The Sowing (13 page)

No one questions my mother’s sources.

“To finish answering your question, General Bunqu,” I say as he nods solemnly at me, not a trace of a smile on his face, “we’ve chosen Elijah because he is at once
valuable
and
vulnerable
. Furthermore, we do not seek or anticipate any casualties. Our goal is to undermine the Resistance rather than to destroy lives. The Sector is not in the business of murdering its citizens. Does that answer your question, General?”

Kofir Bunqu looks at me and for one delirious and sleep-deprived second I am convinced his eyes are boring a hole into my soul and that it is seeping out into the room, saturating the walls and the floors and the people. But then he speaks, unsmiling and unblinking, and I come back to myself.

“I am pleased that harming members of the Resistance is not your goal. Our cause will not be advanced by indiscriminate slaughter.” The silence after his response seems to crash in on me.

“Question, Vale,” comes another voice from another world, and my soul is suctioned back into my body and my head spins, owl-like, to rest upon the source of the voice: Evander Sun-Zi, my father’s right hand man. His formal position is Director of Agricultural Farm Production, but he’s better known as “The Dragon,” a nickname he earned from his ferocity and quick-to-anger temperament. “Actually, this question is not for you but for General Aulion.” I jump like a twitchy mouse at the mention of Aulion’s name.

“As Vale’s mentor, you have full knowledge of the work he’s put into this mission. Does it meet your approval? Keep in mind the boy’s”—Did he really just call me that?—“position as well as his personal relationship to the chancellor and the OAC general director.”

 I pray to everything that has ever been considered sacred that Aulion takes my side here.

Aulion looks at Sun-Zi and then his eyes slide over to meet my father’s. “I believe that Lieutenant Orleán has adequately prepared and is competent to proceed.”

I fight the urge to grin, but my happiness is tempered. I can’t help but think that Aulion’s words were at least partially coerced by my father. But I can’t worry about that now—he took my side, and that’s all that matters.

“Does anyone else have any more questions before we turn to the strategic overview?” I ask. Heads shake. Faces turn to their neighbors and then back to me.

My mother smiles broadly and says, “Vale, I believe you’ve satisfied our concerns about the necessity of the mission and the wisdom of your choice of target.”

“Thank you, Madam Orlèan. With your permission, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll proceed.”

 ****

Forty-five minutes later, after a thorough tactical overview including the training my team has undergone, attack strategy, retreat options in case of failure, and a comprehensive map review of the seed bank, my father calls for a consensus vote on whether or not to approve the mission.

“Master Administrator, will you count the votes? All in favor of approving Valerian Orlèan’s proposed hostage-capture mission, raise your right hand.”

I look around the room. All the hands are raised. A bubble of excitement starts in my toes and spreads up through the rest of my body, cresting finally in an enormous smile that I can’t keep off my face.

There is a long and somewhat pregnant pause in the room. Then the master administrator speaks:

“Thank you all for your votes. All in favor. Valerian Orleán, your first official mission has been approved.”

My father looks at me grimly, as though to say,
Don’t get comfortable. This was the easy part.
“We will expect constant updates from you over the next several weeks as you continue to drill and prepare.”

“And of course,” my mother cuts in, “we eagerly anticipate hearing about your results and the information you obtain from Elijah Tawfiq, once he is ours. I look forward to meeting him again myself.”

The peculiar way my mother says the words “
once he is ours
,” as if Eli is nothing more than a tool or a computer part or an airship to be possessed, somehow sounds too brutal, and my chest tightens as I once again push away memories of the past. Even as everyone stands and the master administrator announces “Meeting adjourned” from a faraway world and everyone is shaking my hand and my father is clapping my shoulder and my mother is kissing me on the cheek, a fog gathers around my thoughts and clouds my vision, and I discover I can’t see properly. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me, and I keep hearing the words “once he is ours” echoed over and over again. Once I deliver Eli to the Sector, what will become of him?
What exactly does one do with a person who is ours?
My mouth forms words, and the muscles in my face move in the direction of what must certainly be a very practiced smile, but I keep asking myself why I ever thought capturing a human being and making him
ours
was a good idea.

11 - REMY

Fall 82, Sector Annum 105, 18h07
Gregorian Calendar: December 11
 

Barely lukewarm, the water from the old, rusted showerhead trickles down my forehead as I struggle to get the sweat and dirt off. Dank, earthy air and dim lights combine to make me feel like I’m showering in an underground cave. It’s always a fight down here, but today it’s especially bad. I drew the short straw after our workout and had to shower last. Back in the Sector, we’d get all the water we wanted, but out here, hundreds of kilometers away from civilization, our small array of generators is never enough to keep the water hot enough for everyone. Tai and I used to share a bathroom with an oversized stone tub. I could lay out flat and point my toes and still not touch the end. Tai spent hours in that tub, but I preferred a good hot shower over a long soak any day. The shower had about twenty nozzles that you could adjust from what Dad called
gentle rain
to
torrential downpour
to
Atlantic hurricane
. After joining the Resistance, I quickly learned how much of a luxury all that really was, and now my curls are always just a bit grimy.

I lather up with a bar of soap and scrub down my body as quickly as possible before I start to get chilled. As soon as the trickle of water has rinsed all the soap from me, I grab a towel and pat dry, throwing on my clean clothes. I grab my toiletries and my sweaty workout clothes and head back towards my dorm.

“Hey, Remy!” someone calls behind me.

“Oh, hey, Kenzie.”

Her bright red hair dances around her face as she smiles. “Headed back to the bunk?”

“Yeah, gotta get something warmer than this.”

“I always bring a sweater with me. These halls are so dank and chilly,” she says, shaking her head ruefully. She walks with me towards our shared bunk room.

“It’s either that or hot and sweaty,” I agree. “God, I’m tired.”

“Me, too,” she nods. “Eli really worked us to the bone on that one.” Eli’s our squad leader and is in charge of setting our training regimens. We do a lot of solo training, but every few days we spend several hours working out together, going over formations and drill policies, doing target practice, et cetera. We only have a week or so before our next mission, so Eli is pushing us hard right now. “You really killed those hurdles.”

“Yeah, I beat my best time,” I say casually.

“How’d you get so fast? I’ve got four inches on you!”             

“It’s a damn good thing I’m fast, ’cause you could take me in a fistfight any day.”

“Lucky we’re on the same team, then,” she says. “So, what are you doing tonight?”

“The usual. Dinner, then staring at our damn chromosomes, hoping a solution magically appears in front of my eyes. What about you?”

“Jahnu and I are going topside for a moonlight soiree,” she says, whispering confidentially, and I can tell she’s eager to share the news. “What should I wear?”

“Something sexy, obviously,” I grin. “What about that green dress you have? It looks great on you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she sighs. “Definitely. I’m just so—”

“Happy?”

“Yes! He’s so sweet, and thoughtful, and—I know you two have been good friends for a long time. Does he talk about me, too?”

“Are you kidding?” I roll my eyes. In fact, Jahnu hasn’t been talking much at all to me lately. He just sits around looking all dopey and dreamy. “Face it, Kenzie, you guys are in love,” I say, giving her a playful shove. Just then, we round the corner and run smack into Jahnu.

“There you are,” he says, his eyes lighting up as he sees her. He bends over to give her a kiss, and a bright smile spreads across her face. “Remy, Firestone sent me to look for you. Your mom’s calling in. She’s been on the line for about ten minutes now.”

“Shit.” I’d forgotten we agreed to talk today if we could. I always try to talk to my parents before we go out on a mission—just in case something bad happens. It sounds morbid, but it makes us all feel better. “I’ll see you guys at dinner, then,” I say, but neither of them are paying me much attention right now. They’re making moon eyes at each other, and I’m pretty sure I actually hear cooing. I sigh and jog off towards the comm center.

When I arrive, I rap lightly on the metal so I don’t startle Firestone. It’s more out of habit than courtesy; I don’t think anything could shake him. Firestone’s got messy black curls and angular features that don’t quite all fit together right. His eyebrows and his chin are too pointy; his nose seems angled in the wrong direction. His real name isn’t Firestone, but no one knows what it is or who started calling him “Firestone” in the first place. He’s one of the few Resistance members at our base from a factory town. Eli says he split off when he was about twenty and lived out in the woods for a year or so by himself, and no one really knows why. One of our hunting parties happened across him one day, half naked and living in a tree. He’d gone more than a little crazy. But when they brought him back to base, it turned out he’s an experienced pilot and a whiz mechanic who can take things apart and put them back together better than they were before. He’s pretty quiet, but Eli’s managed to get on his good side by rehabbing old machinery with him. And I think they get along because they’re each, in their own ways, a little insane.

“Heya, Remy,” he calls. “Guess Jahnu got word to you that your mum’s calling in?” 

“Yeah.” I sit down at the chair next to him and pull on the big old-fashioned headphones. They’re antiquated, but I’ve gotten used to them by now. I flip the call switch, and instantly I hear my mom’s breath.

“Sorry,” I whisper apologetically. “I forgot we were supposed to talk.”

“It’s okay.” Her voice is soothing but does nothing to calm my nerves. Every time I talk to them, I just realize how much I miss them—and how much I’m afraid to lose them. “I wasn’t worried. I just wanted to make sure we got to talk before you head out on this next mission.”

“I know.”

“Dad can’t make it right now. I’m sorry, but—”

“Why not? Is everything okay?” Panic lances through my chest.

“He’s fine.” I can almost see the reassuring smile flit onto her face like a little butterfly. “He’s just out gathering food. We’re a little short, so he went to forage.” I sigh. The knowledge that they’re on the verge of running out of food doesn’t do much to calm my nerves.

“Are you guys going to be okay?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“We’ll survive. We’ve been in worse situations. The Director has arranged another food drop for us in a few days.”

“Okay.” I try to convince myself that this is okay, that they’re not going to starve, that everything is going to be fine. “How’s the mission going?”

“It’s going well. We’ve had a lot of success at this Farm. We’re really starting to see a change, and more and more people are coming to us for help, for medicine, for good food.”

“Is that why you’re short?”

“Your father is more liberal about giving away food than I would recommend,” she says wryly. I laugh weakly. My father, the dreamer, the idealist. Always thinking that change is just around the corner, that bread and fish will materialize out of nowhere, that people will change their minds if you just say the right words at the right time. Of course he wouldn’t stick to the ration limits.

“So what’s the mission this time?” she asks, changing the subject. “I know you can’t tell me where, but …” Her voice trails off.

“It’s another seed bank raid. Rhinehouse is looking for information.” I can’t tell her this, but we’re looking for information that might help us solve the DNA puzzle. Even with Rhinehouse’s more sophisticated machinery and computing power, we still haven’t cracked the code, and Eli and Rhinehouse are clearly getting frustrated. Rhinehouse got the notion in his head that my grandfather may have left some old research notes at Seed Bank Carbon, so that’s where we’re headed. If Rhinehouse is right and Granddad did leave some of his old notes there, there’s a slight chance they might be able to help us out. “It should be easy. Just like last time. In and out, two hours tops, if all goes according to plan.”

“Be careful out there. Come home safe, okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” I choke out, but the words catch in my throat. No one in the Resistance has been caught or apprehended yet, but that can only last for so long. Eventually the Sector is going to get smart, and they’ll catch us somehow. We’re trying to stay one step ahead of them, but who knows how long that will last?

“Okay, I need to go. I love you, darling. I’ll talk to you after the mission, okay?”

“Yeah. I love you guys, too. Tell Dad. Bye, Mom.”

I hear the click on the other end, and I know I’ve been disconnected. Reluctantly, I lean forward and flip off the switch on my end, as well. I take the headphones off and look at Firestone, who is slouching in his chair, brushing his long hair out of his face.

“All good, little lady?” he asks. I shrug.

“As good as I could hope for, I guess. How’s your new batch of beer coming?”

“Not too bad. Just about to rack. Making a darker brew this time. Added some hops and spice, too.”