The Seeds Trilogy Complete Collection: The Sowing, The Reaping, The Harvest (including The Prelude)

by K. Makansi

  “Have a great night,” I say to the guards. They nod and give me the traditional cross-chest salute—right fist to the left shoulder. I return the gesture. The manservant then leads me through the back hallway. As we pass the foyer, I glance in at my old piano and a pang of regret hits me. I haven’t had time to sit down and play since before graduation. The hours I’ve spent practicing pieces from the great composers of the old world will doubtless already be fading. It’s a necessary sacrifice, I tell myself, if you want to stop the Resistance. Still, I can’t shake the feeling of longing, the desire to sit down at the keys and create, to channel the music like a riverbed channels water. The manservant leads me into the living room, where my parents are sitting at a high-top table, sipping on some cocktails. The manservant announces me.

  “Chancellor; Madam. Your son has arrived.”

  I sigh. I wish we could give up the formalities. After all, this used to be my house, too. But as soon as I am announced and the manservant retreats, the formalities vanish.

  “Hey, Vale,” my dad calls. Both my parents are now in their late forties. My father’s once-dark hair is now predominantly grey, and faint wrinkles are beginning to emerge at the corners of his eyes and his mouth. “Let’s get you a drink. Laika, tell Fallon to make Vale a cocktail,” he says, addressing his own C-Link. He’s not shy about using his C-Link in front of us, but in public or in front of other government officials, he never addresses her out loud. To me, he says, “Tired? How’s the general treating you?”

  My mother smiles at me, and I bend down to kiss her before plopping down on the couch. “He must be keeping you busy,” she says. Though my father might be showing his age a bit, my mother doesn’t look a day over thirty. Her long brown hair is as sleek as ever, and her round, dark eyes are set deeply into a cream-colored complexion. She is confident, calm, and controlled at all times.

  “That’s an understatement.” I grimace, thinking about all the time I’ve spent with Aulion over the last few weeks.

  “It’s not too much to handle, is it?” my father asks, looking directly at me.

  “It’s fine. It’s no more work than I had at the SRI or at the Academy. It’s just different.”

  A servant hurries in and places a tall glass in front of me. She must be new, because I don’t recognize her.

  “What is it?” I ask her.

  “Vitamin D, B6, Niacin, and amino acid cocktail with vodka,” she says nervously.

  “No,” I laugh. “I mean, what is it? I don’t care about the ingredients.”

  “Oh,” she sputters. “I think Fallon called it a Twisted Spur.” Fallon is the chancellor’s Dietician. I nod, and she turns on her heel and dashes out.

  “You knew it was going to be a difficult transition,” my father says. “Research, classes, and exams, as hard as those might be, are nothing compared to the responsibility of working for the government.”

  “Working under Aulion, more like,” I grumble.

  “General Aulion,” my mother reminds me firmly. “He’s the best mentor you could ask for. He may be tough, and I know he’s critical, but he really understands the Resistance.”

  Demeter makes a little snickering sound in my ear, which startles me. She hadn’t spoken in so long I’d almost forgotten she’s there.

  “Aulion’s anything but a mentor,” she says snarkily, “and ‘critical’ might be a slight understatement.” I smile. I’m glad she’s on my side. I’m also glad my parents can’t hear her.

  Just then, the girl who brought my cocktail darts back in. “The table is ready,” she announces. We all file into the dining room and take our seats at the table, where the food has already been laid out. Fallon’s prepared different meals for each of us, tailored to our individual needs. It’s nice to have someone cooking for me for a change. Since I moved out, I’ve gotten used to eating my customized Mealpaks alone, but that gets boring fast, and I’ve missed Fallon’s cooking.

  “How’s Moriana doing?” I ask my mother as we all tuck in.

  “Oh, she’s really great. She’s a hard worker, and very smart to match. We’re all thrilled with what she’s done so far.” My mother is never so effusive with her praise.

  “Have you started filling out the adoption papers yet?”

  She laughs. “Hardly. I’m just happy that you’ve become such good friends.”

  There is an awkward pause, and I know what’s coming next. “Have you seen Linnea lately?”

  “Mom!”

  “What? I’m just asking.”

  “I don’t want to go out with Linnea, okay? Will you give it up, please?”

  “Vale, she’s so driven, and so smart. You should give her a chance.”

  My father pipes up: “She’s doing a great job as the OAC’s spokesperson, and she works very well with Evander at the Farms.”

  “She’s also been incredibly effective at destroying the political careers of some promising young men from the factory towns,” Demeter pipes up sarcastically in my ear. “Her exploits are fast becoming legendary.” I fight back a laugh.

  “You really haven’t been interested in anyone since that Alexander girl back at the Academy,” my mother says, looking at me worriedly, as though I might have a fever. Despite the fact that my mother and Remy’s mother were close friends when they worked at the OAC together, my parents now refuse to refer to any of the Alexanders by their first names.

  “First, that’s not true. Remy and I never really dated. Second, I have been with other girls since then. And third, could you just give it a rest? I’m too busy with work to think about dating anyway. Even Linnea. And why are you two sneaking around talking about Elijah Tawfiq?”

  My father perks up at Elijah’s name and looks at my mother curiously.

  “Oh, did she mention that?” she responds, offhand. “She asked me if I knew anything about him. She said she missed him. I told her, of course, that I knew nothing about him.”

  “Okay.” I narrow my eyes at her. She sounds suspiciously casual, but it makes sense. “It was strange that she was asking about him out of the blue.”

  “It is interesting that she brought Elijah up,” my father says. “Do you have any information on him? I bet if we find Tawfiq, we’d find the Alexanders nearby.”

  “No location on him. He’s become a fairly high-ranking member of their organization, though. He’s led two of the raid teams that infiltrated our seed banks, and he’s in on a lot of their communications. The ones that we’ve intercepted, anyway.”

  “Well, good. Keep me informed.”

  “Of course, Chancellor,” I say with a smirk, trying to sound very official. “I’ll be happy to prepare a report for you in the morning.” Both my parents laugh.

  “Speaking of that, Philip,” my mother says, her expression darkening, “I heard a report today from Evander that there’s been more trouble at one of the Farms?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” My father’s smile evaporates. “One of the silos was blown up the other day at Silver Birch. The Enforcers got control of the situation, but several thousand kilos of grain were lost.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed?” I demand. Staying up-to-date on activity at the Farms is crucial for our investigation into the Resistance’s activity. “Is there any connection to the Resistance?”

  “It doesn’t look like it,” my father says, shaking his head grimly. “So far it looks like this was internally motivated. There’s been a food shortage there, and rationing was imposed for a few days. They weren’t happy.”

  “Blowing up a silo full of food doesn’t seem like the best way to protest not having enough food,” I comment. “Are we sure there wasn’t something else at play?”

  “I don’t have a lot of information yet,” my father says, shrugging helplessly. “I’ll let you know when I know more.”

  They then get into a discussion about an uptick in activity from the Outsiders, the nomads who live in the Wilds, and I tune them out. They’re not my problem—not yet, anyway. The res
t of the meal passes uneventfully and without any more commentary about Linnea. Thank goodness. I put the news about the Farms into the back of my mind and make a mental note to investigate any possible Resistance connection first thing in the morning.

  ****

  Two hours later, I say goodbye and head back out to my Sarus. I’m heading off to meet Moriana at a sleek new bar near the SRI. I program in the location and glide across the night sky. It’s almost 2030 hours by the time I’m docked and walking through the doors. Heads turn as I walk through the door, and I pointedly ignore the stares. I see Moriana’s thin figure at a bar in the corner, apparently being chatted up by some Sector official, still wearing his uniform from the work day. She has her head down, staring at her drink, and I can tell she’s not enthused. I walk up behind her and casually put my arm around her, startling her and drawing a poisoned glare from the man. But then he recognizes me, and his expression changes from anger to surprise.

  “Oh, Lieutenant Orleán, I’m sorry.… Pleasure to meet you,” he sputters.

  “No worries, Captain. Pleasure to make your acquaintance as well.” I give him the Sector salute and turn to Moriana. “Sorry I was late. I forgot how long it takes to escape a formal dinner at the chancellor’s residence.”

  The captain gives me a weak smile, nods at Moriana, and retreats back into the crowd.

  No wonder she’s caught his eye. She looks stunning in a sleeveless white shirt with an open collar, a red sash tied into her straight brown hair. I have to forcibly remind myself that she’s dating my best friend. Off limits, Vale!

  “Hey, thanks,” she says, smiling at me with relief. “You know how I hate to be rude.”

  “Of course.” I pull my arm off her shoulder and sit down at the bar next to her. She’s already sipping on a dark green cocktail, so I scan my palm quickly and wait for the system to identify me.

  “Palm print accepted. What would you like to try, Valerian Orleán?” the automated voice asks.

  “How about something with rosemary?” I respond, and turn to Moriana. “How are you? How are things at the lab? You look great, by the way.”

  “Thanks! I am great. I’ve been looking forward to this little date all week. I have so much to tell you!”

  “Uh-oh,” I smile, as the bar’s conveyor system deposits my drink in front of me. I pull it off the belt and drag a sip. “We’re not going to spend the whole time talking about my mother, are we?”

  “No, but I just have to say—Vale, she’s so great! She’s so nice and encouraging and polite all the time; I absolutely love working for her.”

  “Well, she said the same things about you, so it sounds like you’re a great match. I actually asked her if she was planning on filing adoption papers for you.”

  Moriana looks over the moon at this pronouncement. “Did she really? Say good things about me, I mean?”

  “Yeah, you two are a match made in heaven.” I roll my eyes. “But seriously, I’m glad you’re getting along so well.”

  “Oh, Vale, I forgot to tell you. I hope you don’t mind—” Moriana leans in and lowers her voice, “—I invited Jeremiah to come along. He should be here in a few minutes. Is that okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay. He’s my best friend. Aside from you, obviously. Why so nervous about bringing Miah?”

  “Well, Corine doesn’t really seem to like him that much—”

  Oh, great. Now Moriana and Linnea are on a first-name basis with my mother. My mother doesn’t approve of Jeremiah dating Moriana. She thinks Moriana can do better than an engineer.

  “—so I’m trying to be more careful about mentioning him.”

  “Well, I’m not going to run and tell my mother, so you don’t have to worry about that around me.” I take another swig. “What are the big plans for tonight, then?”

  “Well, one of the new SRI graduates—I’m working with her at the lab—is throwing a party, and I thought maybe you and Jeremiah would like to come along.”

  “Look at you, making all kinds of new friends these days. Young military gentlemen and brilliant scientists alike.” I smile at her. “Pretty soon you’ll be so popular you’ll have completely left me and Jeremiah in the dust.”

  “Oh, please,” she laughs, turning her head sideways to look at me. “We both know that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

  “What’s not going to happen?” Despite his size, Jeremiah has somehow managed to sneak up on us. He gives me his big bear grin and squeezes Moriana’s shoulders.

  “It’s been a while, Miah,” I say, grabbing his forearm. He returns the gesture. He bends down and plants a kiss on Moriana’s neck; she is now beaming up at both of us.

  “It sure has. You’ve been stuck at the Assembly building since graduation, huh?”

  “Pretty much. Hard to get out at night when your wake-up call is at 0615 hours every morning. How’s Engineering?”

  “Glorious. Magnificent. Did I mention incredible? I get to work on ships like your Sarus every day. Couldn’t ask for more.” He sits in the chair next to Moriana and scans his palm. “So, are we gonna make this a night to remember, or what?”

  9 - REMY

  Fall 67, Sector Annum 105, 21h30

  Gregorian Calendar: November 26

  At exactly 2130 hours, Soren, Eli, and I are back in the kitchen. Jahnu and Kenzie are off somewhere being adorable, and we didn’t want to interrupt their happiness. So it’s just the three of us, anxiously awaiting Rhinehouse and wondering what his response will be once we’ve told him about our problem.

  He steps into the room and bangs his cane on the nearest table. We all start and snap upright, as though reporting for duty.

  “Hungry?” he asks, not bothering to look at us. “Leftover Victory Soup here if you want some. Apparently the venison was so popular no one bothered with the soup.” He sounds almost mournful—the Victory Soup is his pride and joy. It’s basically just a pot full of about twenty different vegetables simmering in what he calls “special broth,” but it’s absolutely delicious. It does, however, get old after the fiftieth day in a row. No wonder everyone skipped out in favor of deer meat.

  None of us are about to turn down an offer of free food, since usually we’re begging for more. We help ourselves to bowls, and I start slurping mine down noisily. There’s an awkward silence as Rhinehouse watches us eat.

  “Why don’t you tell me where you got this DNA you’re so interested in?”

  Eli takes a breather from sipping directly from his bowl to respond. “It was an old pet project of Professor Hawthorne’s. He had me working on it when I wasn’t busy with my own research. Seemed really interested in it, but we never did crack it. He said he found these old samples of cyanobacteria with nonfunctional DNA in place of their chromosomes, but he never would tell me where he got the bacteria to begin with.”

  I put down my empty bowl, and Soren looks askew at me. He raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed at my speed-eating abilities.

  “The DNA was definitely nonfunctional? It didn’t code to any recognizable genes or genome?” Rhinehouse demands.

  “None at all,” Eli responds. “Not only that, but the chromosomes were also shaped like sunflowers. They didn’t look anything like what you would find in a naturally occurring chromosome.” Despite this remarkable admission, Rhinehouse’s expression doesn’t change.

  I can’t hold in the gas building up in my chest. I belch loudly, and Rhinehouse, Soren, and Eli all three look at me abruptly, simultaneously surprised, impressed, and disgusted. Rhinehouse knocks his cane on the table and stands up.

  “Okay, you’re done,” he pronounces. “Follow me.” This is a surprise. Once again, we all trade glances. Eli, who hasn’t finished his soup yet, tips his bowl back and slurps down the rest. We follow Rhinehouse as he walks out the door on two perfectly good legs.

  We leave the kitchen through the back doors and enter a long hallway that leads toward the dormitories in one direction and through a perpetually locked set of do
uble doors in the other. Rhinehouse fishes a set of keys from his inner breast pocket, unlocks the doors, and pushes through them. I look at Eli and raise my eyebrows, asking wordlessly, Do you know where we’re going? He shakes his head in response, No.

  “What’s through here?” I pipe up.

  Rhinehouse pounds the cane on the floor as if trying to hammer in a nail in one stroke. “You’ll find out when we get in,” he snaps, and Soren chokes back a laugh. Apparently the cane just entitles him to grumpiness.

  We find ourselves in yet another nondescript hallway, with various nondescript brown doors on either side. Like me, Eli’s looking around curiously at our surroundings, but Soren seems nonchalant. He seems to know where we’re going, or at least to have been here before. I wonder how deep his friendship with Rhinehouse goes.

  “What’s through these doors?”

  “None of your business.” Well, all right.

  We finally stop to unlock one of the doors on the right. Inside, there’s yet another door, which is much fancier. Rhinehouse grumbles, stares into the camera, places his finger on the entry pad, punches in a bunch of numbers on the keypad, and the lock detaches. I haven’t seen this kind of high-tech security since we left the capital.

  He pushes open the door and we walk through a wall of humidity and into an enormous room absolutely chock-full of plants. What the hell is this? Colorful flowers, shrubs, bushes, miniature trees, and row after row of velvety, shiny, and spiky leaves all a lush, sumptuous green. Lights hang low from the ceiling, and tendrils of vines wind up support beams toward them like snakes slithering toward their next meal. I stretch my hand out to touch the leaves, to feel their softness, but then—

  “Don’t touch anything,” Rhinehouse barks. I jerk my hand back, startled, and this time Soren can’t suppress his laughter. I glare at him. Is it possible for him to not be an asshole?

  “So tell me, Elijah,” Rhinehouse begins. “Did Hawthorne have any idea what information was stored in this DNA?”