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

by K. Makansi

  “Daryl, Evan, Clarisse,” Philip says, shaking hands, kissing cheeks. His strength has always been his warmth and charisma, that easy smile, the genuinely kind way he speaks to people. Today he’s trying, but there is a stilted quality to every word, every movement. “Lyle, Kara. Hello, my friends. It’s been too long.”

  “Indeed,” one of the men says, almost as straight-backed and formal as I am. “We’re glad to have you here, Chancellor, and honored to be the first stop on your tour.” But he doesn’t look glad or honored. His eyes skitter around, between me and Philip, taking in my guards, and then over to the other council members, who are waiting, quiet and tense. “Captain Orleán, the people of the Sector are glad to have you back safe and sound, though I understand it was a long and arduous process of healing.”

  The honorific Captain surprises me. Apparently I’ve been promoted, I think wryly. I wish someone would keep me up to date with all the stories my parents are telling. “I am well now,” I respond neutrally. “Thank you for your concern.”

  “Come,” Clarisse says, turning with a sweeping gesture.

  We follow her and the other councilmembers to a platform where a tram has been cordoned off for us. As the doors slide open and we step inside, I think back to the briefing with my mother yesterday as she informed me I was accompanying my father on a speaking tour of the factory towns.

  “Windy Pines specializes in textiles. You should remember this from your lessons, Vale,” my mother said. I did remember, but I allowed her to continue without interruption. “There are shipping lines from Pines to Sakari, Lesedi, and North Port, all of which have been experiencing, shall we say, interference from unidentified bands of fugitives looking to use the shipping infrastructure for their own purposes.” I fought the urge to laugh, remembering the Resistance plan to hijack shipping lines to distribute seeds and unmodified food throughout the Sector, and how I was present at the meeting where that plan was born. “Windy Pines isn’t the only town experiencing such disruptions, and we suspect that the outlaws are getting help from one or more people on the inside. We’re sending you and the chancellor on this trip to reassure the residents and workers that everything is under control.”

  We’re sending you and the chancellor? Who is the “we”? I wondered. The Board of Directors? But since when did the Board “send” the chancellor anywhere? Shouldn’t the chancellor decide when and where he visited?

  She laid a hand on my shoulder, then touched my cheek, as if I was still a child. “You know what to do.”

  The tram sets off at a gentle glide. I take in the sights and sounds of the town as it rolls past. Once we arrive at the factory, we are given a brief tour, and I marvel at the enormous looms, nanofiber laser spinners, vats of dye, workers monitoring robotic equipment doing who knows what. In one vast, open floor, I can see stretchers the size of houses laid out to weave the sails Okarians use for sky surfers and sailboats on Lake Okaria.

  After our tour, we board the tram again. My father waves me toward a seat next to him and waits as the local council members assemble around him.

  “I know we have a formal meeting after my speech, but I’d like to hear from you now, before I face the crowd. What’s the situation in Windy Pines?” Philip leans forward, his hands clasped. The picture of the engaged politician. Clarisse clears her throat.

  “Missing cargo and assorted equipment, citizens not showing up for work, a few disappearing entirely.” My father nods, and I follow suit, doing my best to look attentive rather than desperate for information. I wonder why my father is allowing me to hear this. I can feel the watchfulness emanating from Aulion, telling me he’s none too happy, that he doesn’t trust me for one second.

  “We understand there are similar troubles at the Farms,” Lyle speaks up, looking me dead in the eye. “And after that video footage last night, people are wondering—”

  “That footage was staged,” my father interrupts. “Surely even you could tell from the video quality. Set up like a bad monster movie meant to scare little children in their beds at night. None of you were taken in, were you?” He surveys the group’s faces. Several council members shift uncomfortably.

  “Clarisse, how many Windy Pines workers have left?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Twenty-one?” I can tell my father is surprised, though he tries not to show it.

  “And more have walked off the job, or tried to walk off, but were caught.”

  “Where are they being detained?” Philip says.

  Detained? That’s illegal. I recall the line from the Code of Citizenship: No citizen is bound to the Sector, nor can any citizen be prosecuted or punished for abandoning the Sector.

  “They’re not.” Clarissa’s gaze flits across the faces of the other council members. She meets Lyle’s gaze and then turns back to my father. “It’s against the Code.”

  My father draws in a breath. “You know as well as I do the Code was modified after the SRI massacre and after certain board members began disappearing.”

  I keep my face neutral, but inside I’m reeling. Modified? How? Why wasn’t there a public announcement? Why wasn’t I ever told? No one mentioned it, even during my officer’s training.

  “In truth, detention was proposed,” Lyle says. “I vetoed the proposition.”

  My father turns toward him. “I issued an executive order regarding detention of suspected Outsider or Resistance sympathizers, did I not?” His voice is tight. I can hear his teeth grind.

  “Yes,” Clarisse says. “But by the governing laws of Windy Pines, and indeed all Sector towns as you well know, we were required to accept Lyle’s veto. Such a drastic step, even in the wake of an executive order, must be adopted by unanimous approval of each town council.”

  There’s a moment of deep and uncomfortable silence. My father stands, and I follow suit. Aulion doesn’t budge. “Then you defied a direct order from my desk,” my father says finally. He looks at Lyle who blanches in the face of the chancellor’s withering stare. “Your directive as council members is to do everything in your power to work against the Resistance and their Outsider agitators, and yet you have chosen to do exactly the opposite. This is not simply a matter of arresting a shoplifter. This is a matter of state security. By allowing these people to walk away from their jobs, to walk away from Windy Pines, you are allowing them to walk directly into the waiting arms of those seeking to undermine the Sector.” My father takes a step toward Lyle. The guards, sensing what’s about to happen, place their hands on their weapons. “By my Executive Order”—he almost spits the words—“ you are summarily dismissed from your position as councilman.” He turns to Aulion. “Arrest him.”

  The other council members are on their feet, a tumult of voices protesting all at once.

  “On what charge?” Lyle says, his eyes wide.

  “Aiding and abetting the enemy.”

  General Aulion only has to nod once, before two of the guards who joined us at the landing pad sweep over to Lyle’s side, pull his hands behind his back, and slap a pair of magnetic cuffs around his wrists.

  “What the hell?” He tries to twist away.

  “Chancellor—” Clarisse starts.

  “This is ridiculous!” another council member interrupts, trying to push in between the guards and Lyle. “This isn’t proper procedure. You can’t arrest him for vetoing an illegal proposition, you—”

  “I am perfectly within my bounds,” my father says, without raising his voice. “The charge stands, and I can assure you that he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.” He slaps the red button labeled Emergency Stop and we all tip slightly off balance as the tram comes to an abrupt stop. “Get him out of my sight.”

  At a nod from Aulion, the guards pull Lyle off the tram where he loses his balance and falls to his knees. They yank him to his feet, although he’s no longer putting up a fight. The doors slide closed behind them, and the tram starts moving again. I turn back to look at the shell-shocked expressi
ons on the other politicians’ faces.

  “Now, let’s make this clear,” Philip says, sitting down again and leaning back. “Anyone who assists the cause of the Resistance will face the immediate wrath of Sector leadership.”

  Everyone nods vigorously and no one says another word. I sink down into the seat beside my father. We must not have been far from our destination, because the tram slows. The doors open, and I follow my father and Aulion up some stairs into the town hall. All three of my guards are right on my heels.

  “The citizens are assembled in the town square,” Clarisse says, her voice shaky, as she steps ahead to lead us through the building. “We’ll go out front where we’ve set up a stage on the steps.”

  “Excellent,” my father says, all trace of his anger gone.

  Clarisse continues. “We asked every able-bodied citizen not working today to attend, so you should have quite a crowd.”

  My father turns to me. “Vale, are you ready for your big appearance?”

  I nod. What do you want me to say, Dad?

  “Good. I’ll open with a few words and turn it over to you. They’re going to love you, Vale.”

  He’s the golden boy. Eli’s words to Soren. Our ace in the hole. I’d overheard them talking as Eli made the case for trusting me, for allowing me to be a part of their plans. I have to stop myself from smiling when I remember Soren’s response. More like asshole. Seems like an age ago, even though it’s only been a few months. I grit my teeth and wish the words I have to speak today were my own, instead of the lies my parents have written for me.

  I follow my father and Clarisse through a broad set of double doors, out into the blinding sunlight under a cloudless sky. We’re on a small stage surrounded by several thousand citizens, all with their eyes trained on us. I wait for my own eyes to adjust, and then squint out at the crowd. Curious, but neutral faces. Careful faces. Not the adoring crowds my father is used to addressing.

  “Citizens of Windy Pines!” my father says, waving his arms in a welcoming gesture as if he’d just invited everyone over to the chancellor’s house for a picnic. A roar rolls through the crowd in response, mostly shouts of approval and applause, but there are a few stoic faces, set jaws, crossed arms. “Thank you so much for coming out today. I know many of you are giving up precious free time to be here, and my heart is gladdened by your presence.”

  I catch a flash of red in motion in the crowd, and I startle, trying to follow its movement without being obvious.

  “Today, I come to speak of dark and dangerous times ahead. You know about the threats that lurk at our borders, the terrorists and the Outsiders who oppose our way of life, who would steal our food, our wealth, our freedom, right out from under our noses. Since our founding mothers and fathers dedicated themselves to the Okarian Sector, our citizens have worked hard to be free from fear, free from want, free from war. But, as you know, the terrorists have proven themselves capable of taking the very things we hold most dear.” He turns, opens his arm to me, and I step forward right on cue. “They took my own son from me,” he says with a heaviness in his voice.

  This time the crowd’s reaction is louder and fists pump the air along with shouts of “Destroy the Resistance!” and “Traitors!” from the true believers standing right down front. I take it all in and then catch another flash of red, this time in a different part of the crowd, further back, to the right. What is that?

  “Valerian,” Demeter whispers in my ear. “Listen, I’ve got Eli …”

  “Though we have made significant progress in destroying Resistance bases and shutting down their networks, there is still work to be done before this cancer is eliminated. Members of the Resistance are dangerous, not because they are not like us, but precisely because they are, in so many ways, just like us. They were once our friends and colleagues, but now they have subverted the very principles upon which our small nation was founded. Principles that have kept us safe and secure in troubled times. Now, we are at a turning point in our efforts to crush them once and for all. My fellow citizens, the Resistance is desperate.”

  “Vale? Vale, are you there?” In my ear, I hear the unmistakable voice of Elijah Tawfiq. All the practice in stoicism I’ve had in captivity can’t prevent me from sucking in a breath, from letting my eyes go wide, letting the excitement show on my face. Always at my side, I feel Aulion’s gaze burning through me like a laser. I exhale, force myself to relax, and focus on my father.

  “He’s tuned in, Eli,” Demeter says. “He can’t respond, but you can speak all you want. Go ahead.”

  “And in their desperation,” my father goes on, “they are taking risks, making mistakes that make them vulnerable to detection. That is why we are here today. To ask you to join the fight.”

  “Vale, listen to me,” Eli says. “Demeter’s filled me in about your situation. Here’s what you need to know. We’re not producing as many seeds as we hoped, and distribution has been a bear—ha! Bear, get it?—anyway, we’ve got some good news. We’ve stolen another 3D printer and we’ve figured out how to print actual food. We’ve got one printer on seeds and one on food. Rhinehouse is working twenty-four-seven and is one grumpy son of a bitch, but what’s new? Production isn’t ideal, we can’t do it in high volume, and it’s no substitute for growing from scratch, but we don’t have time to cultivate the printed seeds en masse. We’re printing as much food as we can and shipping it out as fast as we can. Bear is our point man on the Farms. He’s working with Zeke’s team to infiltrate existing supply routes between factory towns and Farms. It’s slow going, but it’s progress. ”

  Philip steps forward to the edge of the stage. “To ask you, my friends, to watch for infiltrators within our communities. Infiltrators like Jeremiah Sayyid who kidnapped my son. It is up to each one of us to be vigilant against traitors in our very midst. We must not let a few disillusioned radicals undermine the Okarian Sector.”

  “I’ve got more good news,” Eli says, his words tumbling out in near-breathless excitement. “Our little Bear has been busy. Hell, he’s a fucking grizzly. He’s got teams assembled on all the Farms and between him and Zeke, shit is getting real. People disappearing, walking off the job, civil disobedience … I mean, that boy is a talker. And every time he opens his mouth, somebody falls in love with him. Who knew, right?”

  “My friends, I am here today to tell you that we are in the final stretch, that we are close to victory. My son, Valerian Orleán”—my father turns toward me with a proud look on his face—“who heroically escaped captivity to return to us, is preparing to lead an all-out assault on the last remnants of this terrorist network.”

  Lead an all-out assault? The words ring in my head as I see another flash of red. And another. I catch glimpses, out of the corner of my eye, of fabric leaping from palm to palm, as crimson and bright as fresh-spilled blood.

  Red in the morning, sailors take warning …

  “Vale, now that we know how to communicate through Demeter, we’ll keep you—”

  “Eli, who are you talking—” a voice shouts in the background. Zoe?

  “For fuck’s sake, give me a minute!” Eli yells.

  “Citizens, it is time to strike the final blow—” Philip says, even as his eyes grow wide and his shoulders tense. He takes a hesitant step backward and glances at me, then at Aulion. Before us, the crowd is swimming in red.

  Eli’s voice again. “And did you see Remy’s video? Was that fucking brilliant or what? And by the way, I’m perfectly fine now. Rhinehouse replicated Corine’s vaccine, thanks to Demeter, and I’m feeling fine and dandy, thanks for asking.”

  I try to stand still, to look impassive as I listen to Eli rattle on, watch my father, and process what’s unfolding in front of us.

  “Eli.” It’s Demeter’s voice now. “Vale is in Windy Pines with his father. Something is going on. Stand by.”

  A hundred, no, maybe two, three hundred hands are in the air, defiant fists above the crowd, wrapped in red, organized to form a pattern
, a sign, but what is it? More hands join in. More red. Visible only from above, from the raised platform my father and I stand on, the symbol becomes clear. A slow smile spreads across my face. At my side, Aulion growls and signals for the nearby soldiers to head into the crowd.

  “Arrest anyone with a scrap of red on them.” He turns to the SDF soldier behind me. “Get me drone footage from every angle possible. I want access to every open network in this quadrant. Pull up Personhood and activate the facial recognition program. I want names.” He points at one of the black ops now hovering uncomfortably close to me. “Notify Madam Orleán.” He turns toward me with a look so sharp it could flay the flesh off my bones. “She’ll want to see exactly what’s going on.”

  “I had to disconnect you, Vale,” Demeter says. “Sector security probes are looking into this connection. Eli’s gone now.”

  All I can see is red. The letter R.

  Resistance.

  10 - VALE

  Spring 76, Sector Annum 106, 13h21

  Gregorian Calendar: June 3

  We’ve got over sixty under arrest. We’re tracking the rest down.

  Where are you holding them?

  Some in the cell here at the town hall, but there’s not enough space. The rest are in a warehouse by the airfield.

  You’ve got back-up security around the perimeter of town?

  Of course.

  Demeter tapped into the security system to monitor my father and Aulion as they talk about the protest, but there’s no audio in the room. Instead, she’s monitoring the video and is able to read their lips and translate what they’re saying. As she feeds the dialogue, along with her commentary, directly into my ear, I try to remain impassive.

  “Aulion hasn’t been using the honorific ‘sir,’” Demeter says. “I find this interesting. He’s standing at attention, hands clasped behind his back. Your father is pacing.”

  In your capacity, General, what do propose we do with the prisoners?

  I recommend adopting some of the director’s methods.