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

by K. Makansi

  “Normandy’s fine, Vale,” she says reassuringly, but when she turns away, I catch her checking her astrolabe again, just to be sure. She turns back to Firestone, and touches him on the arm. “Think warm bed and smooth whiskey.” Firestone just growls before we put our heads down and trudge on down the path again.

  Just when I’m sure we’re going to freeze and our lifeless icy corpses will be nothing but food for the wolves, the wayfarer pulls up short.

  “We’re here,” she says. Even the limitless enthusiasm she had an hour ago seems to be flagging. She ushers us through a clump of undergrowth, drops to her knees and starts scrambling at the ground. For one paranoid, exhausted moment, I wonder if she’s gone insane. But as she digs frantically at the snow, now up to my shins, and the dull rusted metal of an old manhole cover comes into view. I kneel beside her to help, pushing the snow off in great sweeping armfuls.

  The wayfarer pulls out an adjustable metal tool from her pack that she locks into a hook position, sticking the hooked end into the hole and using it as a lever to pull the cover up. I slide it open to reveal what looks to be a five meters drop to the tunnel below where a dim yellow light casts a dull pall over the floor and a ladder is affixed to the wall.

  She turns to us, speaking quickly.

  “It’s almost two in the morning, but they usually have someone manning the comm center 24/7.” I’m tempted to ask her how she knows that, but I bite my tongue. “There’s probably a security camera.” She looks up at me with that sly grin that once again reminds me of Demeter—even though, of course, my C-Link couldn’t smile at me. “If you want my advice, I’d send your friends down first so you don’t get shot.”

  When she starts to turn away, I reach out a gloved hand to grab her shoulder. It occurs to me that she’s not much shorter than I am, and her storm-hued eyes stand out in the dim biolight.

  “Wait, aren’t you coming? At least for the night? To get some food? Sleep in a warm bed?”

  She barks a laugh. “Not likely. The only reason I helped you and your friends at all is the pendant around your neck. You can use it again, anytime, though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go calling me willy-nilly. I expect I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her eyes gleam as she smiles at me.

  “I mean, Vale, that I think you and your friends will be calling on the Outsiders again in the near future.”

  “Are we gonna chat all night?” Kenzie says with impatience.

  I turn to her. “Yeah, sorry. I was trying to convince the wayfarer to come in with us. You and Jahnu better go first. I’ll help Firestone down and pull the hatch behind us.”

  Kenzie nods, her teeth chattering as she starts down the ladder.

  Before dropping down myself after helping Firestone, I turn to the wayfarer, opening my mouth to say a final thank you. But she’s gone. I stare around into the empty trees, the cloudy shadows cast by the storm’s haze and luminescent snow.

  “Hello?” I call. But I know better than to expect a response.

  I look down at the ground. Her footprints lead back into the deep woods. If she wanted to join us, she would have. She’ll do what she wants.

  “Thank you,” I say out loud, an offering, wondering if the wind will carry the words to her. “We owe you,” I finish, under my breath.

  Turning back to the manhole, I climb down, trying to get my numb fingers to grip the ladder as I descend. Just being out of the wind is a relief, and I shiver pleasantly as my body adjusts. I pull the cover closed, and then slide down to the bottom where Kenzie is punching a numerical passcode into a device against the wall to our right. I hear a clicking noise overhead, and see a camera taking photos of us from above. I cringe. Whatever automated systems they’ve set up won’t let us in if the facial recognition software identifies me, I’m sure of it.

  Just as I predicted, a few seconds later an alarm starts blaring. “Intruder at the perimeter. Entry is denied without prior approval,” a harsh, mechanical voice blares at us. “Intruder at the perimeter. Entry is denied without—”

  “Dammit,” Kenzie growls. “My fingers are so cold I can’t get the code in right.” She starts punching at the keypad as if she wants to destroy it, and Jahnu reaches out and places his hand over hers.

  But then there’s a crackle of static and the voice changes; suddenly it’s not mechanical at all, but very human.

  “Firestone! Is that—hey, stoppit—”

  “—prior approval—” the mechanical voice grates again.

  “Turn that damn thing off, give me that—” I grin. Eli.

  “You can’t override without—”

  “—them in! That’s my team, they’re with us, they—” Eli’s voice is angry now, and all at once there’s a loud buzzing of static and the intercom goes dead.

  “What the hell?” Kenzie asks, after several seconds of silence.

  Jahnu looks up at the camera and says to me, “Not quite the same as all the journalists following you around back in the Sector, huh?”

  “That’s something I don’t miss.”

  Suddenly the intercom blazes to life again.

  “Hey, sorry about that.” Eli’s voice sounds hollow in the cramped cement tunnel—dangerously calm, too, like he might have just shot someone or blown something up in order to hijack the intercom system. “We’ve encountered a little problem here in the comm room. They didn’t have authorization to let you in because Vale’s name is on the ID system. But I’ve taken care of that. Just hang on one second and I’ll figure out how to open the door.”

  “He prolly decked somebody.” Firestone says.

  I can’t help but think that this isn’t going to help my case for popularity much, if Eli had to beat someone up just to get us in the door.

  “They need a drastic overhaul of the controls here,” Eli comments over the speakers. “None of these buttons seem to do anything meaningful.”

  “Damnit … just let me … stop that—” A girl’s voice. Sounds like she’s going toe-to-toe with Eli.

  But a few moments later, just as I think my teeth are going to break from rattling in my jaw, the enormous metal door rolls open, and we’re hit with a blast of dry, warm air. We spill inside, eager to get out of the cold. There’s a guard inside who greets us with a raised Bolt and an anxious look, but Kenzie puts her hand on the muzzle and brushes it aside carelessly, striding through the corridor as if she’s been there a million times. In the distance, a group of two older men and two women round the corner. The one leading the pack is a short woman with silvery grey hair wearing an oversized sweater. She looks like she just got out of bed. She also looks vaguely familiar. Then I recognize one of them as the man who interrogated me when I first arrived at the Resistance. Dr. James Rhinehouse.

  Kenzie comes to an abrupt halt as they approach.

  “Rhinehouse, you … and Eli’s team? Everyone is—”

  “Thank goodness you’re all okay,” the woman says, cutting Kenzie off. She looks us up and down. At my side, Kenzie and Jahnu straighten unconsciously, as though preparing to salute a superior. Who is this woman? I notice Firestone doesn’t bother looking officious.

  “How did you find us in this storm?” she asks. “The markers must be covered by the snow.” Kenzie, Jahnu, and Firestone all shoot a glance at me, but I shake my head minutely. We can tell them about the Outsider later.

  “It’s a long story,” Kenzie offers. “When did you get here? Do you have any word on my parents?”

  “They’re safe,” Rhinehouse says. “Anxious about you, of course.”

  Kenzie smiles and reaches out for Jahnu’s hand.

  “I imagine you’ll want to get warm and get fed,” Rhinestone says, “But we’ll want to hear your long story later.” Just then, Eli comes sprinting around the corner. He pulls up short behind the other group, looking at us in disbelief, and then shoulders past them all.

  “What took you so long?” He throws his arms around Firesto
ne.

  “Burnt-ass shoulder here, Eli!” Firestone exclaims, shrinking back and batting Eli’s arm away.

  Eli pulls back, looking apologetic. But Firestone can’t keep the glare on his face for long, and it quickly slides off, replaced by a sheepish look.

  “Hell, Firestone, you’ve looked better after fending off a pack of wolves,” Eli says.

  “Wolves in sheep’s clothing, in this case,” Firestone responds darkly.

  “Soldiers?” the grey-haired lady asks quickly.

  Firestone nods.

  “Can’t wait to hear that one,” Eli says. He wraps Kenzie in a bear hug and kisses her smack on the lips and then does the same to Jahnu. In a moment, the tension is gone, and everyone’s laughing—everyone except the short woman, whose eyes are fixed on me. I dodge her curious stare. Then Eli turns and sticks his hand out to shake mine. “Glad you’re still with us,” he says. I clasp his hand, grateful for the gesture.

  “Eli,” the woman in front interrupts, rather stiffly. “What did you do in the comm center?”

  “Nothing that can’t be undone,” he responds happily. “Didn’t hurt anyone, though Zoe needs to loosen up a bit.”

  The woman sighs, and Rhinehouse pipes up with his gravelly voice:

  “Elijah, take your team to the mess.” His one eye takes our bearings. When he finally settles on me, his coldness makes me shiver as surely as the howling storm outside. “Leftovers are in the ice box. Once they’re fed, get Firestone to the infirmary. Hodges will want to take a look at him.”

  Eli nods dutifully, the smile still plastered on his face as he turns, and we all start after him.

  “Valerian,” Rhinehouse says, and suddenly all eyes shift to me. “You come with us.”

  My stomach growls loudly and my insides twist into a knot. Great. Another interrogation. I had hoped for a warm meal and a bed, or at the very least, a pillow and some blankets, but I suppose that will have to wait.

  Eli’s smile fades, but he gestures to the rest of the group to follow him. Kenzie smiles at me tentatively as she passes me, and Jahnu clasps my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. I follow Rhinehouse as he and the others turn down the hall.

  When we arrive at a door, the shorter woman pushes it open. The room inside is claustrophobic, furnished only by a few tables and chairs. She gestures me in, giving me a smile at once reassuring and worried. My stomach sinks. Something’s wrong.

  Once we’re all settled inside, an uncomfortable silence descends. The woman clears her throat.

  “Valerian,” she says, in a voice that is clear and strong. “Dr. Rhinehouse has told us about your unexpected change of heart regarding the Sector. I trust you meant it in earnest?”

  “Yes,” I respond, as evenly as I can, wondering when the anvil is going to drop. I’m still trying to place her face. I start to ask who she is, but she plows ahead.

  “Two nights ago, your father made a formal statement regarding your disappearance. Your parents…” she pauses, clears her throat again. Rhinehouse’s one good eye is fixed on me, unblinking, narrowed. “Your parents claim you’ve been kidnapped by Resistance forces. That Jeremiah Sayyid was a sleeper operative working for the ‘rebel outcasts’ and that he betrayed you, your parents, and the Sector. We believe that, whether or not he is personally being hunted as we speak, he’s being used as an excuse to continue the Sector’s quest to destroy the Resistance. Indeed, your disappearance has given them the opportunity to go public with the effort and rally the citizens of Okaria behind them. If you have any doubts about which side you’re on, now is the time to address them because the Sector has essentially declared war on us.”

  I can’t quite breathe. Miah betray me? Miah a traitor? He’s the most loyal person in the whole damned world. The entire thing would be laughable if it weren’t so fucking sick. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then stand and grip the back of my chair, more to keep myself from picking it up and smashing it into the wall than anything else.

  “It might be a good idea for you to sleep in the infirmary tonight,” an unfamiliar man speaks up. “So you can be there when Jeremiah wakes up.”

  “Wait. Why’s he in the infirmary?” The thought of Miah sick or dying after I dragged him out here….

  “He picked up dysentery traveling through the woods. He’s through the worst of it, but he’s also going through severe withdrawal symptoms from Sector MealPaks and that apparently exacerbated the situation.”

  MealPak withdrawal. Why haven’t I had any of those symptoms? Why haven’t I gone through withdrawal, too?

  “This is Hodges,” the woman who appears to be in charge says. “Our medic. He’s been overseeing Miah’s care. And this,” she gestures to another woman, “is Adrienne, head of the team here at Normandy.”

  I nod at Hodges, thankful for his kindness, eager to see Miah. But then I turn back to the woman as if, for some reason, I’m only able to focus on one piece of this puzzle at a time, and right now, the missing piece in front of me is the grey-haired woman’s name. Who is she? I ask myself over and over again.

  “We’ll expect a full debriefing tomorrow morning,” she says. “But now you should join the others in the mess hall. I’ll walk you down, and then I’m heading back to bed. Tomorrow will be a full day.”

  “Who are you?” I blurt, as she stands to leave. “I know you. I’ve seen you before.”

  She stares at me, unsmiling, waiting.

  It suddenly clicks, and my eyes widen. This is the same woman who drowned—who jumped to her death—in the Lawrence River ten years ago when she was the Director of Research at the O.A.C. Cillian Oahu. My mother was chosen as her replacement.

  “I’m the Director.”

  8 - REMY

  Winter 36, Sector Annum 106, 01h39

  Gregorian Calendar: January 25

  Where is she? The thought rushes through my head over and over again as I run through the darkened tunnels of Thermopylae. The air smells of smoke. There’s no one here. Where is Tai? I hear her laughter echoing through the halls, the sound like crystal shattering, growing more and more shrill with every passing moment. Her footsteps, always just around the corner, always just a breath ahead of me. Smoke envelopes me. I can’t see. Tai! I scream, my voice hoarse, shallow. Where are you?

  I wake up, gasping for air, drenched as if I’d been swimming in Lake Okaria. A dream. I’m in my bunk at Normandy. It’s dark, but not the choking, sweltering dark of the dream. The air is clean. There’s no smoke. Tai is gone, and no amount of chasing her through empty hallways will change that.

  I clutch the flannel blankets in my fists, glance at the pillow to my side. I realize I’d been holding it over my head, presumably to drown out the sound of Zoe snoring loudly above me. I remember now—she’d been making noises like an airship with a faulty engine silencer. She’d insisted at dinner that she didn’t snore, and then she’d traded bunks with the older woman I’d been bunking with so we could chat as we fell asleep. Then I learned the truth: Zoe can out-snore Miah on a bad day.

  I roll out of bed, claustrophobic. The prospect of lying awake, drowning in my pillow, as Zoe rumbles on through the night, doesn’t appeal to me. Nor does the thought of chasing Tai, or my mother, through the burning streets and tunnels of our old city in my dreams.

  The old wooden bedframe creaks a little as I stand, but Zoe doesn’t move. I open the door to the hallway, lit only by intermittent biolights to conserve energy. Without a destination in mind, I find myself heading toward the mess hall. There are noises in one of the meeting rooms, but the Director had mentioned she’d be up late tonight, working with some of Normandy’s members to map Sector distribution lines. The sounds don’t bother me.

  I turn into the mess hall to see my father, a cup of tea in hand, staring down at a piece of paper.

  Paper?

  “Dad?” I say, quietly, from the doorway, hoping not to startle him. He glances up, and a smile fills his face as he looks at me. His shoulders melt back as he op
ens up a space next to him, and I can see how much tension he’d been holding in his body.

  “Can’t sleep either?” He asks rhetorically. I walk over and sit down next to him. “The dreams again?” He wraps his arms around me.

  “The dreams again,” I affirm. “And it turns out Zoe really does snore.”

  He laughs, but the sound dissipates quickly, and I almost wonder if it even happened.

  “Alas.” After a sip from a cup of tea, he continues. “I’ve been trying to compose a new poem. But, my muse is gone.”

  “Oh, dad.” Like a breaking wave, his shoulders heave and his heart thunders against my ear. I hug him tight, but this time, I don’t have any tears of my own. I’ve cried enough, with him, with Eli, in the seclusion of my own bunk, that right now I don’t need it. I hold him to me and wrap my arms around his shoulders. Were they always so frail?

  He quiets after a few moments, finally sitting up to look at me, his eyes red and desolate. His eyes flicker down to my hands and then back to me.

  “Remy, have you been drawing?” When I nod, he drops my hands and bends down to his side. When he comes back up, he has a whole sheaf of paper in his hands, good paper, thin and light and made for drawing.

  “Dad,” I whisper, “where did you get this?”

  He smiles, and the laugh lines materialize, the old happiness. I pull a piece of paper off the pages, none of them uniformly sized, and run my fingers over it. It’s a little rough, not as clean as the stuff we were allotted at the Academy. But it’ll do.

  “Adrienne gave it to me. There’s an old paper mill nearby, she said, and they scavenged some when Normandy was first set up.”

  “I haven’t used really good paper in three years.”

  My father turns to face me dead-on, taking my hands and holding my gaze. “We need your talents, Little Bird. We need your art to bring our message to the people.” He sighs, staring at the blank page in front of him, the graphite pencil lying without having made a mark. “My words as Poet Laureate have been turned against me. We need a new artist to carry our message.”