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

by K. Makansi

  I pull myself to my feet and head to the water’s edge, splashing my face and wiping the muck off my clothes. Soren, meanwhile, hauls on the rope, pulling the boat in closer to shore. “The anchor must weigh fifty kilos,” he complains, and I catch myself admiring the contours and shadows of his body as he works. Soon, I hear the soft scrape of the hull against the sandy river bank.

  On board, we find more than we could have hoped for. A bed, a stove for cooking, filtered water. A proper toilet and an actual tiny shower. Cured meats, jars of jam, dried fruits and vegetables, cheese, even a stale loaf of bread that Soren and I tear into and smother with raspberry preserves. We declare ourselves in heaven. In fact, we eat an entire round of cheese between the two of us. There’s also a much more sophisticated map on another V-scroll. This one is in 3D; it shows us exactly where to disembark along the river and how to navigate through the woods to get to the nearest Resistance base. The only thing they didn’t think to include was some sort of communications device. I wish for anything we had a radio of some sort, something to get through to the Director and Eli and my parents and just let them know we’re alive. But there’s nothing. I wonder how they could have forgotten such a key item. Or why they chose not to provide it.

  Then I see it, another note from Osprey. This one, too, is bloodstained, though this time the droplets are much bigger and more obvious.

  Hope this helps. No comm. devices for fear of alerting S drones. Keep to the riverbanks & keep cloaking on when possible. –Osprey

  The bloodstains are worrying. I can only hope this Osprey person is still alive. But there’s nothing we can do but to take advantage of what he’s left for us.

  Soren and I immediately set about trying to figure out how to work the ship, which runs on a computerized system neither of us has ever encountered before. Instead of having an interface to talk to or give commands, there’s a slew of dials, knobs, and levers that seem to do things that have to be turned or twisted or flipped in a certain order. Soren figures out fairly quickly how to set the engines in motion and how to reel in the anchor, and we head off downriver. The rest of the controls remain a mystery, though. Eventually I realize that a few of them regulate the internal temperature of the boat. We can’t figure out which ones control the cloaking device, which is troubling. Besides the engines, that’s probably the most important thing. But there will be time for that later. Meantime, Soren cranks on the water heater, and in a half an hour I’m standing in a steaming hot shower and washing all the grime off of me from the last week—the sweat, the torture, the cold, the misery—and when I come out of the shower, I feel like a whole new person.

  23 - VALE

  Winter 1, Sector Annum 106, 16h35

  Gregorian Calendar: December 21

  I shrug my dinner jacket on over my shoulders and look at myself in the mirror. I’m in my bedroom—not at my flat, but at my parents’ house, the chancellor’s estate. My hair is still sticking out over my ears, so I drag a comb through the brambles to try to tame it. The picture of composure, elegance, and confidence. Marvelously deceptive. How fortunate I am that no one can see what thoughts lay beneath my pressed evening wear and calm visage.

  I put my hand into my jacket pocket to check that it’s still there. The compass. I found it earlier this morning when I was going through my room to see if there was anything else I wanted to take. Tucked away in a box I hadn’t opened in years. It was Tai’s; before that, her grandfather’s. Tai used to carry it around like a talisman, and I always admired it. It’s a beautiful old thing, definitely pre-Famine craftsmanship. Just like Soren’s knife. It’s encased in gold, and the initials engraved on the bottom are elegant and stately. Remy gave it to me after Tai died, since I had been friends with Tai as well. She insisted Tai would have wanted me to have it, even though I protested. Of course, all that was before Remy decided she hated me. For good reason.

  “Valerian?”

  I start and turn around sharply, shoving the compass back into my pocket. My mother stands in the doorway, looking at me with an odd, furrowed expression on her face. I don’t want her to see the compass. When the Alexanders disappeared and public opinion turned against them, I knew my mother wouldn’t like it if I had an old heirloom of theirs hanging around. That’s when I hid it. And I certainly don’t want her to know I’ve got it in my pocket now.

  “Are you all right?” she asks.

  “Yeah, of course,” I say. I want to ask them about—about everything, but I’m not going to confront them until we get into the airship. That way, if things go to hell, I can get out and dodge through the throng of people at the Solstice Celebration.

  I look her over—she is dressed in a floor-length, deep purple evening gown with diamonds sewn into the v-neck. Even at forty-five, she’s beautiful. I smile falsely and look into her dark brown eyes, her heavy lashes, and wonder how many crimes those lashes have batted away in the last twenty years.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” I say, though I doubt she picks up on the sarcasm in my voice.

  “Why, thank you, dear,” she says, coming over to kiss me on the cheek and straighten my collar. “The airship is ready.”

  I look back at the mirror one last time. “I’m ready, too.”

  I am ready, but my mother has no idea what I mean by that. Stashed inside my Sarus are two lightweight, waterproof backpacks with several sets of spare clothes, a week’s worth of food, a water purification bottle, our Bolts, a two-person tent, a month’s supply of mission-ready contact lenses, a Geiger counter, several lengths of thin, lightweight rope, and a hunting knife. And, of course, I’ve also got Soren’s knife, the one I took from him during the raid. Together, Miah and I have enough supplies for a week in the Wilds. With any luck, the celebrations, the speeches, the hashish, the alcohol, and the subsequent hangovers will give us at least eight hours to get as far away from the city as we can. We have no plans, no destination, and nowhere to go except out. Jeremiah wants to head for the nearest Resistance base, but I’ve been lobbying for tracking down an Outsider encampment. Either way, it doesn’t really matter. After tonight, we’ll be hunted. Traitors. Just like Remy and Soren.

  My mother smiles and turns to leave, and I give my unruly hair one last pat-down before I follow her out. I take a deep breath. Can I do this?

  I trace her steps, walking behind her as we head out the back door to where the airship bay is. My heart is pounding, and I wonder if I’ll be able to bring myself to ask the questions I need to ask. Or to talk to them at all. At this point, I’m not even sure I can look them both in the eyes.

  Outside the night is chilly and crisp, but golden lights atop the buildings have already begun to glow, marking the solstice. At midnight, hundreds of thousands of candles will be lit outside of individual homes, illuminating the whole city as a tribute to the Blackout that set off the tailspin of destruction that almost wiped humans off the planet. That night, almost two hundred years ago, neighbors and small communities banded together to support each other and lit candles for light on a night of global darkness. We call it the “Blackout.” They called it the “Apocalypse.” Now, we memorialize it with candles, golden lights, and an enormous party.

  I step into the chancellor’s official airship and follow my mother to the lounge. My heart catches in my throat as my father glances over and smiles at me. My palms are sweaty, and I’m sure my cheeks are flushed. My father either doesn’t notice or chooses not to mention it. Instead, he just clasps my arm and says, “Looking sharp, Vale.”

  I give him a shaky smile in return and sit down across from him. He beckons my mother to sit next to him, and I try to keep my smile plastered on, even as it threatens to dissolve and run off my face like water.

  Neither of them have mentioned my temporary removal from duty two nights ago, although I was reinstated as director of the Seed Bank Protection Project once Aulion was satisfied there was nothing linking me to Remy and Soren’s escape. Despite my few mishaps getting out of the OAC building an
d my suspicious exit of Sector HQ during a Code Red, no one has yet managed to connect me to the security breaches. Reluctantly, Aulion reported to my father that there was no evidence of my involvement. When my father first learned the two prisoners had escaped, he was enraged. I’ve never seen him so furious. He demanded I conduct a full investigation into their disappearance and that we dispatch soldiers and drones to every corner of the Sector to search for them. His rage was bearable. It’s my mother’s silence that eats at me. She hasn’t said a word on the subject since I heard her speaking to Chan-Yu. Aside from Jeremiah, only my mother and I know that Chan-Yu was supposed to kill Remy and Soren that night. Only we know how thorough his betrayal of the Sector was. And no one—yet—knows that I was complicit as well.

  But that’s about to change.

  I don’t have much time. It’s only a few kilometers from the chancellor’s estate to the Solstice Ball, and it will only take a few minutes for the airship to make the trip. I clear my throat nervously, and my father’s happy smile changes to one of mild concern.

  “Are you okay, Vale? Your face is flushed,” he says, leaning forward to get a better look at me. “You don’t have a fever, do you? Hell of a night to get sick.” My mother instinctively reaches out to feel my forehead as if I were a toddler.

  “No, I’m fine.” Some part of me wants to brush her hand away, but another wants to hold it, press it against my cheek one last time. The airship’s engines thrum beneath me, and a few seconds later we lift off. I close my eyes briefly, and Demeter whispers soothingly in my ear.

  “You owe them this, Vale.” I nod, trying not to grimace. I wish I could have her by my side as Jeremiah and I make our own escape tonight, but her networking capabilities won’t work once we get outside the Sector. And since she’s just a tool to link to the OAC database, for all intents and purposes, she doesn’t exist without networking. I’m keeping the earpiece with me though, just in case. Maybe just for nostalgia’s sake.

  “Mom,” I say, my eyes still closed, forcing the words bodily out of my chest. “I was the one who broke into OAC headquarters the other night.” I open my eyes. My parents are staring at me dully, as though without recognition. “I overheard your conversation with Chan-Yu.” I can’t bring myself to say the second part: when you ordered him to kill Remy and Soren. Suddenly my mother’s face is frozen, too still, too stony. “And … I know about Tai, too.” I think of the compass pressing against my chest, tucked into my jacket. “And Hawthorne.” I turn to look at my father. “Were you a part of all this, Dad?”

  A vague, uncomfortable smile surfaces on his face briefly, and his eyes flit back and forth between me and my mother. “A part of what, son?”

  “A part of the plan to kill—”

  “Stop!” Her voice is low and hot, her body is tense, her hands wrapped so tightly around each other that her knuckles are bone white. Her face, normally so serene and beautiful, is knotted and afraid. But her next words come out in a whisper: “Don’t tell him.”

  I gape at her. No words come to me. The smile has fallen off of my father’s face. He squeezes my mother’s knee a little too tightly, and his jaw clenches.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I respond quietly, meeting her eyes. But I say no more, because nothing more has to be said. She knows. She knows what I’ve done and why. Sadness is scrawled across her pale face, her eyes are downcast, and tiny beads of sweat dot her lip. She sets her mouth in a firm, unhappy line and nods at me slightly. It’s an acknowledgment, maybe, that we’ve found ourselves on opposite sides of a bitter decision. But to her left, my father’s eyes are narrowed. They are a window to a brewing storm and for the first time in my life I recognize the steely, grey anger that makes people cower before him, that makes people afraid. He pulls his hand away from her knee as she squeezes her eyes shut, and tears sparkle beneath her lashes. She won’t look at him. He doesn’t know.

  My father leans back and casually stretches his arm out behind my mother’s shoulders. His voice is calm but with a harsh edge. “One of you is going to tell me exactly what you’re talking about.” The threat attached to that statement goes unspoken. But I’m not going to further incriminate my mother—she’s done that well enough herself.

  Below us, the airship extends its landing gear, and I know the door will soon open. I summon up another smile from the depths and think maybe this will save her. “Dad, we can talk about it tomorrow, after the party. I’m sorry I brought it up.” The airship settles down, and I hear the engines shut off. “Forget it,” I say. “Let’s just have a good time.”

  “Too late.” He stands, straightens his tie, holds his hand out for my mother, and with a twisted look on his face, says: “Everyone smile for the cameras.”

  The door whooshes open, and I step down off the airship into the cool winter air and let the flashbulbs drown my senses. I pose, laughing, answering idiotic questions, as my mother steps out delicately from the ship and I offer my hand to her, the tears gone already, wiped away, replaced by the cool confidence she always shows the cameras. I kiss her on the cheek and everyone wants a recording, microphones are shoved into our faces, careless eyes and dull people, and it seems as though maybe sound has disappeared from the world and we are living in a vacuum. My mother speaks less than usual and her mask falters once or twice, her lips quiver, her eyelashes blink away liquid that shouldn’t be there, but then the chancellor steps out of his airship, and all eyes turn to him. My mother leans in and whispers in my ear, so quietly I almost don’t hear, “I’m sorry, Vale, but it had to be done.”

  There is nothing to say to that. I turn and leave them behind. I stalk away from the cameras, the photographers, the politicians who are now swarming the dock waiting to greet the chancellor and the director general. I’m sure the photographers will be confused about my abrupt departure, but I don’t care. I turn away from it all and head into the party, looking for sympathetic faces, searching for people who don’t believe that murder is the only answer.

  For the governors of the Okarian Sector, high-level researchers and administrators at the OAC, and the very, very wealthy citizens, the Solstice Celebration is held every year at a building called Kingsland. It’s an ancient building that managed to survive the Religious Wars and even the Famine Years, despite that it had already been over three centuries old on the day of the Blackout. In our history classes, we learn that Kingsland is actually where the Okarian Sector was properly born. The soldiers and the governors who fought for unity in the Sector and established an aggressive plan to colonize and develop farms in the surrounding areas held their meetings here. Eventually, it became the temporary home for the new government, but it was too small to last for long. Now, restored using modern and recovered technology, we use it for weddings, celebrations, inaugurations, and the like.

  Inside, the ballroom is beautiful. Polished black-and-white marble floors are complemented by glowing chandeliers that appear to be floating. The dome is an enormous blue and green stained-glass window, and during the day the sunlight dances through it, shimmering in a way reminiscent of the sunlight playing off of the Great Sea to the east of us. The solemn austerity of the place is offset by thousands of colorful bouquets, all arranged with a bright sunflower in the center.

  A waiter approaches with a plate of fresh oysters and scallops in tiny glasses, but I have no appetite tonight. I wave her away and scan the room looking for Jeremiah. I spot him off to one side of the dance floor, talking to Moriana. I’m just heading off in his direction when I’m cornered by a reporter waving his camera in his hands.

  “Valerian! Could I get a photo?” He grins at me wildly, flashing two rows of absurdly perfect teeth. I give him a thin-lipped smile and turn towards him, knowing that I am already being watched. Any suspicious activity on my part will make it impossible for me and Jeremiah to get away. The light flashes several times, and then he leans around the side of it. “So, Vale, how do you like your directorship?” T
his must be one of those rogue photographers, some no-name working for a low-budget publication, trying to get gossip on the politics and celebrities of the Sector.

  “It’s great. Really great.” I stare around the room, stretching up on my tiptoes, looking for someone to pull me away from this event.

  “Any big plans for the future?”

  Does getting away from you as fast possible count?

  He ducks behind his camera again and the flash almost blinds me.

  “Oh, yes, but I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it. It’s all classified information.” I head off to the left, but he’s back in my face in seconds.

  “Do you feel like you’re living up to your parents’ expectations for you, Vale?”

  “Meeting and exceeding,” I say breezily, trying to dodge past him. Suddenly, I get an unexpected blessing: To the right of the reporter, I spot Linnea Heilmann, dressed in a marvelous blue floor-length gown, watching us with a faint, almost hopeful smile on her lips. Thinking fast, I give a broad smile to the reporter.

  “I’m so sorry, err—buddy—but I’ve just spotted my girlfriend. Would you like to get some photos of us together?” As the reporter’s mouth drops open, no doubt thinking of what price he could get for breaking the story that Valerian Orleán has a mysterious girlfriend, I push past him and boldly stride towards Linnea, smiling at her brightly. She looks just as surprised by my enthusiasm as the reporter, but hers shows only in slightly arched eyebrows and an upward curl of her lip. She stands stock-still, watching me as I approach, and half the guests I pass on my way turn to get a glimpse as well. I reach out to take Linnea’s hand and I bring it delicately to my lips, wondering what this will cost me. She accepts and smiles at me, wiping all traces of surprise from her face. After all, she must have known that I couldn’t hold out against her charms for too long. Indeed, how could I not? I’m sure she’s just wondering why it took me so long.