Doomseeds

by Tam Linsey

  Everyone vied for a spot near the flag, jostling shoulder to shoulder. Eily’s infant mewed. Through the crowd, she caught a glimpse of one of Sefe’s sullen-faced warriors, hands bound behind him, his nose torn and bloody where there’d once been a labret.

  “What do they want from us?” asked a young man holding a gun in one hand.

  The weapon made Eily’s hammering heart skip a beat and tighten. The weapons were a part of the plan she hadn’t thought through. “No one can be holding a gun,” she said. “If the Flame Runnas see them, they’ll fire.”

  The young man hugged the firearm tight against his chest and glowered at her.

  “Put the gun down,” said an older woman, perhaps the boy’s mother.

  The boy scowled but elbowed his neighbor aside to set the gun on the ground. The metal barrel looked stark and dangerous against the pale rock. The crowd closed over the spot, but she couldn’t chance even a glimpse of a weapon among them. A single gun could make the Burn Operatives assume these people were a threat. The Protectorate would need someone to blame.

  Eily spun on her toes to see above the crowd. “Where’s Sefe?”

  No one seemed to have an answer. On the southeastern horizon, a glint of movement drew her attention to the sky. Fighting panic, she raised her voice above the noise. “Separate Sefe and his men from the rest of us! Lay the guns near them so the Flame Runnas know he’s responsible!”

  Panicked voices drowned out her command as other people spotted the specks in the sky. She grabbed the older woman’s arm. “The Flame Runnas will think we all helped Sefe.”

  The woman stared at the gun a moment. Then she shoved her son. “Do as she says.”

  With agonizing slowness, the word spread, and the crowd expelled bound warriors toward the Taguan entrance. Most men had to be carried, but at least two walked on their own. Eily glanced at the sky. The dusters drew closer, flying in a V formation. More guns clattered to the rock as women darted out and dropped weapons in a pile against the nearby wall.

  Four men lumbered out and flung Sefe’s bald form in the middle of the cluster of warriors. The ousted leader lifted his head, his teeth bared in a snarl, but seemed too injured to do more than choke out, “She’ll doom you all!”

  About twenty bound men now cowered at the Taguan entrance. Most were lying down or hunkered over with obvious injuries, but two were trying to move back toward the flags. Four women shoved them away, arguing. A short, broad woman jabbed the butt of a gun into a warrior’s gut, doubling him over, then kicked him backward.

  Against the nearby wall, the meager stack of firearms caught the morning sun. Eily shifted the infant to her other arm, surveying the crowd. This couldn’t be all the weapons. The cannibals didn’t understand that the Burn Operatives would be happy for any excuse to flash everyone.

  A few miles east, the aircraft paused and circled tightly. One dipped below the amarantox while two others hovered.

  She looked around in an attempt to find the older woman who’d helped before, but she was nowhere in sight. “If even one person holds a gun, the Flame Runnas won’t heed the flags.”

  To her relief, Rodi rose above the crowd, held high on someone’s shoulders. “This is our last chance. One person holding a gun will break the Peace.”

  The women fighting the upright warrior flung their weapons toward the pile and ran for the crowd. The bound warrior followed them, but no one stopped him. From the crowd, three more people scuttled out and dropped guns on the stack with a clatter. Bodies pressed close around Eily as everyone jostled to be near a flag. The remaining flag bearers took Rodi’s lead and mounted the shoulders of others in the crowd, holding their rags high.

  The dusters again formed a phalanx, rising high into the air to continue toward the Taguan. Silence enveloped the crowd like a blanket.

  The flying machines arrowed straight over the top of the Taguan and across the river. Frightened faces turned upward, following the movement like a wave. Rodi swung her flag violently overhead. The scrap of cloth seemed fragile and insignificant as the dusters cut a wide return arc.

  A child squealed, “They’re coming back.”

  The dusters’ nuvoplast siding reflected the rising sun as if the vehicles themselves were made of fire as they made a return pass. The pit of Eily’s stomach burned, and she panted along with the others pressed tight against her.

  On a third pass, one duster slowed and hovered high above the Taguan, a geyser of flame sprouting from its open side. A unified moan rose from the crowd around Eily. The other aircraft continued on their trajectory. The single duster rotated in a lazy circle. Someone on the ground screamed. Eily craned her neck to locate the other dusters. They’d split up. One now covered the path up to the cliff above the basin and the other hovered over the river.

  “This is the Haldanian Protectorate,” a voice crackled. From the duster’s side, a tongue of flame licked out as if the machine itself spoke. “Surrender now.”

  Rodi’s flag arm trembled, halting its frantic movement. “What do they want? We are surrendering.”

  Only the crush around her held Eily upright. Images of her past mingled with the present. The baby squalled, his little fists flailing as if he wanted to fight. Light-headed, she tried to form words with what little air she managed to gulp down. “I think they need to see me. I have to step away from the crowd.”

  A man gripped Eily’s arm so hard it cleared the haze in her head. “You said you’d stand with us.”

  “I am.” Eily looked around at the angry, frightened faces. “But the Flame Runnas need to know I’m alive.”

  Eily caught the eye of the young mother who’d spoken against Sefe. Her baby’s fist clenched against her breast as it nursed. In her own arms, Eily stroked the velvety skin of her nephew’s foot. “This child is my blood.” She held the newborn out to the woman. “Take him. If the Flame Runnas burn you, they burn him, too.”

  The woman’s brows drew together, but she held out her free arm to take the newborn.

  Rodi bellowed in a voice that belied her small stature. “Give her room, or the Flame Runnas will waste us all!”

  With shuffling steps, the people parted by centimeters, then a meter and more around her. Eily looked up at the sky and waved her arms above her head. She had no white flag, but her naked green skin would hopefully be signal enough. “It’s me!” she attempted to make her voice carry as well as Rodi’s did. “Eily Kraybill! We call for Peace!”

  The duster swiveled again, and for a moment Eily feared they would burn the other groups now that they had her location. Instead, the loudspeaker crackled again. “Clear below.”

  Without waiting for compliance, the duster descended, sending dust and debris scattering with the panicked crowd. The vehicle settled onto the rock and two men and a woman jumped from the open side door, flame guns in hand. The nearest cannibals screamed and fell back, but the mass of people behind them kept them from retreating far. Everyone ducked or crouched, shielding their heads with raised arms.

  Eily swallowed and wove her way through the crowd toward the invaders. She held her hands out and open in the cannibal call for Peace. “We want to negotiate terms!”

  As she drew near, one of the male Flame Runnas lowered his gun and grinned at her, his gaze raking her from head to toe. She halted, heat creeping over her naked skin. “Ijon?”

  “Our girl in a dress has gone native, I see.”

  She lifted her chin and took in his bare chest. “I could say the same for you.”

  Ijon looked down and shrugged. “Didn’t want to make myself a target by being different.”

  Eily raised her arm to point at the disabled warriors near the cave entrance. “There are the men responsible for the duster attacks.”

  The female Burn Operative swiveled her gun toward them. Ijon looked over the rest of the crowd. “Is this all one tribe?”

  “They call themselves the One Tree.” Eily moved toward the duster, hope flickering. “They’re farmers, Ij
on. They want to broker peace with the Protectorate.”

  Ijon cast a glance at the remaining two dusters hovering at either end of the camp. “We’ve got orders to flash everything.”

  Eily halted. To her left she caught the wide-eyed stare of a girl who was about the age Eily had been when taken. She reached down and took the girl’s trembling hand, drawing her to her feet. “Then you’ll have to burn me, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Haldanian Protectorate

  Rael frowned into the monitor at Ijon’s face. Harsh sunlight backlit the man, and static made him difficult to hear. The councilman leaned forward to squint at the image. Ijon definitely wasn’t in his office. Where was he? A white line of interference rolled down the screen.

  “...white flags, sir. They’ve surrendered.”

  “Where are you? Who’s surrendering?”

  “The cannibal camp. We’ve found—” another haze of static.

  Rael drew back. “You’re in the Reaches?”

  Ijon leaned off screen. The glare cut off and the inside of a duster resolved itself. The liaison’s face appeared again. “I called in a favor with Panone. I used to work for Burn Ops.”

  Rael rolled his shoulders and sucked in a tight breath. Let Ijon play at Burn Ops. It didn’t matter who went out—only that his orders were followed. “Report.”

  “I’ve got a med-tech with one of the reversions. Pulo, I think. Eily’s fine, if a bit rattled. I don’t have details on the others yet.”

  Cold sweat prickled Rael’s skin. The reversions were still there? He’d acted too soon. The cannibals hadn’t traded with the Fosselites after all.

  Ijon continued his account. “We’re sorting out the cannibals now. Seems they had a coup just before we arrived. Most of them claim innocence in the duster attacks.”

  Rael scowled. “These are not citizens, Ijon. They have no rights under Protectorate law. Kill them before they turn on you.”

  “But they’ve surrendered the leader and his men. The rest are mostly women and children. I estimate we have over two hundred potential converts.”

  “We’ve got our hands full dealing with the Holdout. Our facilities cannot handle the extra load.” Rael stared hard into Ijon’s eyes. “Do everyone a favor.”

  Now it was Ijon’s turn to scowl. “They’re asking for peace. They may not be citiz...” Interference blurred the transmission. “...human beings.”

  A headache pounded behind Rael’s left eye. He was tired of fighting soft-hearted civil servants. That’s what he got for working so hard to shield Protectorate citizens from the reality of life outside; they would never see that these savages were irredeemable.

  He sighed. The Board would likely take Ijon’s side in this. But perhaps the cannibals could be useful when he released other Doomseeds into the Reaches.

  Or be converted into Doomseeds themselves. The sudden idea made Rael’s heart race. “All right. Bring them in for conversion.”

  The Taguan

  Jubal’s shoulder throbbed sharply. He opened his heavy lids to a blue sky. A man’s green face loomed above him but didn’t look down. The sky disappeared as the Flame Runna propelled Jubal up a ramp and into an enclosed space. Flame Runna equipment filled the area along with a strange, almost-scorched smell. Behind a clear glass partition, a handful of cannibals leaned against walls or sprawled on the floor in a smaller area. Sefe lay closest to the glass, one side of his bald head a bloody mess. His good eye stared straight out at Jubal, his teeth bared in a snarl.

  The Flame Runna who’d brought Jubal inside pressed a hand to a spot on the wall, and the glass slid aside. Nearby, Eily’s voice was raised in protest as Jubal was wheeled into the room with the other cannibals. “He’s not one of them.”

  “This is where our med kits are located, miss,” the man pushing him said.

  “Don’t let any of the prisoners near him.” Eily appeared at his side, lips rising into a wan smile as she saw he was awake. “You’re going to be all right, Jubal. Hang on.”

  He tried to raise his hand and found he was strapped down. “Are we safe?” His throat was so parched he wasn’t sure she could understand him.

  She brushed her fingers along his cheek. “They’re flying you back to the Protectorate. I have to stay at the Taguan to oversee negotiations. But my Aunt Tula will meet you there. She’s a doctor. Cooperate with her, okay?”

  Something stung his arm, and he jerked. He tilted his chin down to see the Flame Runna man running his fingers along a thin tube up to a bladder of clear fluid. Wooziness flooded him. He again sought Eily, but she was gone.

  His stomach lurched. Through the glass door and beyond, the ground dropped away with sickening speed.

  They were flying. He was on a flying machine.

  The green man thumbed Jubal’s eyelids wide and blinded him with a ray of light. “You’re one tough weed,” the man said.

  Jubal wanted to respond, but his chest felt like someone was sitting on him. A yawn built deep inside him, but he couldn’t quite gather the strength to take a full breath. He closed his eyes.

  When next he opened them, lines of light stretched across a flat ceiling high above. The smallest twist of his head sent stabbing pain into his chest and shoulder. He lifted his opposite hand to touch what looked like raw, wet skin. The shoulder was dry. Some sort of clear material sealed the wound, holding down the ragged edges of the puncture.

  Being shot was his last real memory. Flashes of other things hovered just out of his reach. Where’s Eily?

  He turned his attention to the room, slowly, breathing through the pain. Vertical bars enclosed him in a cube of space. Beyond, more cages sat in neat rows. Some of the cages held people. The farthest walls looked like gray stone blocks. Where was he?

  Someone coughed, the sound echoing around the cavernous room.

  Cautiously, he rolled onto his side, then swung his feet off the low bench he was on and sat up. The room seemed to tilt sideways then steadied. By the Knife, he hurt. His cage contained a metallic basin, his bench, and nothing else. A man in a neighboring cage caught his eye and grinned at him, displaying a gap where several teeth should be. He was naked, including every strand or curl of hair.

  “Strange, eh?” the man next door said.

  “What happened?” Jubal asked.

  “Sefe is making the Flame Runnas give us spirit healing of our own.” The man grinned again and pointed to a cage across the way. Inside, a naked green Sefe lay sprawled on the bench. A circle of light bathed the raised scars on the man’s bald head and body, and his glazed eyes focused on nothing as he stared through the bars.

  Sickness squeezed Jubal’s empty gut. Why would Eily’s people make Sefe one of their own? He must have succeeded in using the flag to trick the Flame Runnas. But then what about Eily? Had her face been a dream as he was loaded onto the flying machine? Nothing was making sense.

  “Jubal? Jubal, is that you?” Rann’s voice echoed through the huge room.

  Jubal turned stiffly, looking for the source. He almost didn’t recognize the bald man several cages over. Rann’s familiar, sneering grin creased the face. “I’ll get my own spirit healing, now, brother.”

  The nausea in Jubal’s stomach squeezed harder. “I thought you ran away.”

  “Not far enough. But that’s okay.” Rann moved away and sat on the bench in his cell. “Sefe got us a deal.”

  “Rann, you can’t be a trader if you’re a Flame Runna. The tribes’ll kill you.”

  “What do I need to trade for anymore? Sunlight’s free.”

  From the doors at the far end of the room, a woman entered wearing only a short yellow skirt and a collar of gold beads. She stopped in front of Jubal and glanced down at a flat rectangle in her hand. “Finally awake. Good. Are your friends filling you in?”

  Jubal stared at her emotionless face dumbly. Here was a true Flame Runna, not a half-hearted one like Eily or even Ijon. This one was the kind who hunted the Tox. Who killed and wasted wit
hout mercy. Who didn’t follow the Peace. Was this the aunt Eily had told him would help him? Goosebumps prickled his arms.

  Gap-tooth stuck his arm through the bars and grabbed at her. “Do I get to go soon?”

  Another man in a farther cage stood up. “I’m next. You said I am.”

  She pulled away, one side of her mouth curled. “We’ll get to you. Now sit down.” She stared at the man until he shuffled backward and slumped to the bench; then she turned to Jubal. “I need to check your wound. Since you’re awake, we might as well get you prepped for conversion. Can you walk?”

  Eily’s voice telling Jubal to comply ghosted through his memory. He rose on trembling legs. His shoulder throbbed from the weight of his arm, and his head spun. How long had it been since he’d eaten?

  The woman pressed a palm to the plate next to his door. A click sounded, and the door swung outward. She stepped back and pointed toward the opposite side of the room. “Come on, then.”

  He shuffled in that direction. She followed a few steps behind.

  A man in a cage behind them shouted, “Why does he get to go? He’s not even one of us!”

  Jubal turned his head, and a wave of dizziness passed through him again. He’d been through hungers before, but never while wounded. Layers of weakness weighed on him like snow on a branch just before it cracks. He grabbed a nearby cage bar for support.

  “Hurry up,” the woman said, remaining several arm-lengths away. “Don’t make me regret taking you out of order.”

  He dredged up enough strength to slide his feet forward. They passed through the doors, the heavy metal rectangles shutting with a thump behind them. Strange smells wafted down the hall, stinging his nose like smoke. He squinted down a long corridor with stairs ascending at the far end. Evenly spaced doors lined either wall. They reached an open door and Jubal paused. A familiar green man lay on a table inside. “Pulo?”

  The big man turned his face in Jubal’s direction, wide eyes blinking and mouth slack. Before Pulo could respond, the woman shut the door and pointed to the next door on the left. “In here.”