The Sowing (2 page)

The door squeaks open and the room brightens. I turn to see Soren Skaarsgard, nearly as tall as the doorway, pull it shut behind him. The cramped cellar falls into shadow once again.

“Eli’s got it figured out,” he says. “It should be back up any second.”

Elijah Tawfiq, one of our engineers and the closest thing I have to family here at the main base, had managed to tap in to the Sector communications feed, and for a moment we saw flashes of familiar faces and snippets of commentary before the screen went black again. For a government that refuses to acknowledge we exist, their defenses against us are getting much better.

Soren pulls up an empty chair and sits, but then, just as quickly, stands again and starts pacing. My knee bounces up and down, and my fingers tap on my chair until Jahnu shoots me a stop-it-or-I’m-going-to-hurt-you glare. The feed’s been down for ten minutes, but each single minute twists and frays in anticipation. Like that moment before a vaccination when the doctor asks,
Are you ready?
before she plunges the needle into your arm.

I breathe deeply, try to calm myself. This viewing room is dark and musty, and my friends and I are the only ones here. Recycled air blows through the vents like a gale, but it never does much good. Seems like down here I’m either sweating or shivering. Today the room is stuffy and I feel faint, like I might be sick. But I don’t know if it’s from the heat or the anticipation.

We all jump as the screen bursts to life, and the official Okarian Sector Anthem plays in the background over the speakers Eli has retrofitted. We missed the opening speeches while Eli was tinkering with the feed, and now the first thing we see is a sweeping panorama of the state-of-the-art science labs, the glass-fronted performing arts center, the verdant, wide-open spaces of the athletic fields, and, finally, my old dorm. The Okarian Academy, my alma mater. Or it would have been if I hadn’t left.

I groan loudly as I recognize the smooth, effortless voice of the commentator, Linnea Heilmann. Her sultry voice is famous throughout the Sector, but for me each word is like a stab in the gut. When the camera cuts to her, face glowing and blue eyes narrowed, every perfectly coiffed blonde hair in place, I taste bile on the back of my tongue. She was my sister Tai’s best friend. When I was little, Linnea braided my hair and always took time to look at my drawings, even when Tai was tired of me.

But Tai’s been dead for three years, and now Linnea is the voice of the people who murdered her.

“And now we turn to the Placements,” Linnea trills. “Each graduate will announce his or her chosen job or continuing academic career as a citizen of the Okarian Sector.” I dig my nails into my palms. Besides the Solstice Celebrations twice a year, Graduation Day is the biggest annual event. The students at the Okarian Academy and the Sector Research Institute are considered elite members of society, watched and admired by the rest of the Sector, almost as if they were old-fashioned royalty. My friends and I, sitting here in this dim underground room, hundreds of kilometers from Okaria, were once members of that elite. I’m sure every Resistance base with the capacity to tap into the feed has people crowded around a screen trying to catch a glimpse of old friends—and enemies—they left behind. “We know that each of these promising young students will contribute to a better and brighter future for us all.”

“Better and brighter if slavery is your thing,” Soren mutters under his breath.

My stomach is in knots. If I’d stayed, this would have been my graduation year—mine and Jahnu’s. It would have been us up there on the stage, sitting next to friends and classmates, joking about the formalities of the ceremony, smiling for the photographers. It would have been us accepting our placements, smiling and celebrating with family and friends, preparing to accept full Okarian Sector citizenship. The people up on the stage were our classmates, our friends. Watching them now feels like betrayal.

The screen cuts to a group of graduates from the Sector Research Institute, and I recognize some of them as Tai’s old friends. They would have been closer to Soren and Kenzie’s age, and I know Soren would have been at the top of his class. The SRI and the Academy always hold their graduation ceremonies at the same time. While the graduates chat casually, all smiles, we hide out in a dark basement beneath an old city miles and miles into the Dead Zone, away from the capital, away from the Sector, away from home. We are sewer rats, living in this scorched skeleton of a city, hiding out in places nearly bombed into oblivion during the Religious Wars, scurrying into the safety of makeshift structures. We are forgotten by most, ignored by many, and tracked like dogs by those who remember. We are traitors.

And so we watch as, one by one, our former friends take to the stage and announce where they’re going next—some are taking positions with the Sector, a few accept research fellowships at the SRI, several are heading out to help oversee factory towns or Farms, and one or two will be officers in the Sector Defense Forces. On the screen, Moriana Nair, Jahnu’s cousin, steps up and walks across the stage. I reach over and squeeze Jahnu’s hand. He and Moriana practically grew up together. I can hear Soren swearing under his breath. Kenzie is sniffling, and I watch as Jahnu wraps his arm around her, comforting her even as he watches his cousin announce her research placement.

I wonder if those on the screen, smiling out at the cameras, are thinking of us, remembering us like we remember them. Do they think about how we live, what we’ve sacrificed? Probably not. Our classmates have forgotten us like winter on a warm summer’s day, unaware that the government they serve hunts us day and night.

The students finish their announcements, and the president of the Academy gives a short speech about how amazing everyone and everything is. I can’t fight back an eye roll. The camera cuts back to Linnea.

“What promising graduates! And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for—the honors speech from our young nation’s most celebrated student. It will be no surprise to our viewers that Valerian Augustus Orleán is graduating with the highest honors.”

Soren groans so loud Kenzie shushes him, and I can’t help but agree. Of course Vale is graduating with the highest honors. His mother, the director general of the Okarian Agricultural Consortium, the corporate body that controls the food supply and seed banks, would have made sure Vale received the highest honors. It certainly doesn’t hurt that his father is the chancellor of the Sector.

 “As the Research Institute’s top student, Vale has the honor of addressing the nation and announcing what’s next for him. Many have wondered whether he will take a commission in the Sector Defense Forces. Will he follow his father’s footsteps into government or his mother’s into research? Of course, we all hope that whatever path he chooses, he will continue to perform around the Sector—he is our most talented young pianist, after all.”

I flinch as a chair skids across the floor and crashes into the far wall. Soren. If Vale is the Sector’s most talented pianist, it’s only because Soren isn’t there to compete. I wonder if Soren’s thinking back to the last time he played—we obviously haven’t got a piano down here, and no one’s yet managed to scavenge anything digital that comes close to what Soren had at home. I bet he hasn’t touched one since he left.

Linnea goes on, her voice lilting with excitement, her eyes glowing, her cheeks flushing. It occurs to me that they could be together. A faint twinge of jealousy passes through me and then fades. After all, why not? It’s been three years since we had anything, me and Vale—whatever it was. Just a kiss, really. It meant nothing. I dig my nails into my palms. They deserve each other. Vale stands, smiles, and walks to the podium. Behind him, a list of his accomplishments scrolls down a huge projection screen. The headmaster of the SRI stands at the podium waiting to shake Vale’s hand and smile for the cameras.

“Is it nice to see your old friend Valerian again, Remy?” Soren says with a savage breath. They never did get along, Soren and Vale, and Soren knows how close we were. Once upon a time.

“Shut up. This has nothing to do with me.”

“Soren, not now,” Jahnu warns.

Soren scoffs and returns his gaze to the screen. We’ve seen Vale countless times on the Sector feed, but I’m always amazed at how much he’s changed since the last time I saw him in person. He still has the same black hair, the same handsome dark eyes, the same lashes any girl would fall for. I think about the kiss, his hand on the back of my neck, his breath hot and our hearts pounding. It seems like a million years ago, practically another geological era. But it was just three years ago, when the future looked limitless, when I hadn’t a care in the world beyond my homework assignments. Our friends were the new generation of builders, the ones who would usher the Okarian Sector into a long period of peace and prosperity. We dreamed of lives without war, without famine, with the scientific advances that would ensure our children would never experience the devastation, starvation, and disease our grandparents had survived. Now, those dreams look like little more than naïve fairy tales.

I watch Vale and wonder if he ever thinks about those dreams. If he remembers what we shared, our hopes, our passions, the hours spent laughing at each other and fast becoming more than friends. But then Tai was murdered, we fled the Sector, and I lost everything I once knew—including Vale.

Vale has lost nothing. He still has his parents and all of his friends; he is surrounded by wealth and power. His future is secure. But as I watch him on the stage I have to ask myself: Does he know why we left? Does he know what his parents—what his government—has done to drive those of us in the Resistance underground? Does he care about the crimes they’ve committed in the name of the greater good? I watch him and wonder if there’s anything left in him of the idealist I once knew.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vale begins. “It’s a beautiful evening and I know everyone on the stage and out there in the audience is ready to get out of our formal attire and start the celebrations, so I will keep my remarks short.”

“Not short enough,” Soren growls, dropping into a chair in front of me and stretching out his long legs. His blonde hair glints in the light from the screen, and I can see his silhouetted jaw clench and unclench as he grinds his teeth. Soren’s mother used to be the chancellor, before Vale’s father was appointed. I never heard the full story, but Soren’s always suspected foul play. He’s hated Vale ever since, and it probably didn’t help that after Soren’s mother was removed from the chancellorship, Vale got all the media attention and Soren fell from the spotlight.

“As the newest leaders of our nation, we pledge to do everything in our power to ensure security and stability for future generations. To that end, I am pleased to accept my placement position in the role of director of the newly-formed Seed Bank Protection Project.”

A creeping dread clutches its chilly fingers at my spine as the audience on-screen erupts into loud cheers and vigorous clapping. He sounds so valiant, so righteous, that for a half second I almost want to believe him, too. What they don’t know, those in the jubilant crowd, is that for the last three years the Resistance has been quietly chipping away at the Sector’s control over the seeds used to feed its citizens. We’ve been stealing the genetic codes to the OAC’s modified seeds and disseminating untainted, safe food to those few people willing to listen, those who have escaped the OAC’s manipulation. Vale’s placement somehow seems targeted directly at us—at me.

“This new role allows me to pursue our goals with singular purpose. Our nation’s priority is to ensure we have enough food and fresh water to nourish our people. Our Farms, and the men and women who work on them, are the cornerstone of our society, and without their dedication and passion for their work, the Okarian Sector would not survive.” He gestures out to the crowd as if honoring the actual Farm laborers—who are, of course, not at an elite ceremony like this one. The onlookers clap and cheer enthusiastically. “But after the Religious Wars and the Famine Years, tillable land and potable water remain scarce, and we must strive to use our resources wisely. That is why it is imperative that OAC researchers continue to hybridize and engineer new strains of seeds so they will grow—and even flourish—in the contaminated land left to us from the Old World. We will do whatever it takes to feed our people.

“Of course, the task of safeguarding our Farms, our scientists, and the hybridized seeds they create is not new. The government and the OAC have long joined forces to protect our agricultural future from the mistakes of our past. Now, establishing the Seed Bank Protection Project as an official joint effort allows us to wield both the power of the government and the resources of the OAC to achieve our goals.”

He turns directly to the camera and says, “I promise I will not fail in my task.”

The screen goes dark. Eli must have decided he’d had enough. I relax my shoulders and slump in my seat. Soren turns to me with a spiteful glare.

 “They’re putting their prized hound on the scent. One mistake, Remy, and we’re all dead. They take everything. All our sacrifices will be for nothing. Thousands more will be poisoned, manipulated, turned to slaves. You better not fucking give us away just because Valerian Orleán is in the game now.”

He won’t give up, will he?

“Vale is nothing to me. And he, I guarantee, has forgotten I even exist.” I’m trying to stay calm, staring straight ahead, refusing to meet Soren’s eyes.

“Right.” He snorts.

“Soren, she gets it,” Jahnu says.

“You’ve had everything done for you your entire life,” Soren spits back at me, ignoring Jahnu entirely. “If Tai hadn’t been murdered, you would never have left. You’d still be back in the Sector with Vale.” 

Without realizing it, I’m standing over Soren, my fists balled at my side.

“We gave up everything to join the Resistance—” I hiss.

“Look around you. You’re not the only one.”

“I know that, Soren! It’s not about who made the choice to leave the Sector—it’s about the fact that we’re here now, together. We have to fight together. Stop treating me like I’m some stupid little girl who’s going to go soft over a teenage crush. I’m a member of your team!”