The Sowing (12 page)

Hearing Vale’s name instantly brings his face swimming back before my eyes. I blink him away and shove him back into the darkness. I wrap one arm around Eli’s waist as we head back toward the dormitories, looking for the comfort of a strong, warm body to lean on. He puts his arm around me as we amble quietly through the hallways, and I know he’s thinking about the same things I am.
It’s a good thing we have each other.
It’s late enough that there aren’t many people out. Everyone’s either in bed or settled into their night-long workstations. By the time we’re at Soren’s bunk room, we’re all yawning. Jahnu is already in bed—thank goodness. Now I won’t have to worry about walking in on him and Kenzie in our shared quarters.

Eli volunteers to walk me to my bunk. It’s not far, and once we get there, he pulls me into an enormous hug, and his arms seem big enough to wrap around my whole body twice.

“Listen, kid. Remember our pact,” he says. “We’re going to get them back for what they did to Tai, Hawthorne, and all the others. We can’t bring them back, but we can make things better for everyone else.” He lets me go and grips my shoulders, staring at me with those brown eyes and dark lashes.

“We’re gonna make them pay. Just like we said.”

“Every last one of them.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Goodnight, little bird,” he says, pulling me in for one last quick hug. “Sleep tight. Come find me if you need help fighting any demons, okay?” He turns and marches off.

I open the door to my room and see that Kenzie is already asleep. I crawl up in bed, careful not to make any noise, and pull my blanket over my head. I curl up in a ball and shut my eyes tightly, steeling myself to wake up at 05h45 in the morning to be ready for harvest duties.

Now, though, all I can think about is that my granddad may have left us a message hidden inside that DNA, and it seems all the more important that we crack the code. The sunflower image I’ve been twirling and spinning for the last few weeks surfaces again in my head. Sunflowers were chosen by the Sector’s first Corporate Assembly to be the Sector emblem because they are compound flowers, they tower over other flowers, and they have a sort of powerful elegance about them. Also, through the process of phytoremediation, they are able to extract and store radioactive contaminants in their stems and leaves. Because of this, they symbolize growth and renewal in the wake of the destruction of the old world. But most importantly, with their seeds perfectly arranged according to the mathematical Fibonacci sequence, they are prized as examples of how orderly nature is and perfectly represented the Sector’s goals—to create order out of chaos. But what perplexes me about the whole damn thing is that my grandfather hated sunflowers. He was always going on about how obtrusive they are, tall enough to be barricades, to build up walls between people, and of course, how
offensively
yellow they are. Why would he have left this information, which he obviously thought was hugely important, in the form of something he hated?

It doesn’t make sense.

10 - VALE

Fall 75, Sector Annum 105, 08h00
Gregorian Calendar: December 4
 

“Valerian, wake up,” comes a gentle whisper in my ear. I comprehend her words, but barely. Are they words of dreams or stuff more solid? My eyes flutter open and I register my arms, which have served as a pillow for the last few hours, my desk, and the soft light Demeter is allowing into the room to tell me it’s time to get up. “Valerian, it’s eight in the morning. You need to clean up before the meeting.”

“Five more minutes, Deme. Wake me up in five minutes,” I mutter. I close my eyes again and relish the blackness, the quietness. I hear her recorded, simulated sigh. Even in my groggy haze, I manage to wonder how the programmers made her disappointment sound so unbearably real.

“No, Valerian. It’s time now.” Her gentle voice is both consoling and reprimanding. I raise my head from my elbows reluctantly and blink the clouds away. Demeter slowly opens the windows to let in more light as my eyes adjust. I hear piano music in the background, slowly building in volume. For a moment, I can’t place the piece; that’s how tired I am. Then my fingers involuntarily begin to pick it out, and I realize it’s Liszt’s Transcendental Etude No. 3. How could she know this is one of my favorite pieces?

As the music wakes me up, I run a hand through my hair and realize it’s matted, sticking together at odd angles. I’m probably a wreck. I didn’t even bother to change clothes after yesterday’s workout. She’s right, I need to clean up. I can sleep later. I can sleep when I’m dead.

Demeter and I were working until almost six in the morning, analyzing topographical maps, studying aerial photographs, and scrutinizing classified documents for details about the Resistance and their most recent projects. In an hour, I’ll present details of the mission I’ve been planning to the generals of Aviation, Engineering, and Peacekeeping, the OAC Corporate Assembly, and the chancellor and his cabinet, the Board of Governors. After that, I’ll sleep. Probably for about eighteen hours. And then back to work again. Always back to work again.

“Demeter, double check that the slides are in the right order while I shower?” For a moment, I’m jealous of her ability to work without sleep, of her lack of physical needs. But seconds later, I remember that she needs me to exist, and I’m thankful that I exist in a more corporeal form than a series of electrical signals in the OAC databases. Especially now that I’m awake enough to look forward to a hot shower.

“Yes, Vale, of course.” I stand up, stretch, and yawn. “Now please, go. Even I can tell you’re currently unfit for presentation,” Demeter says into my ear.

“Are you trying to tell me I stink?”

“One does not need olfactory capabilities to know you are beyond the limits of appropriate cleanliness,” she says, a tinkle of a laugh in her voice.

“Fine, I’m going! Now. Satisfied? I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.” I pull the earpiece out, slide open the slot in the wall, set it in its hiding place, and head toward my office bathroom.

I notice that while I was sleeping, Chan-Yu brought in a clean, pressed uniform for me. It’s eerie how easily he slips in and out. After this mission is over, I intend to dig a little deeper into his personal files and find out who he really is.

 ****

In the presentation room, I formally salute each of the generals and nod deferentially to my “mentor,” General Aulion. I am praying he will take my side today or, at least, that he will not antagonize me. We have already been over the details of the mission, so I know that at least for him, there will be no surprises. He nods, a brusque jerk, by way of acknowledgment. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or not. I greet everyone in the room politely and embrace my mother and father. I am the picture of calm and confidence, assured but not arrogant, serious yet unafraid. Growing up as the son of a rising government official and a powerful researcher, I had to learn to conceal my true emotions and play to the cameras. I can change my faces as easily as the wind changes direction.

I take a deep breath and walk to the front to begin the presentation.

The table is a giant circle with a large open space in the center. This is where the holographic slides will appear, and I have enough room to walk around the holograms and point things out. Everyone, of course, has a plasma which will display the images from my presentation individually.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to attend this meeting here in the capital. I know you all have important things to attend to, but I believe the Seed Bank Protection Project is prepared to move on to the next stage, and it’s important that I have your full approval as we take the next step.” The fifteen or so faces looking at me are attentive and questioning, but receptive. I have a good audience.

After brief introductions, I dive right into the heart of the matter.

“The Resistance has a distinct advantage over us: every one of them was originally one of us. They were professors at our schools, researchers at the seed banks, government officials, OAC administrators, or students. Citizens just like us. Every one of them, for reasons we cannot discern, defected.” At this, I notice, some of the OAC council members glance at each other. One or two shift in their seats. A sensitive subject, I know. Most of the people in this room were probably once well acquainted, or even good friends, with those who are now in the Resistance. “In short, they know everything about us. But since they’ve gone underground, we know very little about them.”

Here I pause, while Demeter lowers the lights. She flips on the holographic slideshow in the center of the room, and at the same time, display screens light up at each individual seat around the table. The first slide is a list of high-ranking government and OAC officials who are known to have defected to the Resistance. On the holograph in the center of the room, a headshot with the individual’s name underneath appears. Every few seconds, a new headshot and a new name appears.

I take a deep breath as I prepare for the next line: “So, the goal of my first mission is to level the playing field. This is a hostage-capture mission.” I pause, survey the room. No one moves. Everyone has turned to stone. In my ear, Demeter whispers: “Full steam ahead.”

“We could continue to squander countless hours of effort and manpower by taking aerial photographs, scanning the radio transmissions for encoded messages, deciphering messages, attempting to hack into their servers—or we could go directly to the source. It is my belief that the most effective way to obtain the information we need is to capture and interrogate a member of the Resistance. Specifically: Elijah Tawfiq.”

What was a room of statues is now an avalanche of questions, raised hands, whispers, clamoring voices, and scuttling chairs.

“Question, Vale—”

“He’ll be too well-defended; he’s too valuable—”

“This is insane. No way this team can take on that task—”

“Why Elijah?”

Only the generals and my parents sit stolidly, keeping their thoughts and opinions to themselves. I hold up my hand, trying to appear patient and calm. I had expected this response, and I am prepared, but the sleep deprivation is getting to me. The room appears slightly fuzzy, and now that everyone is talking at once I’m having a hard time following, and I can’t quite process what everyone—what anyone—is saying.

In the holograph at the center of the room, Elijah’s former government headshot rotates, now accompanied not just by his name, but by the following:

Age: 25.

Location: Unknown.

Sector Status before Defection: Sector Research Institute, Research Fellow; Advisor: Professor Aran Hawthorne; OAC Programmer.

Assumed Resistance Status: Computer Programming and Network Communications.

As the tumult of voices quiets, the room comes back into focus. I resist the temptation to rub my eyes.

“I understand this is a controversial proposition, and all of your questions merit attention. Please, beginning with the generals, ask your questions, and I will answer as best I can. General Bunqu, we’ll start with you.”

The general sits quietly, staring at Elijah Tawfiq’s face in the middle of the room. Everyone seems afraid to breathe for fear they might disturb his quiet meditation. Finally, after almost ten seconds of utter silence, he speaks:

“Yes, Lieutenant. I have several tactical questions for you.” He pauses to breathe, as though those words took all of the energy out of him, though I know that to be far from true. He is choosing his words and his question carefully. “But perhaps we can address those later. First, I would like to know why you have chosen Elijah Tawfiq as your target.”

Short and to the point, as always; speaking for the whole room, of course.

“Thank you, General, for the opportunity to explain this in detail.” For a moment, just a second’s hesitation, the words that form on my lips are:
Because I think Remy is with him
. I clamp my jaw shut to prevent my mouth from forming the words against my will.

Everyone is staring at me, waiting for me to continue. I swallow. I force her face to the perimeter of my mind and regain my bearings. What was the question again? Oh, yes, why Eli. Yes.

“We’ve chosen Elijah Tawfiq for a number of reasons.” Demeter shifts the slide to a series of partially decoded communiqués that contain references—we believe—to Eli’s assignments with the Resistance. “First, because of his assumed role in communications, we believe he is likely to have a tremendous amount of information. We can use his knowledge to begin decoding the rest of the Resistance’s internal messages and to find out how far they have progressed in imitating—or exceeding—our technological capabilities. Second: He’s one of the only relatively important Resistance members whose movements we can track at all. Last, because he’s still low on the totem pole, he’s required, for reasons of sheer lack of manpower, to go on their raids and scavenging expeditions. Whereas the higher-ranking members of the Resistance keep their heads well-buried underground, Tawfiq pops up here and there on engineering, reconnaissance, and raid missions.”

Demeter brings up a series of high-res photographs taken by our security systems during seed bank raids: each of them shows Tawfiq with a Bolt slung over his shoulder or cradled in his arms. What no one knows is that I’ve cropped each of the photos to exclude the figure at Eli’s side—to exclude Remy. I was afraid that if they saw her in the photos, some of the officials—who might have heard through my parents that we dated, for however short a time—would suspect me of being biased, accuse me of going after her instead of Eli, and veto the mission. And that’s the last thing I want. I knew I had to convince them that I was only going after Eli, that Remy has no part to play. Even though that’s a lie.

“I readily admit that our information on the precise nature of this raid is incomplete, but based on intelligence that General Aulion and I have reviewed, we are ninety percent certain that Tawfiq will lead a raid on Seed Bank Carbon.  Additionally, we obtained a valuable piece of information from my mother, Madam Orleán, who received word through her own sources that Dr. James Rhinehouse is looking for something at that same bank.” She smiles serenely at me from across the table as people flash glances her way.