by K. Makansi
On screen we watch as the black ops fire repeatedly into the crowd, providing cover for Evander as he sprays jets of fire at innocent protesters. My heart seizes.
Philip looks shell-shocked. Two of the cabinet members stand and shout as Evander unloads another jet of fire onto the protestors.
“You have to do something!”
“Stop him!”
“We can’t have SDF soldiers firing on OAC operatives. That will only contribute to the chaos,” Philip says, his voice edged with anger and frustration. He looks to Corine. “What should we do?”
But my mother is transfixed by the action on the screen and doesn’t respond. Just then, someone comes hurtling from the crowd and launches himself onto one of the soldiers. In a flurry of motion, the two black ops are down and Evander is knocked to his knees. The drone cameras zoom in, and I can see Bear and Eli disappearing back into the crowd.
“Dispatch two squads to keep the people away from Evander.” Philip gives the order through his C-Link. “Send a third to get him out of there.”
But before the soldiers can reach him, Evander’s facing Bear on the steps of Assembly Hall.
“Who is that kid?” someone mutters.
We all watch, silent as a grave, as Evander drops to his knees. And then, as if in slow motion, I see Evander’s hand reach into his jacket and pull out a Bolt. I start forward only to have one of the guards grab my arm. He’s going to shoot Bear. But then Evander crumples, falling face forward. Thirty seconds later, drones confirm his death. I suck in a breath as I watch Remy charge up the steps to stand over Evander’s body. Then Bear is beside her, and, with a jolt, I realize it was Remy’s Bolt blast that had taken Evander down.
General Aulion speaks up after a beat. “We need new orders, sir.”
“Retrieve the bodies and dispatch medevacs.” Philip’s voice is flat.
“What’s happening?” Corine’s face is shining with sweat. The peyote is taking effect, though it seems I’m the only one who’s noticed anything strange: rapid eye movement, damp hairline, agitation, and difficulty articulating concepts. Everything she tries to say comes out slightly off kilter. She clutches at her gut. I wonder if she’s nauseous. The Sector sanctions the use of certain mind-altering substances including marijuana and MDMA, but psychedelics haven’t been in common use since before the Famine Years. If my mother has any idea what’s happening to her, she’s certainly not talking about it.
“Are you ill?” Philip asks. She waves him off.
“No,” she says, straightening her spine and taking a long breath. “Just a little stomach upset. I think it was that tea.” Her eyes are just a little too wide as she stares at the vidscreen. She seems unable to look away.
My father watches her carefully, glancing between me and General Aulion. What’s going on with her? The question on his face is clear.
Corine turns, tearing her eyes away from the vidscreens, and looks around the room. She holds a glass of water so tight her fingers turn white as she surveys our faces.
“Falke—what—how did that—”
Corine doesn’t waver, doesn’t falter. She doesn’t stumble over her words, and she certainly doesn’t question her own decisions—at least not aloud. I meet Philip’s gaze but try to keep my expression blank.
Demeter speaks in my ear. “I’m going to begin recording the audio in the room. I’ve connected to ONN and hacked their firewalls. Get her talking, and the recording will go live on every available Okarian News Network feed.”
Thank you, Demeter.
Everyone in the room shifts uncomfortably. I can tell the officials present don’t want to cross my mother, don’t want to acknowledge her strange behavior, and don’t want to second guess my father. Except for General Aulion, who watches her for a long moment and then strides over to where I’m standing and grips my arms in an iron vise, pushing me back up against the wall.
“You know something,” he snarls. “Tell me.”
“You have more answers than I do.” I stare him down. “Think it’s time to tell the chancellor you countermanded his orders in Windy Pines?” I whisper.
“General Aulion, please step back.” My father’s voice booms in the room. It’s the most commanding he’s sounded all morning. “We have already questioned Valerian enough for now. We must attend to the protest outside.”
I lock eyes with my mother, past Aulion’s shoulder, who reluctantly takes two steps away from me. I direct my speech to Corine. “There are five thousand innocent Farm workers on Rue Jubilation, and the man in charge of managing those very Farms just went out there with OAC operatives and committed murder. With a flamethrower. How can you sanction that?”
She begins pacing, running shaking fingers through her hair every few moments, glancing around the room, then settling her gaze on me. “Evander was controlling a dire situation.”
“A situation you and Evander created.”
“You understand nothing, Vale.” She waves me away.
I keep my composure, but I can tell hers is fraying at the edges.
“Evander was controlling a situation. And Remy Alexander is a traitor to our ideals, our ideas of the Sector, the ideas the Sector was founded on, everything we stand for. Whoever that boy is, who is he? Why does he matter? Of course he matters, he organized this whole disaster, he brought these people to our city, he brought these people, these—”
“That boy has a name, Mother. Like the workers Evander incinerated at Round Barn. Like the ones he just killed outside.”
“Corine, you’re not well. Why don’t you sit down? What’s going on?” My father places a comforting hand on Corine’s shoulder, pushing her toward her seat. But she rounds on him.
“I’m perfectly well. I don’t need to sit. I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
“Fine! I am perfectly fine!” she shouts and pushes him away, then looks around the room as if she’d just done something horribly embarrassing. She regains some composure and says in a more normal voice, “I apologize to everyone here. I think I’ve been drugged.” She turns and faces me. The lines on her face soften and twist, her mouth hangs open, brows crease.
Aulion swivels and lunges, slamming me against the wall. “What did you do?”
But my mother jumps forward and pulls Aulion from me. The general, surprised, steps back immediately, putting his hands up. He wouldn’t dare cross Madam Orleán, even when she’s clearly compromised.
“Vale.” Corine puts a hand to my cheek, looking at me with a mix of horror and morbid curiosity. I can only imagine what the drug is making her see. “Did you poison me?”
I look at my father. His skin turns a green-white color.
“No.”
“Then what? Who? Why do I feel this way?”
“Corine, tell us what’s happening so we can help you.” My father tries to put his arms around his wife, but she jumps away from him as if his fingers are talons biting into her skin.
“It’s not poison,” I say. “You’re going to be fine in a few hours.”
Philip turns to me. “What’s going on? Did you do this?”
I step forward. This is my chance.
“You’re live, Vale,” Demeter whispers in my ear.
“You want information from me, and today I am prepared to answer your questions. You want to know who organized the march, who hacked the Olympia broadcast feed, who’s on the inside feeding information to the Resistance.” I look around, addressing everyone in the room. “The people of the Sector are outside lining Rue Jubilation, and we are tired of your lies. We are Outsiders, Farm and Factory workers, Okarian citizens. We are your friends, colleagues, servants, research partners. We serve you in bars and restaurants, and even in your own homes. I am one of them. I stand with the Resistance.”
Corine backs up, but I step forward, maintaining our closeness.
“Vale, you can’t, you wouldn’t do this to me, what are you saying?”
She picks at something on her
sleeve, stares at it as if it is the most fascinating thing she’s ever encountered, and then looks up, startled at a shadow on the wall.
Aulion steps forward again, but I glare at him and my father holds up a cautioning hand. I continue. “But I have some questions of my own. And I would appreciate it if you told the truth for once. I deserve the truth from you, Mother.”
Philip steps between us and puts his hands on my shoulder. “I don’t like this game you’re playing, Vale.”
I push his hands off. “This isn’t a game. People are dying outside. I think you might be interested in some of the answers, too.”
“Let’s start with an easy question.” I grab my mother’s hand, a conciliatory gesture that feels foreign but necessary. “Did you or did you not order an OAC security guard—one of your select black ops—to open fire on all nine students and Professor Hawthorne three years ago in what has since been called the SRI Massacre?”
“Vale, how did you—of course—you don’t understand—”
“The Outsiders didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“No,” Corine whispers.
“The SRI Massacre?” Philip shakes his head in disbelief and runs a hand through his hair. “It isn’t possible.” But one glance at Corine’s face does it for Philip. He knows his wife too well, and she can’t hide under her many masks while in the thick of a peyote trip. He looks at Aulion, whose face remains impassive, his non-reaction more telling than a denial.
“Mother, say it. Tell me you gave the order. Tell me it was you.”
“It was necessary, essential, to prevent Hawthorne from carrying out his research; it would have ruined everything.”
“Professor Hawthorne had just discovered something big, right? What was it? Why did he deserve to die?”
“Corine,” Philip interrupts my questioning. “I don’t believe this. Tell me he’s gone crazy. Tell me it isn’t true.” But it’s obvious to everyone in the room that Corine’s the crazy one right now.
A long silence is interrupted by her whimpering, a sound that fills me with an odd mixture of sadness and encouragement.
“It’s true.” She pulls her lips into a thin line. “I had to do it because of the database.”
“Tell me about the database.”
“Old world seeds breed old world disease,” she mutters. “I couldn’t let it happen.”
“Let what happen?”
Corine turns away from me to face the vidscreens, where hundreds of marchers have gathered on the steps of Assembly Hall and medevac trucks swarm the plaza below. “No,” she says. “I won’t say any more.”
“Corine, we deserve to know everything.” My father looks around the room. “How many of you knew about this? About the massacre?” Heads shake. Some stand and back away. The energy in the room shifts. Where once no one questioned Corine’s decisions, now everyone is looking to Corine for answers. Philip turns to Aulion. “Were you a part of this?” He takes a step toward the general. “Have you known all along?”
Aulion doesn’t respond, but Corine speaks up. “No one else knew. Not about the massacre. Not at first.” She looks distraught, her eyes wide, her mouth downturned, as she watches the action on the screens. Drone footage shows the sheer size of the crowd, as they pan in and out. The streets are full as more and more citizens from around the city have joined the protest. The sounds of the march are even audible from inside the building.
“Is it true Aran Hawthorne came upon a discovery that could have brought back hundreds of Old World seeds?”
She says nothing. I realize I need to take a different approach. I cross the room in a few quick strides, and to my surprise, no one tries to stop me. At my mother’s side, we survey the aftermath of Evander’s devastation.
“People died today. Just like they did at the SRI. Just like at Round Barn.” I pause. “What do you see?”
“I see skeletons,” she says so only I—and Demeter—can hear. “And everything feels like death.”
“Did you cause that?”
“Maybe. No. No, I didn’t do that. Evander did.”
“Would you have stopped him?”
“No.”
“Why do you think all these people are here in our city?”
“I don’t know.”
“They want the freedom we have. The Farm workers. Would you give it to them?” No response. “What did you just tell Moriana to do?”
“I told her to go ahead with the genetic modification program.” She turns around, locking eyes with my father. “Philip, you agreed with me, right? We discussed it together, we planned everything together.”
“Not everything.” He shakes his head.
I cross back over to sit beside her, marveling that Aulion hasn’t hauled me away yet. “Did you order one of your soldiers to murder Remy Alexander and Soren Skaarsgard while they were being held prisoner?” I ask.
“I haven’t murdered anyone!” she spits out, swiveling around to get in my face. “I’ve saved thousands from famine, and my research will only continue to reduce the chance of disorder and chaos.”
“I heard you, Mother. I was there when you gave the order.”
“No.” She looks up at me, her eyes clouded in confusion. “That night? How?”
Finally, Aulion’s had enough. He pushes me away from Corine. “Arrest him for poisoning Director Orleán.”
“I told you my mother has not been poisoned. She’s ingested a large dose of peyote, a psychedelic drug. It’s harmless.”
Philip steps in front of me. “Stand down, Falke. You’re not authorized to make that decision.”
“Not authorized?” Aulion spits. “It’s my job to make these decisions. Your son poses a danger to the Sector, and if you don’t see that, then you are blind.”
Corine shakes her head. “Let him be.” Once again, Aulion steps back, his mouth set in a grim line. The only person he’ll answer to is my mother.
I continue. “Did you or did you not authorize Evander Sun-Zi to unleash flamethrower airships intended for agricultural clearcutting on actual human beings, Farm workers?”
“I had to do it,” she says.
“What happened to Cara and Odin Skaarsgaard?”
“Falke removed them.”
“I never knew about the massacre,” Philip interjects, a note of disgust in his voice.
I turn to him. “You never knew? But you knew about Cara and Odin, didn’t you? And what about Elijah Tawfiq’s parents? Did you know about them? You knew about the modifications program. You were responsible for torturing Remy. You knew enough.”
Now Philip falls silent, sinking back into a chair, refusing to meet my eyes. His face is pale as he runs unsteady hands down his face.
Corine cries out, babbling incoherently, clamping her hand over her mouth and pulling her legs up toward her chest as if she’s seen a ghost. She looks like a terrified child. I turn back to my father. “Someone needs to order the SDF and Watchers to stand down and let the protest continue in peace. Chancellor, it’s time for you to make your choice. Do you stand with the people or not?”
There’s a long silence in the room, the only sounds coming from the screens. The protesters assembled on the steps outside are chanting: We are the Sector, we are the Resistance, we are the People.
“Chancellor,” Olivia Renteria breaks the silence. “Your son is right. We must do something.”
“Dad.” My voice is softer now. “You need to address the marchers.”
“If you don’t go out there, I will,” Olivia says.
My father pushes himself to his feet, raising his head to address the room.
“General Aulion, you are removed from duty effective as of this moment. Laika, call a medic for my wife.” He nods toward one of the soldiers standing at the door. “Remove Vale’s handcuffs. And someone find him a shirt.” He meets my eyes. “Get your boots on. We’re going out there together.”
27 - REMY
Summer 5, Sector Annum 106, 7h55
G
regorian Calendar: June 25
I stand over Evander’s body, staring into his glassy eyes, feeling nothing. On the street below, people shout, move, run. The noise swells inside my ears, drowning all thought, all emotion. My Bolt hangs in my hand, forgotten. The thin, white scars are still visible from when I carved my initials into his cheeks at Round Barn. There are bruises and open wounds all up and down his face, neck, and exposed arms from where the Bolt blast hit him. It gives me a deep sense of satisfaction to know that he will never hurt anyone again, will never breathe his flames down on innocent people. But the triumph I thought I’d feel is missing.
I walk away, down the stairs, back into the crowd. This is for his death. I imagine throwing his body into the blazing inferno that was the Sunflower. This is for his rebirth in the calm trees, in the peaceful sky, the gentle waters of a stream.
I look around for Eli. I never saw what happened to him. Is he safe? In a daze, I wander. Over the city’s speakers, I hear voices but I can’t focus on them right now. Medevac trucks descend from all directions, helping to care for the wounded and clean up the bodies. The soldiers and Watchmen continue to contain the crowd and prevent escalation. But beyond that, none of them seem to know exactly what to do. I look to see if anyone needs help, but the violence has abated. Many of the marchers push forward onto the steps of Assembly Hall, while others stay behind, cradling bodies or helping the wounded. I scan the plaza for people I know, hoping against hope that none of my friends have fallen. I have no conception of time passing—has it been five minutes or an hour?
“Remy!” someone screams. I hear the voice as if from miles away, or underwater—muted and slow. I pull my Bolt up, looking for a source of danger. But there’s nothing. A tall figure with a black hood and a small crossbow barrels toward me. Instinctively, I point my weapon at the charging figure—and then realize it’s Osprey.
“Check the astrolabe,” she pants, stopping short at my side. “We need to find Vale. Corine just confessed, and Demeter pushed it out to the whole city. She’s high as a fucking cloud. Did you not hear?” I stare at her as though she’s speaking another language. It dawns on me slowly what she’s talking about: our plan worked. It all worked. Soo-Sun must have gotten the peyote to her, she started hallucinating, and Vale pressed her for the truth. About everything.