Seeds

by Chris Mandeville

  Thirty

  Pacific Ocean, aboard the Emancipation

  Nikolai dressed for breakfast. Olexi hadn’t returned since delivering his little lecture the night before, giving Nikolai more than enough time to think. He’d thought and paced all night, and made up his mind—he despised Kennedy. Hated him more than he thought possible to hate.

  At one point, he concluded that throwing Kennedy overboard would be appropriate, but that would make Kennedy a martyr and Nikolai the villain in his daughter’s eyes. Instead, Kennedy should experience the full agony of being dumped when Tatiana came to her senses.

  With that image vivid in his mind, Nikolai could tolerate being on the same ship, at least for a little while. He headed out to beg forgiveness and breakfast from Finola. Olexi may have been snowed by Kennedy, but Finola was too good a judge of character.

  “Hello?” Nikolai cautiously poked his head into the galley.

  It was deserted. He hesitated. It wasn’t his ship, but Kennedy had said to eat where and when he wanted. Certainly no one would begrudge him a snack. He went to the pantry where he tucked a couple of apples in his pockets and grabbed a handful of almonds. He tossed a few nuts in his mouth. Fifty-year-old semi-rancid almonds. Still edible, for now. But when they weren’t, when all the old-world food ran out, there would still be rats, the endless bounty of the sea, and fresh apples due to the foresight of the Washington Apple Seed Storage Project. There was plenty of food. So why wasn’t it enough for Tatiana? Why had it never been enough for Jess?

  He popped the rest of the nuts in his mouth and turned to leave. Finola blocked his way with a cast-iron skillet in one hand and a large wooden spoon in the other.

  He forced down the half-chewed nuts. “Finny.” He stepped toward her.

  She held up the spoon and shook her head.

  “What?” Nikolai said, throwing up his hands. “At least tell me what I’ve done.”

  “I can’t. I’m not speaking to you.” She pointed to the door with her spoon. “Out.”

  “But—”

  “Out.” She swatted his arm with the spoon.

  “I—”

  She raised the skillet.

  “Fine.” He left, feeling sorry for himself. But as he walked back to his quarters, he felt less sorry and more indignant. How dare she treat him like that? He might not be her captain now, but he’d been her boss for more than half her life, and her friend for longer. He deserved more respect.

  When he arrived at his cabin door, he turned back around. He wasn’t going to hide. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He was in the right. Kennedy should be ashamed, living with a young girl without her father’s consent, without his knowledge.

  Nikolai climbed the stairs to the deck and strode to the rail. To hell with Kennedy, he thought, gazing out across the vast water. He devoured the nuts and both apples down to the cores, telling himself the only thing that mattered was bringing Will and Tatiana home. For that, he could endure a lot worse than being a passenger aboard Kennedy’s boat.

  The sound of a sail luffing caught his attention. A crewman stood with the jib sheet in his hand, but did nothing to correct the luffing. The boat steered closer to the wind, but he hadn’t heard anyone call the tack. Nikolai saw Kennedy at the helm, sailing merrily along, unaware his crewman wasn’t trimming the sail.

  “Hooy na ny,” Nikolai muttered. A boat was only as fast as her crew. He didn’t have time for this. “Sailor!”

  The crewman looked up. Ernie, that was his name.

  “Ernie, see to the jib,” Nikolai commanded. “Haul in the sheet for the tack.”

  Ernie stood frozen while the sail flapped about like a beached halibut.

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” Nikolai barked, grabbing the ropes from Ernie’s fists. He let down the jib, handed the ropes back to Ernie, then ran back to the other sail, muttering to himself. “If you want something done right . . .” He removed the sheet from the cleat and hollered, “Tack!” then let the boom fly. The boat turned.

  “Stop!” Kennedy grabbed the ropes.

  There was the sound of an impact and the boat lurched, sending Nikolai to his knees.

  What the hell? Nikolai stood. This was not good. No, in fact, this could be bad. Extremely bad.

  “We were luffing on purpose, pinching through a shallow channel,” Kennedy said.

  Nikolai was mortified. “We’re aground?”

  Kennedy nodded, his expression grave.

  Ernie locked eyes with Kennedy. “Get Friday,” he said, then stripped down to his shorts and went over the rail.

  “My sincere apologies.” Nikolai wanted to sink through the deck. He should have stayed in his cabin. “What can I do? I’ll get Friday.”

  “No, I will,” Kennedy said. “In the future, I’d be grateful if you’d offer your opinions and concerns to me before acting.”

  “Of course,” Nikolai said, humiliated that he was being chastised, and horrified because he deserved it. He cringed, thinking what serious damage might have been caused to the keel or hull. “It won’t happen again. You have my word.” Nikolai headed for his room, where he planned to stay.

  Thirty-One

  Lost Angeles, Pascal’s office

  The afternoon sun hit the oak desk at a slant. Pascal placed his fountain pen in the holder and leaned back in his chair. The day had been filled with pleasant anticipation. Linus was returning from the coast and would join him for dinner. He was anxious to hear how his son liked the gift he’d sent.

  Living at the beach was good for a boy, and Pascal hadn’t minded his son spending weeks at a time there when he was younger. But now that he was becoming a young man, Pascal needed more time with him, to groom and shape him. And the truth was, he missed him.

  Raising Linus was his one true pleasure. The boy had spirit, something Pascal had been careful not to break. He was charismatic, opinionated, and brilliant. Pascal had seen to that by choosing Maybelline to bear his child, then paid the price for that choice many times over.

  Maybelline’s fierce protectiveness, keen appreciation for power, and superior intellect had been good for Linus, but only to a point. Recently, Linus had started showing signs of rebellion against her, which meant the time was drawing near when Pascal could be rid of her. Linus would miss her, but that could be turned into an advantage.

  A rap at the door brought a smile to Pascal’s face. Gomez was on an errand, and few people would dare knock on his office door without authorization from his secretary. Obviously, Linus could not wait until dinner to thank him for the gift. Pascal closed his portfolio and stood.

  “Come in.”

  The door burst open. “I need a word with you.”

  Maybelline.

  “I was expecting my son.” Pascal sat, weary at the thought of yet another of Maybelline’s demands. “What do you want?”

  “How dare you give Linus command of a platoon of Blades? For God’s sake, Pascal, he’s a child.”

  “My son was born to lead. How do you expect him to run this city if he’s mollycoddled through his formative years? Not that I have to explain myself to you. Tell me what you want and get out.”

  “What I want? What I want is for you to treat Linus appropriately for his age. He should be studying and swimming and taking music lessons, not skating around the city with trained killers pretending to lead them. He’s fourteen, for God’s sake. Not twenty.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is, I’m taking Linus back to the coast first thing tomorrow morning. There he has boys his own age to play with. He can spend his time engaging in more suitable activities, like fishing and chess. He doesn’t belong in the city as long as you insist on treating him like your second in command. Send us a message when you regain your senses and I’ll consider coming back.”

  “You,” Pascal said in a low growl, “will not take my son anywhere.”

  “I most certainly will. He’s my son as much as yours.”

  Pascal came around the desk,
grabbed her arm, and yanked her close. “He is not your son. He was never your son. You’ve served a purpose, but do not suppose you are anything more than a nursemaid. You are not indispensable.”

  Maybelline’s raven eyes blazed. “He loves me, Pascal. If you do anything to me, you’ll lose him, do you hear me? He’s old enough now to see you for what you are, and if you fight me, he’ll take my side. I guarantee it.”

  “Do you. Clearly you underestimate me. I always thought your headstrong nature was stronger than your intellect. It’s a shame I was correct, or things might have ended differently. At least the timing, anyway.”

  “You don’t frighten me. Linus is everything to you. You wouldn’t dare harm me, because he’d hate you for it. You’d never win him back, and you know it.”

  “Sir?” Gomez appeared in the doorway. “Is everything all right?”

  “Escort Ms. Kagawa to the spa,” Pascal said.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “What are you doing?” Maybelline struggled as Pascal pulled her toward the door.

  “Making sure you have an enjoyable time at the spa, dear.” He released her arm, and was pleased to see her rub it. “Gomez, Ms. Kagawa is not to have any contact with Linus until further notice. If the boy attempts to see her, he’s to be told she’s ill. With womanly troubles.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gomez took hold of Maybelline’s arm where Pascal’s prints still showed.

  “Let go of me, I know the way.” She shook free of Gomez’s grip. “You won’t get away with this, Pascal. Linus is smart. He’ll see through this.”

  “Gomez, she’s not to leave the spa without my express permission. And make sure she doesn’t con anyone into delivering messages, particularly not to Linus.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  Pascal closed the door, smiling to himself. Never again would that bitch interfere with how he raised his son. He hadn’t intended to initiate the plan this soon, but she’d given him no choice, and now he couldn’t wait for it to be done.

  He grabbed his fedora and went to notify the doctor. Soon he’d be rid of that annoying bottom feeder as well. Two for the price of one. Glorious efficiency.

  As he crossed bustling New Orleans Court heading for the doctor’s office, people stayed out of his way. He relished the wariness in their eyes. They knew he was the man who could make or break them.

  He loved the power, loved being in charge. He loved it more because he was not one of them. He’d come as an outsider and made it his own. From the beginning, it had been obvious he was from a better class. His parents had been professors at CalTech, not some carnie folk who’d survived in the service tunnels like rats. Or perhaps mice, he thought as he tipped his hat to the statue of the park’s creator and his godforsaken mascot.

  As he strode past, he glanced down Main Street, recalling the first time he’d set foot in the park. It had been on that very street, that very first day, when he’d seen what the park could become. The necessary components had already been there. The only thing lacking was someone with the vision to assemble them. He’d stepped into the leadership void and rebuilt the park in a way its original “founder” never could have imagined. It was his legacy, and it was all for Linus. Anyone who got in the way would be dealt with swiftly, surely, and permanently.

  At the doctor’s office, nurses, attendants, and patients alike skittered out of his way.

  “Where is Van Hooten?” he demanded of the waifish woman at the reception desk.

  “I, I don’t know,” she said. “I’m s-s-sorry, s-sir.” She looked ready to cry.

  A slick-bunned nurse in a white uniform came up behind her. “He’s in exam five, with a patient,” she said.

  “Where’s that?” Pascal asked.

  The woman looked surprised. “End of the hall. But as I said, he’s with a patient.”

  Pascal wished someone would try to stop him, but of course no one did. He found the number “five” on the wall and opened the door without knocking. A pregnant woman lay on her back with her feet up in stirrups.

  “Van Hooten,” Pascal said to the man between her legs. “I need to see you.”

  “Chancellor, I’m in the middle of—”

  “Now.”

  Van Hooten patted the woman’s knee. “I’ll be back soon.” He snapped off his gloves and tossed them in a receptacle.

  Once inside the doctor’s private office, Pascal locked the door. He sat on the edge of the desk, leaving Van Hooten standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

  “The personal matter we discussed some time ago,” Pascal said. “You recall our conversation?”

  “Of course, Chancellor.” The loose flesh on Van Hooten’s cheeks colored. He folded his arms across his chest and frowned, his eyes gazing in the general vicinity of Pascal’s shoes.

  “You will begin immediately.”

  “But Chancellor, I—”

  Pascal raised his chin, which was enough to stop Van Hooten mid-excuse. “She’s in a private room at the spa. You’ll see her for ‘womanly troubles.’ I expect this to be concluded in a matter of days.”

  “I understand.”

  “Your service will be rewarded, as long as you remember—our business is to be kept strictly confidential. Don’t breathe a word, even to your wife.”

  “Of course.” Van Hooten unfolded then re-folded his arms. “There is one problem. I examined Ms. Kagawa this morning and she was healthy. What if she doesn’t want treatment?”

  “I expect you to be convincing.”

  Pascal had no doubt the doctor was motivated enough to figure it out. He turned and left to go see Linus. It was time to step up his education, beginning with the assignment that would mark his son’s entry into adulthood, and Maybelline’s exit.

  Thirty-Two

  Interstate 25 outside Algodones, New Mexico

  “Sorry to wake you, son.”

  “Huh? What’s that?” Reid rubbed his face. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Six hours or so,” Tinker said.

  “I guess I was tired.”

  “Guess so.” Tinker drove the car onto the dirt on the side of the road and put it in park. “We’re still a little ways from Albuquerque, but I’ve got to whiz so bad, I had to pull over.”

  Tinker jumped out of the Hummer and unzipped his pants as he walked to a dried-up scrub oak. A moment later, Reid heard him chuckle. Then laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” he called.

  “Damn.” Tinker started toward the car, erupting in a fit of guffaws.

  “What? What happened?”

  Tinker cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “I pulled over.”

  “How’s that funny?”

  “There ain’t another person alive on this highway. But I made sure to pull off the road to stop.” He sighed. “Old habits die hard. It struck me funny.” He got in the car and put it in gear.

  “So where are we?” Reid asked, looking around at the plain dirt landscape.

  “A little ways north of Albuquerque. I don’t want to go in blind, so I’m fixin’ to turn off the main highway and head up the mountain to get a view of the city. About a million years ago, I took a tram up there somewhere. I doubt I could find the exact spot, but I think I found a road on the map that should take us to a good vantage point.”

  “What do you think we’ll see?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  “Wouldn’t it be great—awful but great—if we found grown food this close to home?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, son. Nothing much grew in New Mexico in the Before, and I wouldn’t think it a hotbed of agriculture now. I hope we find people, though, even if they’re living like we’re living.”

  “What do you think the chances are?”

  “Who knows now, but I’d give good odds that some of them military guys at the air base made it though the initial event. There’s these cave-like data processing and tactical centers totally sheltered from the outside. People in there would’ve had a g
ood shot. What happened afterward is anyone’s guess. I never heard a thing on the shortwave, so it could be a ghost town. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  As they turned off the road and headed into the mountains, fewer cars cluttered the road, and most had rolled into the guardrail or onto the shoulder due to the slope, but it was still slow-going. Eventually they reached a small plateau with good vantage point, and Tinker stopped the Hummer.

  “Well, there’s Albuquerque. I said not to get your hopes up.”

  Reid surveyed the city spread out below. There was no movement, no color. Just shades of brown as far as he could see.

  Then something caught his eye. At the eastern edge of the city a lone spindle of smoke snaked skyward.

  “Pops!” he pointed.

  “Would you look at that,” Tinker said. “There’s nothing growing, but there’s damn sure people down there.”

  Reid returned Tinker’s wide grin. “Won’t Grandma and Kayla be surprised we found people living this close to home? So what do we do? What’s our plan?”

  “Hell if I know. Truthfully, I didn’t think we’d come across anyone this soon.”

  “I guess we don’t go knock on the door.”

  “Guess not.” Tinker scratched his head. “How about a little old-fashioned surveillance to help us come up with a plan?”

  They headed back down to the Interstate, then crept south, hoping that anyone looking would mistake the Hummer for one of the old cars littering the highway. After a few miles, they took a side road east and skirted the foothills until they had a closer view of the smoke plume.

  Tinker pulled into the parking lot of an adobe church, parked, and unfolded the map.

  “If I had to bet, I’d say that smoke’s coming from the general area of the air base,” Tinker said. “What’d I tell ya? Hot damn, those boys did survive. Give me those binoculars, and I’ll see if I can spot anything useful.”

  Reid handed him the binoculars, then folded up the map. While Tinker spied through the open side window, Reid surveyed the other cars in the lot for signs of recent use. They were all dilapidated, all equally covered in grime.