Doomseeds

by Tam Linsey

  Jubal let out a shaky laugh. If Pulo was alive, then Eily must be here somewhere, too. His footsteps felt lighter as he entered the next room. The hard white floor looked the same as Pulo’s room, with a matching narrow table. A hinged metal arm the size of a man hovered nearby, curled like a scorpion’s tail about to strike. Blue lights blinked from various points along the tail. A Flame Runna man sat on a spindly stool at a silver counter along one wall, his naked back to them. He glanced over his shoulder as they entered.

  “Strap him there.” He hooked a thumb toward the table. “And go make sure the cages are clean. Rael’s bringing the Board by for an inspection.”

  The woman scowled. “I’m not your janitor, Kess.”

  “Would you rather be left alone with him in here?”

  Her gaze slid to Jubal. “This one seems harmless.”

  “Fine.” The man stood and shoved his stool backward. It came to rest near the scorpion tail. “You start his drip, then.” He eyed Jubal as he stalked past, brows drawn. “You sure this one’s well enough to withstand treatment?”

  She shrugged. “He’s a weed. They’re tough.”

  Jubal struggled to follow the conversation, reading their body language as much as listening to their words. He didn’t know what calling him a weed meant, but he didn’t think it was a compliment.

  The man disappeared through the door, shaking his head. The woman pointed to the table. “Lie down.”

  The lights on the scorpion tail winked at him like a trader in a shady exchange. His previous relief at seeing Pulo dissipated like fog in the wind. His feet were heavy as rocks, and he longed for his staff. Was he about to become a Flame Runna? The lure was there, the thought of no more hunger. The remembrance of the high he’d had making love to Eily. But remaining a trader would be next to impossible if he accepted green skin. How could he give that up?

  You have a woman now. The thought was both frightening and exhilarating. He’d always sworn he would never take a woman only to leave her behind while he traded. “Where’s Eily?”

  “Please don’t make me call security.”

  He turned to face the woman, hands up to show he meant no harm. “I need to see her.”

  “We only want to help you.”

  His head spun, his vision lurching in time with his accelerated pulse. “I’m a trader.”

  She spread her lips in the worst parody of a trader smile Jubal had ever seen. “You can trade your spirit healing however you want once you’ve got it.”

  The realization wrapped around him like a slaver’s noose. It was one thing to kiss Eily and feel the high. It was another to be permanently as drunk as Rann on a bota of bitters—and probably just as stupid. He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  The woman’s smile fell. Her brows drew together, and she dropped her attention to the flat rectangle in her hands. “I’m not a Conversion Therapist, damn it. Just do what your leader agreed to.”

  His heart raced. This woman thought he was one of Sefe’s hunters. Was that good or bad? “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  “You don’t need to understand.” The woman lifted her gaze back up to him and shook her head. “Once you’re converted, you’ll never feel hungry again. This is a gift. We’re making you stronger.”

  Eily had said the Protectorate would help him. He moved to the table, doubt burning through his bloodstream. They wanted to take away his very definition of himself. But did he have a choice?

  Voices echoed in the hall and then the door swung open. A gray-haired Flame Runna was talking over his shoulder at several others as he led the way inside. He turned around. Jubal stiffened; it was the man from the floating image on Ijon’s desk.

  The old Flame Runna said, “Doctor, is everything all right?”

  The woman nodded and smoothed a hand over her collar of beads. “Councilman Rael, you’re early. I was just setting this one up for his pre-conversion drip.”

  Rael surveyed Jubal from head to feet, as if considering making an offer to buy him. “How many have we finished?”

  “Eight successfully at this point.”

  A pregnant Flame Runna pushed through the others, her torso covered with a simple twist of blue fabric that matched the long skirt around her hips. “And how many failed?”

  Failed? What did that mean? Apprehension spread through Jubal’s gut.

  The woman who’d escorted him to the room stood a little straighter, her gaze flicking toward the old man and back to Jubal. “The new strain is statistically effective.”

  “Dr. Macoby,” Rael began.

  “I want the numbers on record, Councilman,” the pregnant woman said.

  Rael pursed his lips and thrust out his bare chest, setting the beads around his neck swinging. “These men attacked our dusters. They ought to be executed. We gave them a choice, and they chose this.”

  “Knowing all the risks?”

  “They’re not citizens. They have no rights. We’re offering them life.”

  The pregnant woman turned to Jubal. “What’s your name?”

  Pain and hunger weakened his limbs, and the conversation was making his head spin. He wavered on his feet, wounded arm throbbing, and choked out, “Jubal.”

  “Do you understand what’s about to happen to you?”

  He barely understood what they were saying, but he knew what they wanted. He leaned against the table. “They want me to become a Flame Runna.”

  “Dr. Macoby—” Rael interrupted. “These cannibals cannot possibly grasp all the nuances about conversion in such a short time. They’ll come to understand through experience.”

  “Like the reversions did?”

  Warning voices whispered in Jubal’s throbbing head as the Flame Runnas argued. Eily had used that word–reversions. That’s what she’d called Lisius and the others. The scorpion tail blinked its blue lights at him. He wanted his pain to go away. His hunger. He wanted to live in peace. Eily’d said the Flame Runnas wanted peace, too. He didn’t have the strength to fight. He sat on the table and lay back against his elbows.

  “When can I see Eily?”

  The pregnant woman stopped midsentence and twisted her head to face him. “What did you say?”

  “I want to talk to Eily. Is she all right?”

  Dipping a hand into her pocket, Dr. Macoby retrieved a flat rectangle like the one the gold-clad Flame Runna held. She tapped her fingers against its surface and frowned. Then she rounded on Jubal’s escort. “This man isn’t one of the cannibals who attacked the dusters! Jubal helped my niece survive the Reaches.”

  The woman in the yellow skirt flushed. “I... I’m sorry. He was brought down from the medical facility with the others. I just assumed—”

  Rael held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. We plan to convert the entire tribe.”

  Dr. Macoby’s mouth dropped open. “Certainly not with the Doomseeds strain?”

  Jubal had no idea what they were talking about, but the word Doomseeds sounded ominous. And the pregnant woman had called Eily her niece. The gold-clad woman wasn’t Eily’s aunt? He sat up. Focus. A trader who didn’t get all the facts was likely to end up with rotten goods.

  One of the other Flame Runnas spoke. “Rael has assured us this newest version is safe.”

  Jubal squinted at the group of green men and women. “Does that mean the old version wasn’t safe?”

  The old man’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “I think we should continue this conversation in private, Dr. Macoby. You’re needlessly frightening our convert.”

  Jubal sat up straighter and balled his fists. “Is that why Pulo is sick? And why Wint died?”

  A Flame Runna woman with tightly shorn hair frowned. “I was led to believe cannibals killed the reversions.”

  Rael turned around to face his people, his jaw muscles flexing and bulging. “We have a larger threat on our hands. Who knows how many other cannibals the Fosselites have subverted or where the next attack will come from? We have to fight back.”<
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  “Are you suggesting this entire tribe be sacrificed to attack the Fosselites?” Eily’s aunt asked.

  Jubal let out a breath. His fingers and toes went numb. “Eily was right—her own people used her as bait.”

  The group muttered. A lanky man raised his voice. “This isn’t a handful of reversions we’re talking about, Rael.”

  “We have to consider the welfare of our citizens first.” Rael crossed his arms.

  “While I agree the Fosselites are a threat, your strategy is unproven. And it could set back our mission to bring peace to the Reaches.” The short-haired woman raised her brows. Her gaze moved to Jubal, scanning him from head to toe. “This tribe represents a new horizon for the Protectorate. A huge step to end violence and the starvation that causes it. We shouldn’t waste our resources on hundreds of converts who only end up dying.”

  “That’s not my goal—”

  Eily’s aunt thrust a finger against Rael’s naked green chest. “You sent my niece into a dangerous situation—”

  “She was going out there anyway.”

  “She’s a civilian! A citizen of the Protectorate!”

  Rael spoke through his teeth. “The Protectorate is at war. We need weapons.”

  “These methods are unethical. Completely contrary to our larger mission.”

  “You’re letting your personal feelings get in the way of our goal, Dr. Macoby.” Rael pointed toward the door. “You need to recuse yourself from this committee.”

  Lifting a hand in protest, Jubal was cut short by the lanky man in the group of Flame Runnas. “The Doomseeds program will only lead to further mistrust between us and the very people we seek to improve.”

  “Do you have a better solution?” Rael asked. “We don’t have the resources to defend new territory. If we accept these cannibals as converts and don’t use the Doomseeds strain, we leave every one of them vulnerable to Fosselite harvesting.”

  Jubal slid off the table, catching himself against the scorpion tail when his legs buckled. “The Taguan can defend itself.”

  Rael ignored him. “There are thousands of tribes in the Reaches. Let’s address the Fosselite threat first. Then we can worry about creating true converts.”

  The Flame Runnas weren’t looking at the councilman, though. They’d all focused on Jubal. He maintained eye contact with the lanky man. A good trader wasn’t afraid to stand by his claims.

  The man flicked a glance at the gold-clad woman. “We have eight Doomseeds conversions so far. How many of the aggressors are left in Confinement?”

  She scanned the flat rectangle in her hands. “Assuming everyone in the cages is guilty, we have nine more.”

  “I move that we continue the Doomseeds strain on those already in captivity, then put conversions on hold until we can make a decision.”

  “Second,” said the short-haired woman.

  Rael’s eyes flashed. He shook his head and stalked toward the door. “You have your victory, Dr. Macoby. I just hope it doesn’t cost us everything.”

  Jubal sagged against the scorpion tail. “What about me?”

  Dr. Macoby moved to his side. “You get a choice.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Taguan

  Eily clutched her torn bodice about her and paced the ground near the Taguan. Inside the duster, Ijon was speaking to the Protectorate via the com. Jubal and the babies had been rushed to the city for medical attention, but there had been no news of their conditions. The cannibals sat in silent groups against the rock wall of the Taguan, watching the Burn Operative guards with sullen eyes. The narrow looks they cast her direction were filled with distrust, reminding her of her early days at the Holdout. She felt more alone than she ever had, trapped by a collision of three cultures yet truly belonging to none.

  She watched a Burn Operative who patrolled the clear area between the duster and the huddled crowd. The way his finger tapped his flame gun’s trigger guard made her queasy. He passed the girl whose hand she’d taken when she’d given Ijon her ultimatum, and the child’s hopeful eyes locked onto hers. These people had trusted her. Some still did. And look where they were. At least they aren’t dead. But the future yawned before them like the Hunger come to life.

  Com reception was erratic here in the basin, making negotiations difficult. Ijon had been in and out of the duster multiple times, talking with Eily, Rodi, and the other new Taguan leaders. With the sun well past its high point, the liaison and his crew were likely to be the Taguan’s guests for the night. How would Ijon feel about that? How would the people of the Taguan feel? Rodi, another woman, and a man sat cross-legged on some nearby rocks, ready to parlay when Ijon returned. They looked much calmer than Eily felt.

  The duster’s door slid aside and Ijon emerged with a grim face. “They won’t budge. They insist on children first.”

  Her throat tightened. While many of the One Tree were excited at the prospect of no more hunger, they wouldn’t be happy being separated from their children, let alone sending their young to be initiated into something their parents weren’t yet part of. “There are plenty of adult volunteers. Why is the Board insisting on children?”

  “Many on the Board think adults aren’t capable of learning to live peacefully.”

  “Removing a tribe’s children is as good as killing them.”

  He sighed and sat at the door’s lip, allowing his feet to dangle. “They’ll be safe in the Gardens with the other Protectorate children.”

  She raked the fingers of one hand through her hair and surveyed the tribe spread out across the bleak rock basin. Within the larger clusters of people, small family units were obvious, as children clung to their mothers or fathers. In the Protectorate, all young were raised communally inside UV-protected domes called Gardens until they passed puberty. “Cannibal parents don’t even send their children to school. How are they supposed to bear years of separation?”

  “The Holdout manages.”

  “The Holdout doesn’t send all their children to the Gardens. They get to choose who goes.” A rush of wind showered them in dust, and whipped Eily’s skirt around her legs.

  “The Board doesn’t want another stalemate treaty. They want converts, both body and mind.” Ijon rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  “Ijon, the One Tree aren’t like other cannibals. They’re farming. Did you tell the Board that?”

  “If the cannibals won’t accept, the Board says no deal. You know what that means.”

  Burning. Would Ijon really order his duster crew to incinerate two hundred people? “This is their final offer?”

  “They say they will consider further negotiations while the children are being converted.”

  “It’s not much of a negotiation if the Protectorate gets everything their way.”

  “They’re viewing this more like a victory.”

  Eily couldn’t argue with that. The Protectorate had the advantage. Starting with the children, they’d reeducate everyone until the Taguan became no more than another pocket of Flame Runnas. She asked softly, “What promises will the Protectorate make?”

  Ijon turned toward the spread of people. “They won’t kill the children.”

  Eily boarded the duster along with a dozen youngsters, all old enough to volunteer on their own, but young enough to be considered children by the Protectorate. She’d done the best she could to provide safety to the older members of the Taguan but feared it wasn’t enough. Ijon had agreed to include one adult for every twenty children, without consulting the Board. Easier to ask forgiveness, he’d said. Rodi was in a second duster with another group. She was small enough to pass as a child at first glance, anyway, and if they could set a precedent, it would make including an adult chaperone for future groups that much easier.

  As they lifted out of the Taguan basin, an eerie wail arose from the rocks: mothers crying for their loved ones. The sound resonated in Eily’s ears well past when she could actually hear it.

  Sunset painted the s
ky in neon shades as the duster approached the city. They landed among streetlights flickering to life. Her new flock stayed close as the piercing lights transformed dusk to daylight. Faces turned up to view the orbs, but no one made a sound. The children were accustomed to the need for silence on the Tox. They pressed close about her, gripping her skirt and hands. She nearly tripped several times as small bodies bumped against her while the group moved down the ramp onto the tarmac. Heat radiated off the pavement in spite of the cooling air. The area swarmed with Burn Operatives. They kept their weapons pointing down, but all it would take was one aggressive move and these children would go from volunteers to prisoners. Or worse.

  She glanced across the street at the Med Ops building, sick with worry about Ana’s babies. There’d been no word on them or Jubal in the day they’d been apart. All com activity had been between Ijon and the Board. What if they’d died? She walled off the thought and focused on the Leibert Building ahead. Once she’d seen these children safely into Confinement, she’d check at Med Ops.

  Down several steps and through the double doors, several Med Techs and more armed guards waited. The children slowed as they descended. She pushed them gently forward toward the techs. “These Flame Runnas are healers. Do as they ask.”

  One little boy looked over his shoulder at her as he was led toward Sanitation, where he’d be deloused and profiled. Big, fat tears washed down his cheeks, and his bottom lip trembled, but he complied.

  The oldest girl latched onto her hand, holding tight as a male tech attempted to pry her away. Lines of terror cut deep into the child’s face, and she bared her teeth. A soft, high-pitched moan streamed from her mouth. Like water breaking through a dam, the rest of the children began to cry. A nearby guard shifted his gun, eyes on the girl. Behind them, the doors opened to admit Rodi and her group. The noise in the small receiving area swelled.

  “It’s okay,” Eily said, stroking the girl’s fingers with her free hand. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. She turned her gaze on the tech. “You don’t have to force them. They’re volunteers.”