The Sowing (22 page)

Something like an hour later, the door opens again, revealing the same freshly scrubbed, pink-faced guard.

“I thought you’d be hungry by now! Guess not.” He picks up the tray and leaves, but the door remains open, and after a quick, hushed conversation, Aulion strides in. Soren tenses, and my heart pounds in time with the clicks of his boots.

He stops a few strides away, feet planted firmly, hands clasped behind his back. I look up and study his face. A large scar runs down the left cheek, matching his crooked nose and burned neck. He’d clearly been through hell at some point. He has small, snake-like nostrils and prominent lips enhanced by finely trimmed white facial hair. His well-groomed and starchy composure overcompensate for what I decide is a bitter and astonishingly ugly man. I can’t help but wonder how Vale can tolerate working with him.

“Remy Alexander,” he says, turning his unblinking, gargoyle-like stare on me. “We have not been properly introduced. My name is Falke Aulion.” He turns to Soren, and his lips twist in a capricious sneer. “Soren. I apologize for giving you such a fright last night. I thought a fully grown man like you would have learned not to be afraid of monsters in the dark anymore.” Behind me, I feel Soren shiver. Who
is
this man, and what has he done to make Soren so afraid?

His eyes dart back to me, and he just barely shakes his head, frowns, and looks me up and down. Not leering, simply looking, as if I were a specimen under observation. He speaks abruptly: “You both have appointments to keep now.” My heartbeat quickens and I start salivating, wondering for a half second if they’re going to feed us, bathe us, let us pee. Aulion turns on his heel and walks out. The door remains open, though, and four guards enter the room. Two walk to Soren and the others toward me. One of the guards slaps a wet cloth firmly over my nose and mouth and holds it. I panic and tense up, struggle, try not to breathe, but after a moment, I gasp and instantly feel a wave of relaxation—euphoria, almost—flood through me, and I feel like I do when I’ve had one too many of Eli and Firestone’s home brews. It’s a happy drunk and I can feel a silly smile tugging at my lips. As the two guards detach my bindings from the pole in the center of the room and pull me to my feet, I grin stupidly as my knees wobble and the world twirls around me. The guards have to steady me, hands under my arms. I’m overwhelmed with the desire to turn toward Soren, try to talk to him, tell him I don’t really hate him as much as I pretend to, that, in fact, we could be friends, maybe better than friends since Vale ... but I don’t want to think about Vale.
I will not think about Vale!

I glance at Soren and see that he’s biting his lip so hard a bead of blood rests against his white teeth. My legs don’t work right, and I nearly crumple to the floor, but the guards hold me up by my armpits and lead me out into the hallway right behind Soren. I fight to keep my head up but find I lack the strength, and my chin lolls down to my collarbone. I close my eyes and allow myself to be dragged. It feels like my whole body, inside and out, has been stretched to its limit and then left to sag in the languid sun. My eyes flutter open and closed, open and closed, my legs move forward only because I’m being half-propped, half-dragged down the hall.

We arrive at a door, and one of the guards moves around me to key it open. We enter and the guards deposit me in a deep, comfortable leather chair facing an empty desk, behind which sits another elegant chair. Clarity slowly returns to my mind, but I find I still can’t operate my limbs the way I would normally. Something stinks. I strain to look around, focus and stretch out my neck muscles, and then I realize my pants are wet.
Oh fuck,
I think.
I’ve pissed myself.
The smell, coming off of the relaxant, is nauseating. But there’s nothing I can do about that now. Where is Soren? The guards bind my hands, but nothing else. It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t make a run for it no matter how hard I tried. My legs might as well be made of jelly rather than bone and muscle.

The room is expansive, luxurious, but strangely empty. Only the two chairs and the desk decorate it. It’s as though someone prepared this empty office especially for me. Maybe someone did. There are no windows. The walls are decorated only by maps of various parts of the Sector—a map of the city, right down to the neighborhoods and streets, of all of the locations of the Farms and factory towns, and of open land that the Sector has claimed and guards carefully from the Outsiders. There is nothing on the desk except a plasma, which is dark right now.

I start to fully register Soren’s absence. Where is he? They haven’t brought him in yet. Wasn’t he just behind me? Or was he in front of me?

I hear the door open behind me, try to crane my body to see who it is, but I’m not quite functional enough for that complex action. But when the man walks around the desk, my heart stops.

Chancellor Philip Orleán. Vale’s father. The most powerful man in the Sector.

Memories come rushing back. The first time I met him, at a formal event celebrating my father’s designation as Poet Laureate of the Sector, long before Vale and I became friends. Shaking his hand and thinking how nice he was. How genuine. The first time I visited Vale at the chancellor’s manor, when he offered me a ginger beer and a plate of fresh figs. How did he know my favorite foods before he knew anything about me? He always liked me, I thought. Philip always seemed happy that Vale and I had become friends.

Now, I’m not a guest at his dinner table, talking with him about his art collection. I’m a political prisoner working for an organization that opposes everything he believes in, trying to bring down the government he represents. My heart is thumping, thick in the back of my throat. I feel like I am betraying him as much as he betrayed me. I wonder if he agrees.

He sits down at the desk opposite me with a slight smile. “Remy,” he says, somewhat fondly. Distantly, as though he too is awash in memories.

I feel the muscle relaxant wearing off and the energy return to me, gradually. I nod my head in some pathetic half-greeting, half-acknowledgment. He shakes off the reminiscence and glances at the plasma on his desk, then sits back in his chair. He interlocks his fingers, setting his hands on the empty space in front of him. As he stares at me, takes in my haggard appearance, his smile quickly fades into concern, or something like it.

“I’m so sorry that you are here,” he begins. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.” He sounds genuinely contrite.

“What is
this
?” I ask hesitantly.

“I believe there’s an unnecessary chasm between us, an unfortunate misunderstanding. I know you’ve grown and matured, but to me you’ll always be Vale’s friend, the girl who had a love affair with fresh figs.” He smiles sadly.

“Is this the way you treat Vale’s friends? Leaving them handcuffed to a pole and sitting on the cold floor for—I don’t even know how long I’ve been here.”

“Ah, I’m sorry about that. You should know I only want the best for you.” His eyes are full of compassion, and I wonder if it’s real. I grind my teeth and try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, to stay as deadpan as possible.

“The best, huh? So that explains the luxurious accommodations and delicious meals.”  His gaze hardens as I continue. The compassion disappears, replaced by coldness. “And the injections, very nice, thank you for sharing. Thank you for providing only the best for me.”

“Remy, I know Vale cared for you at one time. For months all he talked about was ‘Remy this’ and ‘Remy that’ until he practically drove us crazy. Vale had never talked about another girl like that, and we thought at one time that the two of you might have a future together.”

The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth as I bite into my cheek to keep from crying. His words pierce me like a volley of arrows slicing through a paper target, and I wonder if it’s true—if Vale really talked about me. If he really cared.

“But I’m much more than a father. My responsibilities go far beyond you and me, and even Vale. As chancellor, I am sworn to protect all the people of The Okarian Sector, and you have chosen a path that is dangerous to the safety and security of those people. I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances, but that was your choice to make, not mine. And I’m sorry that you’re here, because it means we’re enemies. I wish that was not the case. ”

I push Vale to the back of my mind and lean forward. “You know what I wish wasn’t the case? I wish Tai wasn’t dead. I wish I had my older sister back. But I can’t get her back, not ever,” I say, fighting to keep my voice calm. “Your wife was responsible for her death, and you sit here and say it was my choice to make?”

Philip looks down at his hands, and an expression of pain and sadness crosses his face. When Tai was murdered, he cried at her cremation ceremony. I remember watching him brush the tears out of his eyes with his leather gloves, trying to avoid being caught on camera. I wonder for a second if he’s grieving again for Tai’s death, and I am almost touched. But then he looks up again and responds, and his voice is hard:

“Remy, your sister’s death was avenged. The Outsiders who perpetrated the crime were destroyed. Your accusation against Corine is ludicrous, and the fact that you’re willing to say such things pains me. I’m afraid we’re going to have to move on.”

I am so stunned by his willful ignorance that I have nothing to say. No words form in my mind or come to my lips.

Philip continues: “Remy, perhaps you don’t realize the danger the Resistances poses. If left unchecked, it will lead to disaster. A return to famine and violence. We won’t risk the future of the entire Sector for the simplistic and idealistic beliefs of your leaders. Now you have to choose between your fellow citizens of the Okarian sector or the backwards beliefs of the Resistance. It’s up to you.” Here he takes a deep breath and looks at me very seriously, leaning forward. “I know you’re a good kid. I watched you grow up. I worked side by side with your parents for years. You know I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He pauses, maybe for dramatic tension.

At this point, I’m awash in desperation and cynicism. How can he be so deluded?

“But I also need you to understand that the choices you’ve made in the last three years have consequences.”

He settles back in his chair slightly and relaxes when I say nothing. Maybe he was expecting more of a fight. “You’ve been brought to see me for a reason, Remy. I can help you. We need information, and once you’ve provided it, we’ll be happy to feed you, give you access to the showers, give you real beds to sleep on.”

“Where’s Soren?” I demand. “I’m not giving you any information until I know at least that.”

Philip seems to consider this question, deciding whether or not to answer me. “Soren is currently meeting with General Aulion.”

I shudder, imagining the pain and horror Soren’s in, being locked up in a room alone with that man.

“Classic ‘divide and conquer,’ then?” I say, working up a grin, trying to put on a brave face. This is what Soren would do if he were in my place. Be as bold and uncooperative as possible. I shrug and look around, pretending to examine my surroundings. “Well, at least it’s a change of pace.”

Philip glares at me. “Now is not the time for attitude, Remy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Why don’t you let me know when would be a better time, when you can fit ‘attitude’ in on your calendar? I’ll have my people contact your people,” I growl back. He holds my gaze and for a second looks like he might let a trace of anger show on his face. But after a few seconds, something in his face softens and melts. He sighs and stares up at the ceiling.

“I know you’re in pain. I know you despise me right now, that you think I’m the bad guy. But whatever you think of me, I really do only want the best for you. I don’t want you to suffer any longer. Talk to me. I just want to help you. When you help me, I can give you everything you need.”

My stomach is empty and my body feels like it might start to devour itself soon. The hunger is already making me lightheaded and dizzy, and I struggle to prevent my thoughts from tripping over themselves. I
need
food. Something, anything. I let my face crumple.
I can play-act at regret and sadness too, Philip.
I look down at my hands.

“I’m really hungry,” I say softly. “They haven’t fed us since we got in here.” I peek up through my eyelashes and see Philip lean forward eagerly as I start to give in. How could I have ever thought he was genuine and kind?

“We can feed you, Remy,” he says. “The information we need is simple. Names and places. Just answer my questions.”

“What do you want to know?” I ask, praying that Soren isn’t going to give us up either. But I know he’s not. Aulion and a few puny hours without food won’t break him. Philip’s mouth twitches upward in one corner, and he glances briefly behind me, presumably at the guards, who I assume are still in the room.

“What’s the name of the person you call the Director?” Philip asks.

“I don’t know his name. I’ve only ever heard his voice.” The Director is a woman. Her quarters are down the hall from mine. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to bring up tears of regret. My “betrayal” has to feel real.

“Where is your base? Where are you located?”

“Just feed me, please, Philip, I’m starving,” I sob. It’s a good one, almost genuine. “I can’t betray my friends!”

“Then I can’t help you, Remy.” He looks at me with tragedy written all over his face. “Think of the lives you’ll save by helping us. We’re either going to kill them when we find them without your help, or we’ll offer them a deal, a surrender, amnesty maybe, if you help us.” He suddenly reaches out his hand across the desk, as though offering to comfort me. Like Vale, at the mission site, reaching out his hand, offering to take me to a safe place, to help me. There might still be hope for Vale. The way he looked when I told him about Tai—his shock, his panic, the way he stared at me as though he might dare to believe me—but there’s no hope for Philip. I stare at his outstretched hand across the table. “You didn’t make the choice to leave, Remy. Remember that. Your parents made that choice. Now you can make a different choice.”