. My skin crawled as if seething with lice.
    Someone must have told them where to find me. For days, I had been nagged by the sense that I was being watched and followed. But the thought that a spy might be on my trail was comforting compared to the more likely truth. They had gone to make the arrest at the wharf where one of my neighbours had informed on me, telling them I had set off towards the library.
    There was a screech of brakes and the engine noise changed. Our movement came to an abrupt stop, throwing us towards the front of the wagon. I could hear voices close outside – two men exchanging greetings. A bolt clanged, the door swung outwards and daylight streamed in. I could just make out three figures climbing up, then the door swung closed and darkness swallowed them. The after-image stayed with me though – the silhouette of a woman and two children. The boy had been holding her hand, the girl clinging to her skirts.

    We made three more stops after that; the last prisoners in were two men. The benches were full so they had to stand, gripping the leather straps to keep balance.
    Since crossing the canal and the river, there had been a few miles of steady climb before the land levelled out again. The bench below the slit window being full, I could no longer climb up to look out. But once, as we stopped for water, I heard beyond the sound of the tender being filled, the throbbing hum of twin airship engines passing low overhead.
    The only airship terminus for miles was the international hub at Anstey. That meant we had veered somewhat north of west, taking us away from the border not towards it. We were being taken to a place of confinement pending deportation. They wished to guard us so that we could not drop into hiding as the signing grew closer. I silently berated myself for underestimating the foresight of the Republic’s government.
    The sound of running water stopped and I heard the squeak of the filling arm being retracted. Then the engine noise picked up and we jolted into movement once more. Tulip’s shoulder bumped against mine. I wondered what had made such a strong woman take refuge in the Republic.
    After Anstey, the cobbles gave way to a dirt road, softening the din inside our cell. But here the carriage began to sway and lurch. Every pothole threw us one way and the other. Heads bumped on walls. The children were crying and one was sick on the floor. The journey slowed. The light through the slit window became egg-yolk yellow. Shadows passed more frequently across the small window. The sun outside was getting low.
    Then we stopped. This time the engine stopped also, with a long whoosh of venting steam.
    The door opened. Outside, a line of uniformed constables stood shoulder to shoulder. Beyond them I could see trees and a row of green painted huts. I searched for a perimeter wall but could see none. It was an army camp, I guessed. Not a prison. I felt my heart accelerate. Unlike the black Maria, this place had surely not been designed to prevent escape. And with forest all around, getting away would be easy.
    “Come when your name’s called,” said one of the constables. He read from a sheet of paper: “Fredrick Morison.”
    One of the standing men shuffled to the door and was helped out.
    “Happy Rathsphere.”
    A man on the opposite bench got up and followed.
    “Arthur Purling. William Fotheringham. Thomas Thatcher.”
    When the carriage was empty of men, the constable who had been calling the names followed them out of view. Another constable took his place, holding another list.
    “Sunshine Turner, Angeline Turner, Drake Turner.”
    The mother pulled her two children to their feet and headed out.
    “Tulip Slater. Elizabeth Barnabus.”
    After the vomit smell and body odour of our confinement, the first thing that hit me was the cool