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

by K. Makansi

  Normandy is built in the ruins of an old automobile factory dating to the pre-hovercar era. Most of the base is located in the old utility tunnels, similar to Thermopylae, which was dug into the hollowed shell of Chicago. There’s some storage above ground, from what I remember of the Director’s brief lectures, but most of Normandy is in the tunnels. The main entrance is a manhole that’s been well hidden in a copse of trees grown over the old industrial site. Even with four of us looking, it takes about twenty minutes before Bear finally shouts excitedly that he’s found the door.

  “Praise the harvest, and all the gods invented by man,” Miah says, collapsing onto his back as the rest of us dig around to uncover the entrance to the base. “I thought I was going to die out here.”

  A wave of relief that we made it this far safe and sound, despite our hunger, washes over me now. And hope, too. Will my father be there? Rhinehouse? Kenzie’s parents? The Director?

  Eli and Soren scrounge around for the hidden lever and then pry the cover off. Eli climbs down the ladder into the tunnel. Once we’re all at the bottom, we type the passcode into the digital scanner set into the metal door blocking the tunnel. A tiny camera in the corner of the doorframe fixes its lens on each of us and captures an image to process through the facial recognition software in the comm center. It will only allow those who have registered with the Resistance to enter, so the two foreign faces—Bear and Miah—prompt the intercom system.

  “State your names and declare your guests.”

  Eli speaks into the screen: “Elijah Tawfiq, Remy Alexander, and Soren Skaarsgard from base Thermopylae with Bear, a renegade Farm worker, and Jeremiah Sayyid, formerly of the Okarian Sector. We’re survivors of the attack. Jeremiah is sick and requires immediate medical care.”

  Three sizable, but ancient looking metal locks unlatch in sequence and the door swings open to reveal a narrow, dirty passageway to a second door. The door opens almost as soon as we close off the outside, and a tall, thin man with a thick shock of grey hair beckons us inside. A wiry grey mustache sticks out beneath a small nose and I immediately think mouse.

  “I’m Hodges, the medic here. What going on?” He looks at Miah.

  “He’s feverish. Diarrhea. Might have an infection. Exhausted. Still recovering from MealPak withdrawal,” Eli rattles off.

  “Nothing a warm bed and some good food won’t solve,” he says as we stop at the door to the infirmary. He takes Miah by the arm. I peer into a room with a row of beds lined up along the wall. They look awfully inviting, and I know I’m not the only one who would appreciate a little time in the infirmary with a kindly medic fussing over me. “I’ll take care of him. The rest of you head into the kitchen, down this hallway and take the first right. Adrienne, Normandy’s captain, is heading there now.”

  My heart seems to settle into an iron cage.

  “Hodges … has anyone else come from Thermopylae yet?” The words come out in a rush of desperation, of hope ready to die.

  He shakes his head.

  “Not yet. We’ve word that there might be a group heading here soon, though. It’s your father you’re after….”

  I nod mutely.

  “Time will tell. For now, go eat. Adrienne will want to talk to you.”

  “Thank you,” I respond, biting my lip, disappointed, but what he said sounds promising. A group might be heading here soon.

  Meanwhile, I’m experiencing a more pressing physical sensation. My stomach feels like an empty, bottomless pit. The mere idea of a kitchen is overpowering. Food. Water. Chairs. Hodges waves us out of the infirmary.

  As we walk, Soren grabs my hand and squeezes. “We made it,” he whispers, his breath warm and tickling my skin. It sends shivers up and down my spine. I half think he’s going to kiss me, and I steady myself in anticipation—or is it unease?

  “‘May the flowers bloom tomorrow, too,’” I say, reciting a line from my father’s poetry. A prayer, Dad calls it. A prayer for tomorrows. I keep walking, hoping that tomorrow will bring news of my father, and maybe some clarity about how I feel about Soren.

  And Vale.

  I shove his face out of my mind even as I breathe a silent prayer that his tomorrows bring him here, too.

  We round the corner into what must be the kitchen. Several hundred of us lived at Thermopylae, our old base, but I remember the Director saying only thirty people, give or take those coming and going, live and work at Normandy. The difference in numbers shows in the kitchen. Here wood tables are nearly on top of the oven and stove, and the whole area would have fit in one corner of our dining hall.

  But the kitchen is cozy, and a few people are busying themselves over saucepans smelling of rich garlic and onion, paprika, and chilies. I crane my neck trying to get a glimpse of what’s in the saucepan, but all I can see is a brown mess, some kind of beans. Maybe lentils. My stomach rumbles.

  A short woman sporting an unruly pile of blond hair turns when she hears us enter, and she strides forward. She shakes Eli’s hand vigorously.

  “Adrienne, base captain. Welcome to Normandy.” She clasps each of our hands in turn as we introduce ourselves. “We’re getting a late dinner ready for you, but in the meantime, I want to hear everything. The information we’ve gotten here has been sketchy at best, and we’ve been in limbo since we initiated radio silence after the attack.” She motions us to sit. One of the other cooks brings cups and a pot of hot tea. Adrienne pours as Eli begins talking.

  Eli and Soren recount everything that’s happened. I chime in here and there, but largely, the story is too personal for me, our struggles and traumas sour on my tongue. The discovery of the LOTUS database. The raid that went wrong. Our capture and escape from Okaria. How we found Bear. Vale and Miah’s flight from the Sector. The Black Ops’ attack on Thermopylae. My mother’s death. Hearing the story all over again, I blink back tears as Eli chokes out her name. Brinn. Mom.

  “I’m so sorry, Remy.” Adrienne’s eyes are glassy, her voice shaky. “I knew your mother well, back in the Sector.” She doesn’t continue, it seems she can’t. Eli reaches for my hand and squeezes.

  “We need to contact Waterloo,” I declare abruptly. “The other half of our group should have arrived there already.”

  “Of course,” Adrienne says, standing quickly, somehow acquiescing to whatever authority and fatigue has manifested in my voice. She leads us through the tunnels and into to the communications room. She sits and plugs a pair of headphones into the jack. “Usually we man the comm center 24/7, but Zoe’s on duty, and I dispatched her to ready the beds for you,” she says. She flips some switches and turns a dial, staring intently at nothing. After several terse seconds, she glances up at us.

  “I should be getting a response,” she says. There’s an edge in her voice. I instinctively step closer, as if I could hear better, as if I could understand what she was saying.

  “Do you mind?” Eli says. “I was the comm director back at Thermopylae.”

  Adrienne nods and gracefully gives up her seat at the controls. Eli does everything Adrienne just did, plus some extra switch flipping and knob turning, double checking everything, moving slowly and deliberately. He checks connections at the back of the receiver and even examines under the table and up at the ceiling as if that will make a difference. He stops, listens intently for a moment, then glances up. His eyes meet mine. Pulling off the headphones, he flips on “speaker,” and rotates the dial to maximum volume. I can hear the empty crackling of static, but nothing more.

  “Your speakers are fully functional?” Eli asks. There’s a tremor in his voice.

  “They were as of an hour ago.”

  I think of my words to Eli before we all split up. Half of us could die and the rest of us would never know. Soren wraps an arm around me, and I allow myself to fall against him as the room slips away, black clouding my vision, because I know what Eli is going to say.

  “There’s nothing there to receive the signal. There’s no one there.”

  The
words ring in my head like the endless tolling of a thousand bells. Nothing there … no one there.

  3 - VALE

  Winter 32, Sector Annum 106, 16h14

  Gregorian Calendar: January 21

  A bush to my right bristles and I hiss on my inhale. I am aware of every sound, every movement, my nerves like a company of soldiers at attention. In the day’s last light, as we near Waterloo, I look through the bleak, leafless trees for any sign of a man-made structure, wishing as I have a thousand times since I left the Sector that I’d brought more mission-ready contacts with me. Without them, I feel blind and claustrophobic, trying to see into the growing twilight with only my natural eyesight. It’s windy, the air is clammy and cold, and a thick layer of fog in the distance signals either a change in the terrain or the temperature. We’ve only got another hour of light left, and the woods are eerie and beautiful, every sound amplified, every shadow exaggerated. I imagine walking straight into that fog and stepping into a different world, or stepping off the edge, into a void, instantly dissolving into a million fragments. Little wisps of myself floating away.

  Firestone’s map says the building should be in this area, but it’s not detailed enough to pinpoint exactly where. Kenzie and Jahnu claim they know what to look for once we’re there, but finding the exact spot is the challenge. We’ve yet to see any sign of human occupation and the woods grow oppressive and quiet as the fog thickens. Used to the big skies, wide avenues and welcoming buildings of Okaria, getting acquainted with the verdant Wilds has been difficult, too many places to hide, too many secrets.

  We spread out. I prowl ahead, trying to look everywhere at once. If the fog clears, there will at least be a moon tonight. I’m not happy about the idea of pressing on to find the base once the sun sets, but with a little moonlight we’d have a chance at finding it. We’re so close there’s no point in making camp. All of us are on edge, low on food, sleep, and spirit. Even Kenzie’s shoulders droop, and Firestone’s fiery vocabulary has been less explosive than usual these last two days. When he’s not cussing, things are really bad. We need to find the outpost.

  A whiff of something burning causes me to stop in my tracks. The now-familiar smell of a wood fire drifts through the trees. The thought of stumbling across a few Resistance fighters with a wild pig or some fowl roasting gets my stomach growling. Maybe they’ll even have a few extra homebrewed beers. I try not to get my hopes up, but I’m so hungry I can’t keep my imagination in check. I’m salivating over food I can’t begin to picture. But I start to notice something more in the air, too. Something acrid. More pungent than the simple smell of burning wood.

  I cup my hands to my mouth and hoot like an owl. I wait a few second, and then hear crunching leaves at my side. Firestone’s narrow, slouching figure appears through the trees. A few seconds later, Kenzie and Jahnu materialize from my other side.

  “Smell the fire up ahead?” I ask. The others nod in answer. “I say we fan out and head into the fog.”

  Three heads bob at me in silent accord.

  “Jahnu, lead,” Firestone whispers. Jahnu, the quietest of all of us, turns at once and heads downwind. Firestone, Kenzie, and I follow at a distance.

  The burning scent turns from appetizing to horrifying. The closer we get, the more obvious it becomes; it’s not just fog that is spreading like a massive plume through the woods. It’s smoke, too, and it thickens as we walk, the air warming with each step. As we get closer, I blink to keep the sting at bay. Kenzie glances back at me, and I know she feels it, too.

  The heat.

  Forest fires at this time of year? Doesn’t make sense. Everything’s dry and brittle, yes, but frozen at night. It’s too cold. It’s possible, I suppose—anything’s possible, these days.

  The dark fear that’s been riding my shoulders these last few hours grips at my throat.The base is burning, it says. There’s nothing left there. Get out now, while you can. But we have to find out. We can’t turn back.

  I release the safety on my Bolt, and, following Jahnu’s lead, crouch and run as quietly as possible up over a rise toward what looks to be the source of the smoke. The heat from the fire is intense enough that I start to sweat. Jahnu stops at the edge of the tree line. We’re at the top of the small hill looking down on a large clearing. Crouching beneath a bush, he beckons us ahead, and we join him. The clearing, probably a hundred meters long, contains the crumbled, blackened, still-smoking ruins of a building, and the charred remains of trees, bushes, and anything that once lived here. Radiant heat washes over my skin. What a blaze, I think, suddenly reminded of the funeral pyres people built during the Famine Years for the dead. This was the outpost. Was. Here and there, the remains of the building still smolder, orange and white coals glowing in the twilight. It must have been destroyed within the last few hours.

  “Fuck,” Firestone swears under his breath.

  “What happened here?” Jahnu whispers. None of us has an answer. I squint into the surrounding forest and up at the evening sky—was this the work of drones?—and wish once again I had my contacts.

  Then, a shout from across the clearing.

  “Nothing my way, Captain. The others are dead or long gone,” a man calls. We each drop to the ground instinctively. The fading light of day has taken on the sheen of cut steel in the smoke and blue twilight. Through the shroud of ash and haze, I can see silhouettes move on the other side of the clearing.

  “We’ve still got the woman,” a female voice calls back.

  “They got a prisoner,” Firestone mouths.

  The man laughs. “And she’s not going anywhere fast.”

  “We’re outnumbered,” I whisper. “If these soldiers were here to take out the base, there are probably two squads, minimum. Twenty soldiers. Against four?”

  “That’ll make the general’s day,” the man replies.

  The general? I shudder at memories of General Aulion, the former mentor whose stoic cruelty left more of a mark on me than any words of advice ever could have.

  Firestone glares at me. I can see the anger in his eyes, the defiance. He’s not leaving without a fight.

  I shake my head.

  “They got a prisoner,” he repeats, more slowly, as if I hadn’t quite understood him the first time. He doesn’t have to say the second part, the threat, the doubt. Are you with us or not, Vale? I hold his eyes for a moment longer, willing him to back down. He doesn’t.

  “Fine,” I hiss, between gritted teeth. “But this is pure idiocy. If their airship isn’t already here, it’ll be back any minute. If we’re going to mount a rescue, we need to move now.”

  Firestone finally drops his eyes from mine. He turns to Jahnu.

  “You’re on point. Vale, Kenzie, shadow him. I’ll rearguard. Leave the packs. We’ll get ’em later.” I see the dull sheen of metal as the three of them ready their weapons. “We’ve got the element of surprise. Take ’em out quietly. Bolts set to mid-range. We want to incapacitate them for a good long while, get the prisoner, and get out. We only shoot to kill if we’ve no other choice.” Kenzie and Jahnu nod. I bite my tongue. The question of how far we’ll get with a wounded prisoner and a squad of armed soldiers on our tail will have to wait.

  The dull thud of anger marches into my chest. It’s entirely possible we’re walking into death. My hands shake slightly, cradling my weapon. I beat back the black crawling at my vision and steady my trembling muscles. Now is not the time to let the rage consume you.

  We stash our packs about twenty meters back, and follow Jahnu once again towards the clearing. I’m thankful Firestone’s trailing us at a distance. Leaves crackle like kindling under his feet. I lower the power grade on my Bolt and pull it up, ready to fire. I hope none of the soldiers recognize me.

  Valerian Orleán. The son of the Chancellor of the Okarian Sector and the Director of the O.A.C. The two most powerful people in the Sector. Now a renegade, a traitor, and a conspirator with a terrorist organization that opposes everything we stand for.

&nb
sp; Everything I once stood for.

  They’ll have no qualms about killing every one of us. That, we learned for certain at Thermopylae, when the skies lit up with electric death. When Remy’s mother was killed by fire from above. When my own mother, Corine Orleán, made it clear she had no intention of showing anything resembling mercy.

  I hear more voices through the trees, more casual, incoherent at a distance, as we stalk along the edge of the clearing. In the smoke, we’re at a distinct disadvantage. Soon they’ll detect our heat signatures with their mission contacts, but it’s nearly impossible for us to see them. If it comes to a direct fight, we’ll be fighting blind.

  The thought of waking up back in Okaria, a prisoner, face-to-face with my parents—or worse, General Aulion—sends a chill through my bones.

  Jahnu stops moving. Kenzie and I follow suit. There are voices ahead, close. Jahnu waves us forward a few steps and I see them: a group of three soldiers directly in front of us, perhaps fifteen meters away. They’re facing the hollowed remnants of the building, watching it burn low. They are silhouettes, vague forms outlined against the dim glowing embers in front of them, unaware of the approaching threat.

  I’ve got a clear and easy shot. I glance at Jahnu and Kenzie, who are both watching me. If we do this perfectly, all three soldiers will drop at the same time. Jahnu looks at me and nods, and then looks back to Kenzie. I can’t see Firestone, but I know he’s watching our backs.

  Before I can fire, I hear a yell and one of the soldiers on the edge of the clearing drops. In surprise, I glance over at Kenzie and Jahnu, but it’s clear from the confusion on their faces and the glowing capacitors on their Bolts that neither of them fired the shot.

  “Man down! Man down!” comes an urgent shout.

  “Holy—is that an arrow?” someone else exclaims.

  Shouts of confusion ring out, but any further orders or information must be on their intercom systems, as I can’t make out anything more specific. We watch, shocked, as at least three-quarters of the soldiers in the clearing run off to the northwest, disappearing quickly into the fog, smoke, and shadow of the trees.