The Harvest

by K. Makansi

  “You stay outside,” I say. “Dangerous for the cameras to catch us together.” Since Vale escaped, I can only assume that all drones, Watchmen, and soldiers will be on the lookout for us, moving together, working in tandem. He nods. I hand him my plasma and he leans against the wall of the building, pretending to be engrossed in something on the screen.

  I head in.

  The drone barely registers me. I’m sure the video feed is automatically recorded and relayed to someone in the Watchman organization, and if they recognize me, there will be hell to pay. But until then, I’m safe. And with the remnants of my body paint on, and Vale’s hasty makeup job outside of Bunqu’s neighborhood, I feel safe.

  For now.

  I walk past the drone and palm open the door to the stairwell instead of the elevators. I race up the stairs and exit at the second floor, where Snake’s apartment, number seventeen, is on the right. Instead of ringing the bell—which might prompt me for a biomarker so the system can announce me properly—I knock. Loudly. When no one comes immediately, I knock again, pounding at the door with my fists.

  A few minutes later the door swings open, and a very fit man with dark brown skin and only one item of clothing on stares at me blearily.

  “Couldn’t have bothered to ring, could you?”

  “No,” I say, somewhat awed by his physique. “Is Sen Priorat here?”

  The man lifts an arm to rub his hair, the color of black walnut, and narrows his eyes at me. He looks like he was cut from stone, like a god or hero from an ancient myth. He gives me a once-over, and then turns inside and calls softly.

  “Sen, there’s another girl here for you.”

  Another girl? How many suitors does Snake have?

  “Which one?” I recognize Snake’s voice. Which one?!

  “The one who ordered the green apple indica,” I shout back, not waiting for the man to reply. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. A few seconds later, Snake appears at the door, as bleary-eyed as his companion, and in a similar state of undress. His purple hair juts up in all directions, and it’s clear that both men just got out of bed. But his eyes go wide when he sees me, and he immediately grabs a jacket slung over the back of a chair and pulls it on. He pushes past the other man with a whispered word and comes out into the hall with me. He shuts the door firmly behind him.

  “Sparrow,” he says, using my Outsider code name. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “Friends in high places,” I say in a rush. “Listen, Meera’s dead and Onion’s been arrested. There was a scene at Onion’s house, and Meera got stabbed. I watch as the expression on his face morphs from surprise to horror, but I press on. “She left us a note. It said, ‘If you find this, follow the acorns to the tree.’ Do you know what that means?”

  Snake’s green eyes, wide with shock and sadness, zero in on me, intense and bright.

  “Yes,” he says. “Maybe.”

  “‘Maybe’?” I demand, my voice rising slightly. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”

  “Hush, and I’ll tell you,” he says. “The Wayfarers use a kind of technology to communicate between themselves based on tree roots. The acorns—your friend has one, doesn’t he?—signal to each other, and to the Wayfarers’ astrolabes, using that same technology. For decades, though, there’s been a myth that there’s more to it. That the acorns did more than just communicate with each other. That they led somewhere, if you could just string them all together and follow the clues. I always thought it was just an invented treasure hunt.”

  “What was the myth?” I ask, my voice rising in urgency.

  He shrugs, holding his hands up.

  “Nothing more than that. There was never much substance to it. That’s why I never believed it. But—” and here his voice grows even quieter, so soft I have to lean in and focus to hear “—we Outsiders are very good at keeping secrets. Usually, I’m very good at finding those secrets. But it may be that I simply haven’t uncovered this one. Maybe Meera left that note for you because it’s your turn to be a seeker of secrets.”

  15 - VALE

  Spring 79, SA 106, 16h04

  Gregorian Calendar: June 6

  In the golden hour of the evening, the overgrown yard, drenched in yellow and green, begins to look like a fairyland. Remy and I crouch in the bushes about fifty meters from her grandfather’s house under the shade of a giant old oak tree. As we left Snake’s, I contacted Soren on our walkie-talkies and told him to meet us at Kanaan Alexander’s old house. Kanaan’s place is a little over twenty-five kilometers from Okaria’s last POD station, and since we took the oiseau while Soren, Osprey, and Saara travel on foot, we’ve arrived first. After Demeter confirmed the house was abandoned, everyone agreed it would be a good spot to lie low for a few days. There’s only one problem: the place isn’t abandoned. It looks like someone’s made themselves at home.

  There aren’t any obvious signs of habitation, no hovercar parked outside, no smoke drifting up from the chimney, no porch light on, but there are more subtle signs. There’s an antenna going up from the roof, for instance, that Remy claims wasn’t there before. A well-trod path through the grass that leads to the back gate. And a pile of compost around the side of the house that includes fresh onion peel and squash pulp. We’re sitting on our haunches, trying to decide what to do, when we catch a glimpse of movement inside.

  “See that?” Remy whispers. “Someone’s definitely in there.”

  “A trap? Or just someone squatting?”

  “Whoever it is, we need to warn Soren to approach the area with caution.”

  “Wait here. I’ll head back out of earshot and contact him.”

  Remy unclips the walkie-talkie from her belt and hands it to me. She gives me a silent nod, but before I leave our hiding place and head back through the brambles, she tugs my arm and whispers, “Why don’t you circle around and see if you can get a better read on the situation from the other side of the property.”

  “Good idea,” I say. “Be back soon.”

  I navigate down the unkempt path until I’m certain I’m well out of earshot. Then I signal Soren, giving him the news. They figure they’re still about ten kilometers out and won’t arrive for another two hours or so if they keep up their current pace.

  After signing off, I creep as quietly as possible around the other side of the house. As I go, I can see the dock jutting out over the water, the spot where Remy and I first kissed, and I think of the photo Eli showed me the day I left Windy Pines. The photo of him and Tai and me and Remy sitting right there, without a care in the world. A stab of pain slices through me, lamenting that lost innocence, that childhood naiveté none of us will ever get back.

  I glance across the yard toward the clump of bushes where I know Remy is waiting, watching. Before me, there’s a wide open space I need to cross. I can either avoid it by going out of my way to gain the cover of surrounding trees or I can risk it and try to cross it in a mad dash. Since it’s getting close to dusk, and with the few windows on this side of the house covered in curtains, I decide to risk the mad dash.

  I signal to Remy, and then sprint across the yard. I’m halfway across when I run smack into something hard, something invisible, something that knocks me flat on my ass.

  Instinctively, I put my hand to my forehead. This knot is going to be a beauty. I sit up and look around. My head is still ringing. I scramble to my feet, but crouch low, deciding what to do. The only thing that could stop me in my tracks like that is something big, a hovercar or airship equipped with top-notch cloaking. I look across the yard and motion to Remy to stay put, then watch for movement in the windows.

  I stand up, hands out like someone groping in the dark and move forward cautiously. Since I don’t know how big or long the thing is, I don’t know how to go around it. Better to get a feel for the mystery object. I take a few tentative steps forward and my hands hit cool metal. I flatten my palms to slide along the surface when suddenly the cloaking fades and—


  I look over at Remy and she stands straight up, giving away her position, obviously just as stunned as I am.

  “Still responds to your palm print,” a familiar voice says. Jeremiah Sayyid. Leaning against the corner of the house like he’d just come outside to get some fresh air.

  “But—” I stare at him as if he’s an apparition.

  “Sort of a passion project. Of course, the Director didn’t know about it until all was said and done, and then it was too late.”

  “How did—”

  He ambles toward me like it’s no big deal. “We were all feeling a bit down one night, and with a bit too much of Firestone’s swill in our bellies, the three of us decided what we needed to cheer us up was a new toy. A Sarus, perhaps. Your Sarus. Sitting beat up and abandoned in the middle of the street in old Cleveland. So we went and got her. And here she is.”

  “The three of you?”

  “The three of us.” Eli. Decked out in a long apron adorned with a bouquet of lotus buds and with flour smudged on his cheek, he looks once at me and then turns and holds his arms out wide as Remy tears across the open space and launches herself at him.

  “But how?” I ask, still stunned. I run my fingers along the cool skin of my state-of-the art Sarus as I walk toward Miah.

  “It wasn’t that hard.” Jeremiah puts his hands behind his head, leaning casually against the house. “We went back and picked it up. Easy as pie.”

  “Speaking of pie,” Eli says. “I made torte.”

  “You made torte?” Remy asks, wiping the flour off Eli’s cheek.

  “For you, little bird. Cranberry torte just for you.”

  “I missed you,” she says. “That damn virus—”

  “—is long gone thanks to Demeter’s homework and Rhinehouse’s talents,” Eli says, pulling Remy back into his arms. “Now you’re stuck with me.”

  “When’s the rest of the crew getting here?” Miah asks. “The larder’s still stocked to the gills. We’re gonna feast like Americans at Thanksgiving.”

  I laugh. “Without the vomiting, I hope.”

  “No vomiting allowed,” Eli says. “But it’s not going to be all turkey and stuffing. We’ve got plenty of work to do. We’ll explain when Soren gets here. In the meantime, let’s get you two a drink, and you can help us with dinner.”

  I groan. “Please tell us you did not bring Firestone’s ‘swill’ with you.”

  Miah slings an arm around my shoulders and leads the way inside. “We certainly did not. Eli assured me that Kanaan would have a fine selection of old vintages. True to his word, we found almost two hundred bottles from some of the Sector’s best vineyards.”

  “How come nobody else came with you? Why just the two of you?”

  “Well, with Kenzie expecting a baby and all—”

  “What?” Remy shouts. “Are you serious?”

  “Found out a few weeks ago. She’s just now starting to show.”

  Eli drags Remy into the kitchen to help him with the torte, Remy peppering him with questions about Jahnu and Kenzie as they walk. As excited as I am about the news, I want to give them time to catch up, and cooking doesn’t sound appealing to me right now. So I dodge Miah’s request to help with the tomato sauce, and take the opportunity to familiarize myself with the house. I wander through the rooms, amazed by how much of it is falling apart—and how much is still intact. Doors and floors have warped slightly in the seasonal cycles, and most of the plumbing is no longer functional. Outside, the garden is in utter disarray, but somehow still beautiful. I end up standing on the dock that overlooks Lake Okaria, where, four years ago, I kissed Remy for the first time as the sun set behind us.

  The memory seems like it comes from a different world. It’s almost hard to believe we’re the same people. The house, then, was bustling with energy. Green things bloomed everywhere. Rosemary and lavender sprigs dusted every room. The windows were thrown open to the daylight, and every morning the smell of Kanaan’s fresh bread filled the air. The kiss came on the tail end of a summer that felt endless. Tai and Eli were hiding out upstairs, and something new and different seemed to be happening with Remy, too. We’d been playing cards on the dock on a hot, windless day, when she slapped the back of my hand and yelled in triumph.

  She didn’t pull her hand away. I turned mine over and held hers. She half-smiled, as though suddenly unsure what to do, how to react. I didn’t know either, but I knew what I wanted, and she wasn’t afraid. I leaned over a little ways, and her eyes felt like anchors, pulling me down. I gave myself over to the weight of the moment and pressed my lips to hers. I’d kissed girls before, and she told me later she’d kissed other boys, but this was different. Like seeing a piece of art for the first time that makes you feel something in a powerful way. Like the first time you’re fully conscious of yourself in your body and in the world. Like the first time you’re aware of how alive you really are.

  That’s what it was like, kissing her.

  It seems incomprehensible, now, that we could have been so carefree. I can’t even remember how it felt.

  In the garden, many of the plants have either grown wild or died because they needed tending. And the house, with its peeling paint, broken pipes, and busted windows, reminds me that buildings, like people, need constant care and maintenance. But the dock, at least, is mostly unchanged. There are a few soft, rotting spots, and the paint is gone, but the structure remains.

  “Hey,” Remy says, startling me. Her fingers creep around my waist, and she rests her head in the space between my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Just thinking.”

  “What about?”

  “How everything is different. Meera, and Bunqu. The last time we were here together, the world seemed so perfect, so certain. Now everything is broken, overgrown, lost. Somehow we have to put it all back together.”

  She comes around to my side and wraps one arm behind my back. We stand there like that, watching the sun set over the lake, for a long time.

  An hour or so later, Miah is popping the cork on a second bottle of wine. “I’m glad you decided to give Vale a shot.” He’s beaming at Remy. “He’s only been talking about you for three years.”

  I flush and glare at him.

  “She’s been talking about you for three years, too,” Eli pipes up. Remy takes my hand in hers and smiles. “Or trying not to.”

  “I’m glad we had the same idea.”

  The walkie-talkie on the table crackles with Soren’s voice. “We clear to approach?”

  I pick it up. “Come on in. Dinner’s ready.”

  “Good, we’re starving,” Soren says.

  While we’d waited, Remy fashioned a centerpiece from pine boughs and sprays of yellow forsythia plucked from her grandfather’s riotous garden. Miah and Eli prepped a meal based entirely on canned vegetables and dried grains from Kanaan’s root cellar—beans stewed in a spicy tomato sauce served over rice and a medley of vegetables. Eli’s torte came out perfectly, and Remy found dozens of jars of peaches and apricots.

  “See if there’s any forks,” Remy calls.

  “What, do you think someone waltzed in and stole the silverware?” Miah asks. Remy makes a face at him, even as he returns with a fistful of forks and knives.

  The door creaks as it opens wide, revealing Soren, Osprey, and Saara against a deepening night sky.

  “What the hell?” Soren says, his mouth hanging open in astonishment.

  “Welcome!” Miah gestures to the table, as if he’s the host of a grand dinner party.

  “How did you—?” Osprey turns and looks outside, like she’s searching for some means of transport.

  “Wondering how we got here, Wayfarer?” Miah says.

  “Wondering what you’re doing here,” Soren retorts.

  “Once Rhinehouse fixed me up, the Director essentially kicked me out.” Eli grins. “Said she couldn’t stand to look at me for one more day and she wanted me out of her sight.”

  “The Resi
stance needed an outpost closer to Okaria as we’re—” Miah pauses and glances at Eli before continuing “—working on getting our food to the people in the city.”

  “We also needed a comm nexus, a place where Outsider and Resistance operatives could stay as they’re passing through. So far, it’s been too risky to get this close to the city. But Gabriel suggested using this place,” Eli nods at Remy, who straightens at her father’s name, “since not many people come this way. Miah and I—err—volunteered.”

  “He means ‘were kicked out,’” Miah says in a mock-whisper. “After our stunt with the Sarus, we—”

  “With the what?” Soren interrupts, cupping a hand behind his ear as though he hadn’t heard.

  “The Sarus,” Miah says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s parked outside. Cloaked. That’s why you didn’t see it on the way in.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t knock yourself out like Vale.” Eli hands each of them a glass of wine.

  “Speaking of cloaking,” I start, “how are we supposed to hide here with an airship in the backyard without some Sector drone taking notice of our activities?”

  “Firestone took care of that for us.” Miah sits at the head of the table. “Engineered up a dozen little multi-frequency scramblers that we’ve strung from the highest branches we could reach. Created a nice little perimeter in which we should be able to operate without notice.”

  There’s a long pause while Soren and Osprey take all this in. Saara, for her part, looks completely overwhelmed. Eli stares at her as if noticing her for the first time.

  “Who are you?” he asks. Eli’s never been one for pleasantries.

  “Saara Lyon,” she says automatically.

  “You’re Hana’s sister.” Eli’s eyes widen as he realizes who she is.

  “Older by a year.”

  “Eli, Miah, I’d like to formally introduce you to Saara Lyon, our newest Resistance member.” Remy gestures for Saara to sit next to her. “She was at the vigil today. In some of the finest body paint I’ve ever seen.” I can see remnants of the red and gold paint on Saara’s arms and chest, but most of it has sweated or rubbed off.