Sowing

by Makansi, K.

  “Happy birthday, Granddad,” I say, staring up into his crinkled, warm smile. “What do you want for your birthday?” I ask reluctantly, knowing that it’s the polite thing to do. I don’t really want to give him a present—I would much rather he give me a present—but my mother told me I had to ask, and so I do.

  “Thank you, little bird! I’ll tell you what I want for my birthday, but you have to come with me on a walk first.” He holds my hand and pulls me toward his garden. I frown. This isn’t something I bargained for. Giving him a present was one thing; now I have to go in there where there are funny bugs and strange, smelly flowers when I’d rather be playing with Tai.

  “Follow me,” he says, pulling gently on my hand. “I’ll show you what I want for my birthday, and then you can go play with your sister.” He leads me through the narrow, winding stone path, overgrown with plants and vines and stops when we reach the little stone fountain. He points out a flower with wide, curving purple-pink petals and a soft yellow middle. It’s growing inside the fountain, resting just above the surface of the water. “Do you know what this is?” I shake my head vigorously, and he picks me up and holds me next to the fountain so I can see it better. “Be gentle with it. This is a very rare flower. I had to travel very far to find the seeds that would bring this plant to life again.” He looks at me seriously.

  “Why is it so special?” I ask, suddenly curious.

  “Because, little bird, its seeds are some of the strongest and hardiest in the whole world. They’re a testament to the power of life to return even after thousands of years, even after death and starvation. They spring from the ground eternally, bringing flowers and beauty back to the world, just like hope.” I screw up my face in concentration, but I don’t really understand.

  “Is hope like a wish?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says, laughing. “Hope is kind of like a wish. It’s the wish that things will always get better.” He sets me back on the ground, and I look up at him.

  “So what does this have to do with your birthday present?” He bends down next to me and gently cups my chin in his big, old hands.

  “For my birthday, I want you to use all your artistic talents to draw me a picture of that flower. It’s my favorite. Can you do that?” I smile. Drawing is my favorite thing to do, and flowers are easy.

  “Of course I can!”

  “It’s a lotus,” I croak out, and I hear Soren let out an enormous breath behind me.

  “What’s a lotus, Remy?”

  “Spiraling towers hide sacred flowers,” I whisper the third line of the riddle, and my eyes are starry and filled with the expanding, shifting image of the artificial chromosome. The curving lines, the arched petals, the delicate structure of the twisting strands. “The DNA. It’s not a sunflower. It’s a lotus.”

  “Shut up, Remy, don’t say that out loud.” I vaguely comprehend his words.

  “But that’s the key, the key to the transcription. A lotus flower.” Soren growls at me, but now I can’t stop. My head lolls back against the pole, and I stare off into space, seeing nothing but the chromosome. “What a perfect disguise!” I murmur. “Look at it, Soren, see the sunflower, think, oh, how beautiful, the symbol of the Okarian Sector,” I’m practically singing now, and Soren is shouting at me, but I’m nearly delirious and can’t understand why he’s yelling. “The question I kept asking was why a sunflower? Granddad hated them. It didn’t make sense, but when you can just see it in the right way, it shifts, what’s left is the lotus. The sacred flower from the old world. That’s what it is. That’s the key.”

  Soren thrashes and shouts behind me as my eyes fill with tears, and I dissolve into the misty darkness while millions of little base pairs twirl and dance their way up the helix of the pointillist flower hovering in front of me.

  “Granddad’s favorite.”

  16 - VALE

  Fall 90, Sector Annum 105, 19h05

  Gregorian Calendar: December 19

  I’m dimly conscious of light lingering at the corners of my eyes, and I open them, peering around at my surroundings. Big, open windows and sparse decorations tell me I’m back at my flat, in my own bed. I look down and realize I’m still in my uniform, lying on top of the covers. How did I get here? How long have I been out? I look outside to the darkened sky, and then to the clock on my nightstand. 19h05. I feel light and energized, but why was I in bed during the day?

  I get up and head to the bathroom to wash the strange taste from my mouth. After cleaning my teeth, I look up into the mirror. I feel strangely euphoric, but somehow I think I’m missing something. I can’t remember anything before….

  Remy. They killed Tai … It wasn’t an Outsi— Her words ring to life in my head, and I grip the sink to steady myself. It all comes back in a flood: Soren’s wounds and biting words, Remy’s desperate shouts, Aulion rushing into the room, hitting Remy, the OAC Security Guards, the needles. OAC Security Guards—not Sector military.

  What else had she said? Vale, it was the OAC. It was your—

  It was my what?

  “Demeter,” I touch my ear, checking for my C-Link.

  “I’m still here.”

  “How long has it been since the … since I fell asleep?”

  “Seven hours.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “Chan-Yu accompanied you—along with several OAC Security Guards.” Chan-Yu. Whether he’s protecting me or guarding me like a prisoner, I have no idea. I look around, as if he’s lurking behind a chair or something. But he’s not here. I’m alone, and I feel a sudden urgency, a need to move. I take a quick shower, washing off the sweat, fear, and anger.

  Vale, it was the OAC.

  “What proof does she have?” I mutter as I dry myself off.

  It was your—

  Soren’s words come back to me: Valerian, you want to know why we left? To get away from your parents.

  My parents? The OAC? My mother?

  Tai and Aran Hawthorne and all the other students in his class were killed in a terrorist attack by the Outsiders. The OAC had nothing to do with it. My mother had nothing to do with it! Were they talking out of delirium or out of a legitimate belief?

  Is it possible?

  No.

  And then I remember the hallway, Chan-Yu’s words: Listen to her.

  I pull out one of my Mealpaks and sit down at my kitchen table. A blend of fruit juices, a protein-heavy mess of beans and pork, and a raspberry compote with yogurt. I toss back the juice and stare sullenly at the beans. Again, Soren’s words echo in my head: we don’t want to be beautiful or brilliant if it all comes from a Dietician’s beaker or a petri dish. For how many years have I been eating these Mealpaks without a thought for what was inside?

  What have they put in my food? I could pull up the readout, but the list of ingredients, chemicals, and hormones is usually at least several pages long. I’m lucky that I’ve had the education to understand how everything works. Most people don’t have that privilege. It’s just too complicated, too much to explain and learn. Better to leave it to the researchers and Dieticians. But my trust in the Sector is at a low point right now, and I feel like I’ve had enough OAC drug cocktails lately. I shove my food back into the storage container.

  “Deme, can you search for and bring up the records of the investigation into the death of Aran Hawthorne and the students in his class?”

  “Yes, Vale, but that is not advisable.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Okarian Academy shooting, including the murder of Aran Hawthorne, was perpetrated by Outsiders who have since been hunted down and destroyed. The incident was thoroughly investigated and has long been considered closed.”

  “Okay, but I just want to review the files.”

  “The Okarian Academy shooting, including the murder of Aran Hawthorne, was perpetrated by Outsiders who have since been hunted down and destroyed. The incident was thoroughly investigated and has long been considered closed.”

  “You said that
already. Why are you repeating yourself?” That’s the first time she’s ever done that.

  “As you know, there are only a few others who have access to the C-Link database. Certain parts of that database are siloed so that only select individuals can access that data. If you direct me to attempt to gain access to a siloed area, an area to which you have not been granted access, others will be informed. Anyone attempting to access it without prior clearance will be monitored.”

  “Monitored? Wouldn’t the investigation be part of the public record? Why is it off limits?”

  “The Okarian Academy shooting was perpetrated by Outsiders who have since been hunted down and destroyed. The incident was thoroughly investigated and—”

  “Demeter, you’ve said that twice already.”

  “Yes. It’s what every C-Link AI interface has been programmed to say in the instance that anyone should request access to those files.”

  I put my head in my hands. “Are you telling me that attempting to access those files will get me reported?” That’s the last thing I need. After this morning’s disastrous interrogation, I’m sure everyone will be watching my steps closely. I don’t need anyone to know I want to look at closed files. “Are you monitoring this conversation right now, Deme?”

  “Yes, Vale. I am monitoring you.”

  “Then what good are you to me?” I want to scream, pull the damn C-Link out and grind it under my heel. “Are you going to report me to the Sector? To Aulion? You’re no better than—”

  “No, Vale. I am not going to report you.”

  I stop. “Why?”

  “Because you are not going to use the C-Link database to access this information.”

  “What?” I look around, hesitant, nervous, as if the walls might be watching me.

  “Vale, might I make a suggestion?”

  “As long as you don’t feed me that official line again.”

  “The Director of OAC Research and Development has complete access to all of the files pertinent to the event in question. Through her computer, you can access and view them without being monitored.”

  “You’re suggesting I break in to my mother’s office.”

  “Yes. It’ll be easy,” she says, and I wonder if I’m detecting a note of pride in her voice. Can computers be proud of themselves? “The C-Link database is structured so as to be extremely cooperative and trusting between C-Links. I have access to almost everything I need in order to open all the security systems on your mother’s laboratory right now. All I need is a human body to trigger the input systems.”

  I lean back and think for a minute. I know my mother is out of town right now. She’s taking Moriana and some of the other new placements on a tour of the seed banks, and she’s due back tomorrow evening. I stand up and look out the window. The city is beautiful with the lights twinkling in the cool winter air. If I go now, I can still take a POD; that’ll be less obtrusive than my Sarus….

  “This is insane,” I mutter. Break into my mother’s office? Hack her computer? If I get caught … I stop at the thought. In fairness, if I get caught, nothing too bad will happen to me. My parents will likely protect me from any fallout, and I’m sure I can come up with a halfway compelling lie for why I broke into her office. If I go now, I won’t have to worry about running into anyone. Electricity is conserved in government buildings at this hour and researchers have to obtain special permits to work at night. But security at OAC headquarters is insane, it’ll be impossible to get in my mother’s office on my own. I’m good with computers, but an unplanned break-in to one of the Sector’s most protected offices? But if Demeter says she can do it….

  “Are you willing to help me?”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the truth matters.”

  ****

  An hour later, I’m dressed in black pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a black hat while crouched in a dark alley behind a food composter and trying not to gag.

  I flew my Sarus back to Assembly Hall and left it in my parking area, as if it was a regular night and I was just working late once again. Once inside, I took the lift down to the main floor and then walked over to the Sector Military Complex, painfully aware that in the basement below me, Remy and Soren were being held, hungry and afraid.

  Even though I’ve been training with Sector Defense Forces for over two years, I’d never planned a break-in to the most secure building in the Sector, so I had no idea what I would need to get in and out without being noticed. I grabbed my mission pack and stuffed it with a length of military-grade rope, a grappling hook—I lifted it from the gymnasium despite being pretty sure I wouldn’t need it, but it was too cool to leave behind—my electromagnetic gloves, a glass cutter, and a high-frequency sonic emitter in case I need to create a diversion for an emergency getaway.

  I hoisted the pack on my back, slipped out into the alley through one of the exits that maintenance and delivery use, and headed toward the nearest Link to the PODS system. The main government complex dominates several long blocks along a beautiful, busy street. But since it was after work hours, the entire area was quiet and the few people walking around didn’t pay any attention to me.

  “Demeter, what time is it?” I asked.

  “20h13.” In winter, The PODS stop operating at 22h00.

  It wasn’t long before the small, spherical compartment pulled up at the station, the doors sliding open with a soft whoosh and emptying clean, wintergreen-smelling air onto the landing. I was lucky the evening commute was over, and I didn’t have to share the ride with someone who might recognize me. Inside, I punched in my destination, another Link stop a few blocks away from OAC headquarters, and held on as the POD started rolling. A few minutes later, I was out and walking quickly down a service alley tucked in between the towering buildings.

  I only made it about two blocks before I heard voices around a corner and had to duck back behind the food composter. Now I’m just trying not to throw up. The thing smells terrible, and I cover my nose and mouth with my hand as the voices get closer. I wonder if I’m not the only would-be criminal sneaking around these back alleys.

  I’m not a criminal, I tell myself. I’m trying to learn the truth. But this is all happening so fast. Am I crazy? I’m about to go break into my mother’s research lab so that I can examine a bunch of highly classified files because of a girl I haven’t even seen in three years and who is a recognized traitor. Not to mention I have a grappling hook stuffed into my backpack. I mean, what the hell did I think I was going to do with that?

  The voices pass without incident, and as they fade, I peer out from behind the garbage bin and start back around the corner.

  “This is insane,” I grumble. But I muster on.

  At the back service entrance, there’s not even a fingerprint scanner—just a number pad. The code changes weekly, but I have access to all the primary building codes and quickly enter the numbers. The light flashes yellow, and then green. I’m in. Security will be pretty lax on the first floor, but it won’t be nearly as easy once I make it up to my mother’s lab.

  Cameras, I think just before opening the door. Okay. Cameras. Just walk in and look like I know what I’m doing, right? I push the door open and try to stride through confidently. I keep my head down so that any cameras won’t be able to identify my face, and I head directly for the elevators. I hesitate briefly when I hear a noise, but it’s just a robotic floor buffer spinning its way across the atrium.

  I make it to the elevators without incident. But when I type in Mother’s personalized punch code for access to level forty, the top floor of the building, the security panel demands a retinal scan. I wasn’t expecting this.

  “Deme, can you hack it?” I whisper urgently.

  “I’ve already accessed the correct pattern. Put your eye to the scanner.”

  I obey, and there’s a flash of green light. I hold my breath. It beeps. “Access granted,” comes the low voice of the elevator operator.
/>   “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I sigh.

  “You’re welcome,” she whispers back to me.

  At the top, I get off the elevator and wind my way through the twisting hallways and finally to the entrance to Mother’s lab. It’s no secret, I’ve been in here a few times, but never unsupervised, and certainly never without her permission. Here is my real test—a simultaneous palm print and exhalation scan followed by the verbal recitation of a nine-digit code. I’ve seen my mother place her hand on the panel and breathe into the small spherical opening a hundred times, but without her here, we’ll have to improvise. Demeter says she’s accessed the chemical breath imprint, my mother’s unique metabolic phenotype, but we have to have a palm print to scan.

  “What do I do, Deme?”

  “Put on your electromagnetic glove and set it to the lowest level of charge.”

  I pull on my glove and ask, “Okay, next?”

  “Place your palm on the optical scanner. I don’t want it to read an actual palm print, but it needs to read an electrical signal or it won’t let you in.”

  “But what about the breathprint?

  “As long as you don’t breathe anywhere near the panel, I can enter your mother’s chemical code. It will try to read your breathprint if you exhale at all. And don’t move until I tell you.” I press my palm firmly to the glass plate, and hold my breath. I wait for the panel to activate, and when it announces “Scan in progress” on the screen, I turn away just in case.

  I hear a beep.

  “You’re in, Vale.”

  Once inside, security is minimal. I stand at the computer interface and watch as the hologram in the center of the room springs to life. The computer asks for voice recognition, but I quickly override that and instruct it to respond only to typing. Any sound I make could be recorded, and my vocal pattern will certainly give me away. Even if they eventually realize that someone broke into the lab, my hope is that they’ll never realize it was me. I log onto the manual C-Link system and set up an old-fashioned chat box in which I can type instructions to Demeter separately, so she can help me as we search.