The Harvest

by K. Makansi

  “Citizens of Okaria,” I begin. “I pledge to uphold the Articles of Incorporation and fulfill the duties of interim chancellor until someone more experienced and more suitable can take my father’s place. In the meantime, I will do my best to ensure this is a peaceful and speedy transition. To prepare for the days ahead, I will be counting on the assistance of General Kofir Bunqu and Dr. Cillian Oahu, whom many of you will remember as Director of Research of the OAC.”

  I’d like nothing more than to be done and get my father back inside, but I know I’m not finished yet.

  “As interim chancellor, my first order is to dismantle the OAC inoculation program my mother authorized earlier today. This program, which few of you will have heard about, would have locked in through genetic alterations the physiological modifications made by the MealPaks—which were, in themselves, effectively preventing people from realizing their true potential. The parasite that has caused so many to fall ill was a modified organism that the OAC created. It was not created or disseminated by Dr. James Rhinehouse. It was distributed through the MealPaks and the disease it causes has always been curable. Watchers will be dispatched to clinics and hospitals to ensure medical personnel cease giving the inoculations that were ordered this morning and that all materials related to the inoculation program be returned to OAC headquarters immediately. Medical personnel will be working around the clock to administer the true cure which kills the parasite and relieves all symptoms. And those who have already received the injection, though we hope there will be few, will be closely monitored and cared for.”

  I start to wind the speech up when it hits me. As long as I’m in office, there are two more things I should do. I search the crowd for Remy’s face, but I don’t see her. There’s no sign of Soren or Osprey, but right down front, I see Eli and Bear helping tend to the wounded.

  “Given the events of this morning, I hereby rescind all previous executive orders declaring members of the Resistance traitors to the Sector. Full and unconditional amnesty is granted to all citizens who joined the Resistance, allied with them, or gave aid and comfort to them—” I think of Lyle from Windy Pines and wonder where he’s being held “—and no charges shall be brought or punitive actions taken against any non-citizen Outsider living in the Sector or in the Wilds who worked with Resistance members. Further, whether in office or not, I pledge to work to eliminate the mandatory MealPak program as soon as is feasible. With help from our Outsider allies and friends in the Resistance, we will make every effort to reintroduce diverse food crops into the dietary marketplace and to allow each citizen to choose whether or not to eat foods that have been genetically modified to enhance or change physiology in any way.”

  With that, the protesters erupt in cheers, and scarves flutter up and down the avenue.

  The nightmare is ending. I marvel at how quickly a moment can shift, how soon our lives can change. But then I think back to the long days, the sleepless nights, the walks through the woods, the puzzles, the fighting, the casualties. It only seems instantaneous because it’s happening now, and the pieces on the chessboard were already in place.

  Checkmate.

  I hold my hands up again, and the crowd quiets. There is yet one more thing to say. I close my eyes, hoping I remember the words of one of Gabriel’s poems.

  “Arise, arise!

  The world is alight

  Morning dawns and seasons change

  We gather, we harvest.”

  There is a long pause and then the crowd erupts, the cheering so loud I can barely hear my own voice.

  I turn to my father. “Let’s go.” I take him by the elbow and usher him back through the doors and into Assembly Hall where two lieutenants stand guard, looking between the two of us.

  “Please arrange for a squad to escort my father back to his office. Make sure he is under guard, but that he is afforded all due respect.”

  Despite the speeches they surely just overheard, the two soldiers look to Philip first for approval. “Vale is in charge now,” my father says and bows his head, abdicating any further responsibility.

  “I’ll send for you as soon as I speak to the board,” I tell Philip, as he’s escorted down the hall.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I hear a pounding on the doors nearby. I glance behind me. To my astonishment, a bearded face is pressed against the glass doors to Assembly Hall. I stare. The pounding continues. After a few moments, I walk over and palm open the doors.

  “Congratulations!” Miah walks in and claps me on the back. His face is haggard, but he's obviously as relieved as I am. I half expect him to have a bottle of champagne open. “The youngest chancellor ever. How do you feel?” Behind him, the smaller but much more intimidating figure of Cillian Oahu stands flanked by four Resistance fighters I vaguely recognize.

  “Move.” Cillian pushes past Miah and through the open doors.

  Finally, I think. Somebody who knows what they’re doing. And god knows I’m not talking about Jeremiah Sayyid.

  29 - REMY

  Fall 1, Sector Annum 106, 17h13

  Gregorian Calendar: September 23

  Osprey and I stand in the doorway and watch as Jahnu helps Kenzie lower herself into a chair by the fireplace in the yard. Vale waits until she’s comfortable and then adjusts a footstool and helps prop her swollen feet on it. Soren stands nearby with a tall glass of lemonade made with lemons right off a tree from the greenhouse.

  “Jahnu neglected to tell me he was a ten-pound baby,” Kenzie groans. “Or that twins run in his family.” She takes the lemonade. “Still there are advantages to being waited on hand and foot by all these handsome men. Almost makes this whole pregnancy thing worth it.” She holds the glass up like a toast.

  Jahnu’s face breaks out into one of his brilliant smiles and he goes to add another log to the fire. His limp is barely perceptible, and his doctor says one more operation and he’ll be good as new. Since he and Kenzie have moved back to Okaria, he’s taken a position as a mathematics teacher at the Academy. Kenzie says since she’s gone to work in Rhinehouse’s lab, he fusses over her so much, she’s inclined to stay home until the babies are born. “SRI daycare will be great, but if Rhinehouse doesn’t lay off, I’m going to set up a playpen in his office. Serve the old man right.”

  “Do those guys know women have been having babies for millennia?” Osprey says with a snort. “They treat her like she’s going to break.”

  “You going to cast aside their ministrations if you get pregnant?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ll have them on rotation, so I’m never without a cadre of attentive minions.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” I hand her a bucket filled with ice. “Set this on the table.”

  She looks at the ice as if heartbroken. “Where’s the wine?”

  “Miah’s unloading it from the Sarus. Vale told me his father helped them pick out several cases from the house cellar.”

  I follow Osprey into the yard, my arms laden with two trays overflowing with fresh fruit and sliced vegetables and dips. “How do you feel about Philip getting time off for good behavior from his Farm work?” Kenzie asks. I remember how important Kenzie’s friendship was to me after Soren and I returned from the Sector prison. Our many late-night talks and her soul-warming hugs have helped me overcome and understand some of the trauma.

  I look at Vale who’s now headed around back to help Miah unload the Sarus. He senses my gaze, turns, and flashes a smile. “I don’t know. Seems he got off light but I guess it’s okay. By all accounts, Philip’s been learning a lot from his time spent on the Farm rotation. Another five years, and he’ll be skilled enough to take over the Ile de Orleán vineyard and winery.”

  “Philip Orleán wants to make wine?”

  I shrug. “Seems a better vocation than politics. At any rate, I’m glad he’s not in prison, for Vale’s sake. Having one parent locked away is hard enough.”

  My thoughts darken for a moment as I stare into the flames of the big bonfi
re we’ve got going. Justice works in mysterious ways. Even with Evander and Aulion dead and gone, and Corine locked up in Sector prison, the ache I feel for all those I lost hasn’t abated. The holes they leave don’t ever go away. Rather, it seems, we simply expand the walls of our hearts, until it’s riddled with craters in some places and yet bursting with life in others. The absences make themselves known every day. But that doesn’t make the presences any less real.

  “And when are we going to get to see the famous vineyard?” Osprey pulls a sweater around her shoulders and takes a chair next to Kenzie.

  “You can go anytime you want. I’ve only been when Philip’s not there. I’m not ready to see him quite yet.”

  “Has Vale visited his mother?” Kenzie asks.

  My voice is quiet. “Yes. Only once. He offered to take Miah with him so they could both see Moriana, but Miah said no.” I start rearranging the table to make room for more platters. “I think he’s finally ready to move on. Saara’s trying to fix him up with some doctor she works with.”

  “Saara, huh? She doesn’t seem like the matchmaking type.”

  “When she’s not slaying parasites or sweeping Eli off his feet, she’s a regular sweetheart.”

  “Sweetheart? I still remember that day at the vigil. The phoenix on her back gave even me pause.”

  I poke Osprey with my elbow. “Come on, you could take her.”

  “My fighting days are behind me. Now, I’m a woman of leisure.”

  “Hardly,” Soren interjects, pulling up another chair. “Wayfarers never relax.”

  “I’m relaxing now.” She frowns. “Or I would be if I had a glass of wine in my hand. What’s taking Miah so long?”

  We’re hosting our first party at the Waystation, a combination Fall Equinox celebration and homecoming for all our friends—at least all those who can make it. Some have new responsibilities; so much has happened since the day of the march, it sometimes makes my head spin.

  Vale held the post of interim chancellor for less than a week. He’d nominated Dr. Oahu to take his place, but because of her history with the Board, several members were reluctant to consider her. That didn’t last long after she and other Resistance members from the capital—including Kenzie’s and Jahnu’s parents—told their stories before members of the Security Committees from both the Colleges of the Deans and of the People. My dad was called to testify, and Eli spent hours retelling his story as the investigation into the SRI massacre was reopened. Even Rhinehouse testified, albeit reluctantly. He’s back to his cranky old self, telling the legislators he had lives to save and didn’t have time for politics. “They’ve got enough old bones to pick over,” he’d growled. “They don’t need mine.”

  And of course Soren and I testified about our time as prisoners. We were all questioned for weeks. It was exhausting. Bear was grilled on his role at Round Barn and on hijacking Sector trains and organizing an illegal march. But with Linnea’s prodding, now back at work at the ONN, Bear became a media sensation and she had reporters following him around for weeks, even going with him and Rose to visit Luis, who was on his way to a full recovery. Now, Bear can’t keep up with his fan mail. He’s one we’ll miss today since he’s with Zeke and Reika, still working on supply lines to move produce throughout the Sector. Linnea testified at length about the virus she infected Eli with. Charges were considered against her but eventually dropped when she volunteered to work on the urban farms as Sector service. Bear thinks Linnea’s aiming to run ONN someday. Maybe even merge the sports network with the news network. Some things never change, and Linnea’s ambition is one of them.

  “Hey!” Firestone shouts, rolling a barrel around the corner of the house. “Valerian, get your lazy ass over here. I’ve got somethin’ for you.” Soren shakes his head dramatically and puts a finger to his temple, pretending to pull the trigger. Firestone stares daggers at him. “Don’t you give me that, you ingrate. You think you’re too good for my homebrew?”

  “No, Mr. Firestone, your honor. Certainly not.”

  “Good, ’cause this isn’t even made with my recipe.” Another man, distinguished looking with silver at the temples, rounds the corner pushing a second barrel. “Meet Jamison Fitzpatrick. Co-founder of the Firestone Fitzpatrick Brewing and Aeroship Design Company.”

  “Fitz!” Vale’s eyes go wide. He’s carrying a case of wine in his arms and gestures toward Firestone with an elbow. “How the hell did you get mixed up with this miscreant?”

  “Hello, Vale. I only associate with miscreants—everyone else is too damn boring. By the way, we could use some seed money if you can see your way to investing in our little venture.”

  “See why I like him?” Firestone laughs. “He’s a man who is willing to get right to the point.”

  Vale fakes a businessman’s tone: “Give me your sales pitch.”

  Jamison and Firestone exchange a glance, then Jamison says, “I don’t know about no sales pitch, but our wise advisors Elijah Tawfiq and Jeremiah Sayyid have assured us that we will be rich men in under a year’s time. They say they know people with deep pockets. I’m assuming that’s you.”

  Vale shakes his head. “Let me taste what’s in that barrel first.”

  “Eli should be arriving soon with the Phoenix in tow. May have a few other friends with them—I’m assuming that’s okay with our hosts.” Firestone rolls the barrel to a stop at the edge of the food table and starts fussing with the pour spout.

  Osprey perks up, bringing her empty glass over to the barrel. “Well, shall I begin? Someone’s got to taste test, after all.”

  And so the party begins. After an hour of drinking, the final guests arrive fashionably, yet uncharacteristically, late, their arrival marked by the elegant whoosh of a sleek airship setting down on the water by the dock.

  I hear the distinctive bass voice of Kofir Bunqu—“After you”—and see Soo-Sun and Chan-Yu emerge and step down onto the dock. They head straight to the food table where they unload some boxes and bags brought in from Okaria.

  Last time I saw Onion and Chan-Yu, both were quiet, self-confident men whose faces hid more than a hint of sadness. There are no traces of sadness now, and it’s clear that their friendship is far more intimate than either of them led us to believe.

  “We’re so glad you’re here.” I have to stand on tiptoes to kiss each one on the cheek.

  “We couldn’t celebrate the Equinox without you,” Vale adds.

  My father’s resonant voice breaks through the various conversations as he stands. “Now that we’re all here, everyone get something to drink—Jahnu, get Kenzie some more lemonade.” He waits as glasses are filled, and then everyone gathers around him. With his back to the fire and the evening sun shimmering through the trees, he looks every bit the wise poet that he is. He raises his glass. “To old friends and new, and on behalf of Remy, Vale, Eli, and me, welcome to the Waystation.”

  “Now, I know you’re hungry, but I hope you will forgive a writer for a bit of speechifying. I’ve been working these past months on a poem for this gathering, but I must admit, I came up short. I’m still getting used to not having my muse by my side, but looking out at each of you, I am inspired anew.” We hold our glasses up, ready to drink, but he continues. “Since I couldn’t find the appropriate words, Eli threatened to wrest my duties from me and make the host’s toast so we could all just get on with it. But no luck, I’m afraid.”

  Eli looks around at the group and shrugs his shoulders as if to say, I tried. “You’re not planning to recite the Illiad or some other epic poem you’ve memorized,” Eli says, and my father—our father—arches a dark brow at him.

  “I’m going to recite a line from another Sector poet, a line that has touched me deeply. Remy told me about it, and although it is short, I believe it symbolizes what we’ve all been fighting for: a yearning for truth and honesty in our dealings with each other and with our environment. And so, with no further ado …” He raises his glass and tips it toward Bunqu. We all turn t
oward the general as my father says, “Listen to the forest floor.”

  A sheepish smile spreads across Bunqu’s face, and then he turns, eyes wide with alarm, as Chan-Yu begins to recite the full poem:

  “Listen to the forest floor

  Smell the flowers blooming near

  Taste the rivers running clear

  Touch the wind in the trees

  See the starlight burning bright

  Breathe in, breathe out, the beauty of the earth.”

  Bunqu laughs. “I knew I never should have shown you that doggerel. I’m going to have to lock up my plasma from now on.”

  Chan-Yu shakes his head. “I can pick any lock you’ve got, my friend.”

  The general then turns toward me and shakes his finger. “And you, Remy Alexander, are forbidden from ever again reciting any of my poetry to your father.”

  “Listen to the forest floor!” Eli raises his glass high, and finally, we all drink.

  “Too bad Rhinehouse couldn’t make it,” Vale whispers, wrapping his arm around my waist, as everyone heads toward the table. Jahnu and my father help Kenzie up out of her chair, and Miah holds an arm out for one of Saara’s friends, as if he’s an Old World courtier.

  “I’m not surprised, but I’m sure Soren is disappointed.”

  Vale chuckles. “I think he sees plenty of the old man. Rhinehouse has him and Osprey running all over the Wilds collecting botanical samples. Maybe they’ll be the next Kanaan and Gold. Exploring far beyond the bounds of our little world.”

  “Would you like to go exploring?” I look up at him.

  He pauses and looks out into the distance. “Maybe someday. Right now, I’m just happy to be home.”

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