by K. Makansi
I wonder if those on the screen, smiling out at the cameras, are thinking of us, remembering us like we remember them. Do they think about how we live, what we’ve sacrificed? Probably not. Our classmates have forgotten us like winter on a warm summer’s day, unaware that the government they serve hunts us day and night.
The students finish their announcements, and the president of the Academy gives a short speech about how amazing everyone and everything is. I can’t fight back an eye roll. The camera cuts back to Linnea.
“What promising graduates! And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for—the honors speech from our young nation’s most celebrated student. It will be no surprise to our viewers that Valerian Augustus Orleán is graduating with the highest honors.”
Soren groans so loud Kenzie shushes him, and I can’t help but agree. Of course Vale is graduating with the highest honors. His mother, the director general of the Okarian Agricultural Consortium, the corporate body that controls the food supply and seed banks, would have made sure Vale received the highest honors. It certainly doesn’t hurt that his father is the chancellor of the Sector.
“As the Research Institute’s top student, Vale has the honor of addressing the nation and announcing what’s next for him. Many have wondered whether he will take a commission in the Sector Defense Forces. Will he follow his father’s footsteps into government or his mother’s into research? Of course, we all hope that whatever path he chooses, he will continue to perform around the Sector—he is our most talented young pianist, after all.”
I flinch as a chair skids across the floor and crashes into the far wall. Soren. If Vale is the Sector’s most talented pianist, it’s only because Soren isn’t there to compete. I wonder if Soren’s thinking back to the last time he played—we obviously haven’t got a piano down here, and no one’s yet managed to scavenge anything digital that comes close to what Soren had at home. I bet he hasn’t touched one since he left.
Linnea goes on, her voice lilting with excitement, her eyes glowing, her cheeks flushing. It occurs to me that they could be together. A faint twinge of jealousy passes through me and then fades. After all, why not? It’s been three years since we had anything, me and Vale—whatever it was. Just a kiss, really. It meant nothing. I dig my nails into my palms. They deserve each other. Vale stands, smiles, and walks to the podium. Behind him, a list of his accomplishments scrolls down a huge projection screen. The headmaster of the SRI stands at the podium waiting to shake Vale’s hand and smile for the cameras.
“Is it nice to see your old friend Valerian again, Remy?” Soren says with a savage breath. They never did get along, Soren and Vale, and Soren knows how close we were. Once upon a time.
“Shut up. This has nothing to do with me.”
“Soren, not now,” Jahnu warns.
Soren scoffs and returns his gaze to the screen. We’ve seen Vale countless times on the Sector feed, but I’m always amazed at how much he’s changed since the last time I saw him in person. He still has the same black hair, the same handsome dark eyes, the same lashes any girl would fall for. I think about the kiss, his hand on the back of my neck, his breath hot and our hearts pounding. It seems like a million years ago, practically another geological era. But it was just three years ago, when the future looked limitless, when I hadn’t a care in the world beyond my homework assignments. Our friends were the new generation of builders, the ones who would usher the Okarian Sector into a long period of peace and prosperity. We dreamed of lives without war, without famine, with the scientific advances that would ensure our children would never experience the devastation, starvation, and disease our grandparents had survived. Now, those dreams look like little more than naïve fairy tales.
I watch Vale and wonder if he ever thinks about those dreams. If he remembers what we shared, our hopes, our passions, the hours spent laughing at each other and fast becoming more than friends. But then Tai was murdered, we fled the Sector, and I lost everything I once knew—including Vale.
Vale has lost nothing. He still has his parents and all of his friends; he is surrounded by wealth and power. His future is secure. But as I watch him on the stage I have to ask myself: Does he know why we left? Does he know what his parents—what his government—has done to drive those of us in the Resistance underground? Does he care about the crimes they’ve committed in the name of the greater good? I watch him and wonder if there’s anything left in him of the idealist I once knew.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vale begins. “It’s a beautiful evening and I know everyone on the stage and out there in the audience is ready to get out of our formal attire and start the celebrations, so I will keep my remarks short.”
“Not short enough,” Soren growls, dropping into a chair in front of me and stretching out his long legs. His blonde hair glints in the light from the screen, and I can see his silhouetted jaw clench and unclench as he grinds his teeth. Soren’s mother used to be the chancellor, before Vale’s father was appointed. I never heard the full story, but Soren’s always suspected foul play. He’s hated Vale ever since, and it probably didn’t help that after Soren’s mother was removed from the chancellorship, Vale got all the media attention and Soren fell from the spotlight.
“As the newest leaders of our nation, we pledge to do everything in our power to ensure security and stability for future generations. To that end, I am pleased to accept my placement position in the role of director of the newly-formed Seed Bank Protection Project.”
A creeping dread clutches its chilly fingers at my spine as the audience on-screen erupts into loud cheers and vigorous clapping. He sounds so valiant, so righteous, that for a half second I almost want to believe him, too. What they don’t know, those in the jubilant crowd, is that for the last three years the Resistance has been quietly chipping away at the Sector’s control over the seeds used to feed its citizens. We’ve been stealing the genetic codes to the OAC’s modified seeds and disseminating untainted, safe food to those few people willing to listen, those who have escaped the OAC’s manipulation. Vale’s placement somehow seems targeted directly at us—at me.
“This new role allows me to pursue our goals with singular purpose. Our nation’s priority is to ensure we have enough food and fresh water to nourish our people. Our Farms, and the men and women who work on them, are the cornerstone of our society, and without their dedication and passion for their work, the Okarian Sector would not survive.” He gestures out to the crowd as if honoring the actual Farm laborers—who are, of course, not at an elite ceremony like this one. The onlookers clap and cheer enthusiastically. “But after the Religious Wars and the Famine Years, tillable land and potable water remain scarce, and we must strive to use our resources wisely. That is why it is imperative that OAC researchers continue to hybridize and engineer new strains of seeds so they will grow—and even flourish—in the contaminated land left to us from the Old World. We will do whatever it takes to feed our people.
“Of course, the task of safeguarding our Farms, our scientists, and the hybridized seeds they create is not new. The government and the OAC have long joined forces to protect our agricultural future from the mistakes of our past. Now, establishing the Seed Bank Protection Project as an official joint effort allows us to wield both the power of the government and the resources of the OAC to achieve our goals.”
He turns directly to the camera and says, “I promise I will not fail in my task.”
The screen goes dark. Eli must have decided he’d had enough. I relax my shoulders and slump in my seat. Soren turns to me with a spiteful glare.
“They’re putting their prized hound on the scent. One mistake, Remy, and we’re all dead. They take everything. All our sacrifices will be for nothing. Thousands more will be poisoned, manipulated, turned to slaves. You better not fucking give us away just because Valerian Orleán is in the game now.”
He won’t give up, will he?
“Vale is nothing to me. And he, I guarantee, has forgotten I even ex
ist.” I’m trying to stay calm, staring straight ahead, refusing to meet Soren’s eyes.
“Right.” He snorts.
“Soren, she gets it,” Jahnu says.
“You’ve had everything done for you your entire life,” Soren spits back at me, ignoring Jahnu entirely. “If Tai hadn’t been murdered, you would never have left. You’d still be back in the Sector with Vale.”
Without realizing it, I’m standing over Soren, my fists balled at my side.
“We gave up everything to join the Resistance—” I hiss.
“Look around you. You’re not the only one.”
“I know that, Soren! It’s not about who made the choice to leave the Sector—it’s about the fact that we’re here now, together. We have to fight together. Stop treating me like I’m some stupid little girl who’s going to go soft over a teenage crush. I’m a member of your team!”
“You guys have to stop going at each other,” Jahnu pleads. “Everyone here has lost someone. Everyone has given up something. We’re all in this together.”
Soren just stares at me. He glances at Jahnu and his eyes, cold and blue as rare glacier ice, soften a bit.
“Sometimes I wonder,” he mutters. Then he turns on his heel and leaves without another word. I’m shaking, my jaw clenched so tight I wonder my teeth don’t shatter. Kenzie rubs my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic glance but follows Soren through the door.
“I don’t know who I hate more right now,” I say.
“Cut him some slack, Remy,” Jahnu says.
“All he does is goad me!”
“Remy—”
“What?” I cut him off. “You know it’s true. He’s always taunting me, whether it’s about Vale, or the fact that I’m shit at science and math, or even how short I am.”
“I think you sometimes forget he’s here by himself. Soren’s parents are still in the Sector. He chose to join the Resistance himself. Do you think you would have been able to make a decision like that?”
I pull up short at the question. I don’t know the answer, but the anger still gnaws at me. “I wish he’d just leave me alone,” I mutter, defeated.
“I think I’m going to suffocate if I don’t get out of here. Let’s go find Eli and see if it’s safe to go topside and get some fresh air,” Jahnu says, trying to cheer me up.
“You’re right,” I respond. “Vale and his friends will all be celebrating, so I say we have our own celebration. We should have a picnic. Just like the old days.”
“What are we going to celebrate?” he asks. I pause, trying to think of something worthy of celebration.
“That we’re here together,” I say finally. “That we’re fighting for something bigger than ourselves. That we still have each other.”
Brave words. And they almost make me feel better.
2 - VALE
Fall 47, Sector Annum 105, 17h45
Gregorian Calendar: November 6
“Thank you. May we gain strength from the sowing, resilience from the reaping, and hope from the harvest.”
I flash a smile and turn away from the podium as the packed audience erupts in applause. A stupid grin spreads across my face, and I take a deep breath. My knees are shaking like they always do after I speak to a large crowd, and I wobble back to my chair and take my place next to Moriana Nair. She squeezes my hand and grins at me, her big brown eyes wide and excited, mouthing the words, We did it!
The head of the Academy takes the podium and begins thanking me for my remarks and reiterating how much the Sector is depending on us. He sounds like he’s speaking from the inside of a tunnel, and I just give the crowd my practiced Orleán smile and try to breathe normally. When he returns to his own seat on the stage, my father, the chancellor of the Sector, rises and leads everyone in the Sector anthem.
Finally, the welcoming ceremony for the graduating students of the Academy begins—Moriana and I went through this ceremony two years ago when we graduated from the Academy. It’s an old ceremony, treasured and well-loved. My mother, as head of the Okarian Agricultural Consortium, holds a bowl of seeds at my father’s side. He then scoops out a handful from the bowl and, with a broad smile on his face, tosses them out onto the first row of Academy students. A cheer starts up through the audience as family members and friends join in to shower the graduating students with seeds. It’s a celebration of the fact the Famine Years are past and the Sector promises a future of plenty.
“Congratulations!” My father loves Graduation Day, and I can see the twinkle in his eyes as he gazes out across the rows of graduates and family members. The boom of erupting fireworks announces the end of the ceremony, and brilliant colors paint the sky above. Our classmates jump to their feet, hugging each other and their proud parents, offers of congratulations being thrown as plentifully as the seeds. Out of the corner of my eye I see my friend Jeremiah Sayyid signaling to me and Moriana to hurry. It’s party time. But there’s no way I can get off the stage as long as the cameras are still rolling. I give Moriana a quick hug and then join my parents as politicians, professors, and OAC board members fall over themselves to congratulate me. I shake hands, pose for photos, and play the political game, just like I’ve had to do my whole life.
I turn to see my father shaking hands with General Aulion, my soon-to-be supervisor at the Seed Bank Protection Project. He has a creased face, stark black hair, and a wicked scar across his jawline. He is not easily forgotten. Over the past year, Aulion has been personally in charge of my military training as I prepared to move away from my physics research and into a military career. In the entire year I’ve known him, I’ve seen him crack a smile exactly one time, and that was when he was watching me struggle futilely to finish a set of chin-ups.
Instead of congratulating me like everyone else, Aulion eyes me, his hands behind his back. “You’re expected at the office at 07h00 tomorrow, Lieutenant Orleán.” That’s the first time anyone has addressed me by my new military rank.
“He’ll be there, General,” my mother pipes up from my side. “But for tonight, let’s let him celebrate.”
“If he’s not there at 07h00 tomorrow morning, General, you can send him to the chancellor’s office,” my father says, grinning. “I’ll be happy to take care of him.” Dad’s always had my back.
Speaking more quietly, my mother turns to Aulion. “While I escort my son to the festivities, perhaps you’ll update the chancellor on the troubling situation at the Farms.”
Aulion’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly even as my father’s widen. This news is obviously a surprise to him. I know for a fact he hasn’t had his security briefing yet this morning because he took me out to breakfast so I could practice my speech with him. And it’s clear Aulion is none too happy that my mother is getting her information from someone under his command.
“Of course,” Aulion says, nodding curtly in her direction. “I would be happy to update the chancellor.” His taut lips and tense voice tell me he’s anything but happy to deliver the bad news.
I take my mother’s arm in mine and leave Aulion to my father. “Thanks for the save—but what’s going on at the Farms?”
My mother smiles wryly up at me. “Unfortunately, Vale, until tomorrow morning, you don’t have the security clearance necessary for me to tell you.” I laugh.
“Perfect. I won’t have to worry about it until then.”
We’re at the door to the student lounge and I can hear the voices of my classmates inside. My mother stops and takes my hands in hers. “I cannot tell you how proud we are. Now, you go have a good time tonight. And tell Moriana not to stay out too late, either. I’m looking forward to having her join my lab team tomorrow.”
I give Mom a hug. “She’s excited to be working with you.”
“I’m delighted to have her. She’s got a bright future.” She pauses and picks an imaginary piece of lint off my sleeve. I look down at her, and I can’t help but notice tears glistening in her eyes. She stretches up on tiptoe to give me a kiss, and a
s she brushes my face I can feel the tears on her cheeks. “Go have fun. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She turns and heads back in the direction we came.
Finally I can stop being Valerian Augustus Orleán and start being Vale again. I open the door to the lounge and a geyser of wet foam splashes my face.
“Jeremiah, you shit, you’re going to pay for that!” I wipe sparkling wine out of my eyes with my sleeve.
There are perhaps thirty students milling around, some from the Academy and some from the SRI, and every one of them is laughing as I cough and sputter. It’s not often I’m the victim of practical jokes—though it has become much more frequent since Jeremiah and I became friends. I find his bearded face through the bubbles still dripping from my eyelashes.
I take a crystal flute from his hands.
“Apparently this is the Sector’s finest old bubbly, and don’t bother asking how I commandeered several bottles just for us. State secrets.” He pulls out a chair, stands up on it—not that he needs the height boost, he already towers over everyone in the room—and clears his throat. “Attention, everybody.” He raises his glass. “I hereby propose a toast to my best friend—the pride, the joy, the savior and radiant light of the whole Sector.”
“To the harvest!” everyone toasts as they drain their glasses.
“Miah, has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”