Seeds

by Chris Mandeville

  “Some things are better with eyes closed, and I don’t consider them a waste of time.”

  “I prefer everything with my eyes wide open.” She kissed him, long and slow.

  He looked, and she did have her eyes open.

  He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around him, taking his tongue deep in her mouth. He told himself not to get carried away by a girl he’d just met. Then again, why shouldn’t he? He was the chancellor. The King of Lost Angeles.

  When the train pulled in to the station at World Waste, the director himself was waiting at the stop. Pascal was impressed.

  “Chancellor, welcome,” the director said, a bit out of breath. He must have run all the way from his office when the train was spotted arriving without cargo. “We weren’t expecting you.”

  “That was my intent, Tom,” Pascal said. He stepped from the train and shook the man’s hand. “No need to disrupt work preparing for a V.I.P. visit. Besides, I want to see your operation on a regular day. I trust you have nothing to hide.”

  “Our doors are always open to you, Chancellor.” Tom’s smile was relaxed, which told Pascal the inspection was indeed unnecessary.

  “Tom, I’d like to introduce Mia.” Pascal helped her down from the train.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Director Gould.” Mia clasped the director’s hand. Pascal was impressed she remembered his name—he’d only mentioned it in passing.

  “It’s a privilege to have you and the chancellor here,” Tom said.

  “I’m excited to be here,” Mia said. “I’ve always wondered how you make electricity.”

  “She’s a bright young woman, Tom. She’s interested in your operation. Can she have a tour while we meet? I have some development issues to go over with you.”

  “Yes, of course,” Tom said.

  Whatever plans Tom had for the day, Pascal was pleased he’d set them aside without hesitation.

  “I’ll have my secretary bring tea to the conference room,” Tom continued. “Mia, will you join us while I find a lucky volunteer to show you around?”

  “If it’s all the same to you, Tom, I’d rather take a walk on my own. I seldom have the opportunity to be alone, so as long as you don’t mind, there’s no need to take a worker away from his job.” She looked at Pascal for approval.

  “That’s a fine idea,” Pascal said, pleased she was so thoughtful. “She shouldn’t need an escort. It’s not particularly dangerous if she stays clear of the tracks and the incinerator, right?”

  “Correct. Absolutely, Chancellor,” Tom said. “Please go and enjoy yourself, Mia.”

  “Do you have a watch?” Pascal asked her. She shook her head. “I’ll have to get you one, but for now take mine. Be back by two o’clock.”

  Pascal was glad to see her tuck his Rolex in the front pocket of her snug shorts. It would be inconvenient if she lost it.

  “Mia, first let me get you something to eat,” Tom said. “You’ll be out over lunchtime.”

  “No need.” Mia grabbed her bag from the floorboard of the train. “I have everything I need in here. Thank you, though.”

  Pascal watched her walk away with almost as much appreciation as Tom did.

  So far the visit was going precisely as Pascal had hoped.

  Forty-Four

  Southern California

  Reid was hot, tired, and thirsty. It was only mid-morning, but he needed to rest. He sat in the shade of a brick building, partially hidden by a dumpster and a crumbling cement staircase. He leaned against the cool bricks and drank half a bottle of water, wondering what Kayla was doing at that moment. Was she feeling okay? Was she lonely? Did she miss him?

  There was an emptiness in the pit of his stomach when he thought about her, more hollow now than before. She’d finally come to his bed, but it wasn’t him she wanted. It never had been, and no matter what happened between them, he’d always know he was second best.

  Tinker was right. It would be too painful to be with her, to love her like he did, knowing she didn’t feel the same. He wished they’d never kissed. Somehow that made it worse.

  God, California was hot. It sapped the energy right out of him. He leaned his head back against the bricks and closed his eyes, just for a minute. . . .

  Clunk. Reid startled awake. He listened, trying to figure out what he’d heard.

  The sun was straight up. Crap, two hours or more had passed.

  A hollow clunk, followed by clatter.

  Reid used the dumpster as cover and peeked around it.

  About fifteen yards away, a woman walked down the road, away from his position. Dark hair hung down her back. A tank top and shorts hugged her figure.

  Thunk, clatter. She was kicking a can.

  She must have passed right by while he was asleep. He was lucky she hadn’t seen him. Stupid rookie move, falling asleep.

  Thunk, clatter.

  What was she doing out here alone? She carried a bag, but it was small for scavenging. She wasn’t hunting—no apparent gun. Was she out for a leisurely walk? Were these people so well off they didn’t need to work in the middle of the day?

  She was the only person he’d seen all morning, and he wasn’t going to let her walk out of sight. When she was thirty yards away, he grabbed his pack and followed.

  He hugged the building, staying in its slim shadow. When she turned a corner out of sight, he sprinted. At the corner, he peeked around.

  Shit! She was four feet away, looking right at him. Like she was waiting for him. Should he try to talk his way out of it? Should he run? Would she call in the troops? So much for being able to handle a recon mission. So much for not being seen.

  “It’s okay,” the girl called. “You can come out.”

  Reid swallowed hard and made his decision. He stepped out where she could see him.

  “Hi,” the girl said. She had deep brown eyes that were in perfect harmony with her light brown skin, and the most beautiful face he had ever seen. She looked near his age, but it was hard to tell.

  “Hi,” Reid croaked. He felt like a total goofus, like he’d never talked to a girl before.

  “I’m Mia. It’s nice to meet you.” She came forward, extending her hand.

  Her grasp was warm and firm, her skin soft, not the calloused grip of a worker. He held her hand a little longer than he should have. “I’m Reid,” he remembered to say.

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” she said. “It’s hotter here than I’m used to. Do you know somewhere we could get out of the sun?”

  “I, uh,” Reid stammered, trying to assimilate what she’d revealed. She wasn’t from here either. He thought back to the buildings he’d explored that morning. “Sure, I know a place. You’re not from around here?”

  “It’s that obvious, huh? I took the train from Services this morning and I’m looking around while I wait for a friend. What are you doing? Am I keeping you from collecting?”

  Collecting. She said it like it was a job. Think, think. “I’m, um, taking a break.”

  “Where I’m from we call it taking a nap,” she said with a hint of laughter.

  She’d seen him. She’d known he was there all along.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, her smile radiant. “I won’t tell your boss. But if he sees us standing here, he might make you work and I’d miss the opportunity to get to know you.”

  She reached out, her hand grazing his arm.

  Reid felt his cheeks warm. “We wouldn’t want that.”

  “So you know a place we can sit in the shade?”

  “Yeah, over there,” he said, pointing toward an apartment building he remembered had a pavilion. “Unless you saw my boss over that way.”

  “No, you’re the only person I’ve seen in the last hour. Lead the way.”

  “So,” Reid said, trying to think what he might learn from her, trying to think like a soldier instead of a boy flustered by an attractive girl. “You said you’re from ‘services’?”

  “Yes, I’m a Ford girl. Have you
ever been?”

  He didn’t know what she meant, but she said it like it would be acceptable to say he hadn’t, so he shook his head.

  “Well, hopefully you will someday.” She smiled. “What about your job? Your pack seems awfully small for collecting, and I don’t see a wagon. Are you really a collector?

  “Well, not exactly.” Think. “Uh, there’s, uh, different aspects to the job. Different responsibilities.” He paused, hoping she’d fill in the blanks.

  “Like what, a scout or a supervisor?”

  “Yeah, like that.” Quick, change the subject. “What do you do?”

  “I told you, I’m a Ford girl. Is this where you wanted to sit?” she pointed at a splintery picnic table in a ramshackle pavilion. It was in worse shape than he’d recalled.

  “Sorry, I guess this isn’t very nice.”

  “Could we go inside? I’ve always wanted to collect something myself instead of getting it from Services. I’ve been trying to get up the nerve.”

  He hadn’t gone inside this particular building, but the ones he’d been in seemed safe enough. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

  “Okay, boss, lead the way.”

  Reid hesitated. She expected him to be the expert, and he didn’t want to give himself away. He had a brainstorm. “How about you be the collector? You can lead the way.”

  “How fun! Let’s see . . .” Mia wiggled the doorknob. “Locked. What do we do now?”

  “You’re not even trying. Think like a collector.” Reid knew enough about scavenging to figure they’d find a way in before too long. Sliding glass doors were usually a good bet.

  “Should we check around back?” She looked pleased when he nodded.

  Mia was thrilled when the slider creaked open on its track. “Is there any good stuff left?”

  “You’re the collector. You tell me.”

  She poked her head in. “Let’s find out.”

  Reid followed her into a dingy kitchen. The vinyl floor was dark and cracking, blackened near the door. The cupboards hung open, already picked clean.

  “Kitchens are boring.” She moved into the living area. “I’d rather have a book or a statue.” She ran her finger along dusty framed photos that lined the mantel, stopping at a figurine of a chubby angel. “Not my taste. Can we try the bedroom?”

  Reid’s heart skipped. “What?”

  She grinned, then her eyes went wide.

  He followed her gaze to the couch. Bones. A skull, with hair and all, was grinning at them. “Oh God, I’m sorry.” He ushered her back to the kitchen. “I should have realized you wouldn’t be used to that.”

  “I was surprised, that’s all. Are they everywhere?”

  “Yeah—” Reid stopped himself. Back home there were skeletons everywhere, but he didn’t know about here. In Colorado, people had died faster than the living could bury them. Some of those who’d died in the initial blast had been buried, but as more succumbed to radiation poisoning, the hospitals were overrun, and people stopped trying. Tinker said that when the survivors in Cheyenne Mountain finally came outside, the city was full of bodies. It would have taken decades to bury them all. Tinker always said that was why the Church forbade it—not because it was a sin to hide reminders of God’s warning, but because it was impractical.

  Maybe the sun flare hadn’t been as strong in Ellay, and not as many people had died. Until he knew more, he’d better keep his mouth shut.

  “Are you okay?” Mia asked. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be shaken up.”

  “Sorry, just remembering something. Should we go?”

  “No, I want to collect something.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and stepped a little closer to him. “I was starting to say we should look in the bedroom when you got embarrassed.”

  “Oh.” His face flushed again.

  “You’re so cute.” She touched his nose with her finger. “Let’s go look. Maybe I’ll find a scarf or a purse or jewelry.”

  “You want me to take the lead?”

  “Not a chance.” She led him past a pink bathroom and an office to an open door at the end of the hall. She stepped inside. “Oh, hello.”

  “Hello yourself,” a deep voice replied.

  Forty-Five

  Pacific Ocean, aboard the Emancipation

  A rap at the door roused Nikolai from a dream where he was frolicking in the tide with bronzed Hawaiian beauties. He considered ignoring the knock, but a glance at his watch sent him shooting out of bed.

  Vot eto da! The exhaustion had caught up with him. He never slept past noon. He stepped into his trousers and zipped them as he fumbled for the door.

  Outside was a tray of food. He smiled, inhaling the aroma of steaming nut porridge. He picked up the tray and latched the door, then sat down at the desk to eat. He noticed the notebook Kennedy had given him and figured he might as well have a look while he ate. No harm in that.

  After ten minutes of reading, Nikolai had forgotten all about his food. The breadth, the scope, the genius of the plans for the settlement at Sausalito stunned him. He could see Tatiana’s hand in the descriptions of horticulture and fishing, and he shook his head, thinking how proud her mother would have been. The outlines of the governmental structure were equally impressive, filled with common sense details—something completely foreign to the Democracy. Schools and apprenticeships, cooperative childcare, artisans and craftsmen, entertainment, cider production. Even guidelines for legal prostitution.

  But what impressed Nikolai the most was the plan for trading with other settlements. It was brilliant. And it also cast light on the importance of finding seeds. No wonder Tatiana had risked her life to go south.

  Nikolai pushed aside his tray, washed, and dressed, then went to find Kennedy.

  Kennedy was in his office, sitting behind a desk piled with neat stacks of papers and charts. He rose as Nikolai entered, slipping his reading glasses into his breast pocket.

  “Welcome, Captain,” Kennedy said. “It’s good to see you. Are you here to discuss the pirates? I expect we should encounter them late in the day tomorrow.”

  Nikolai knew if they discussed the pirates he’d blow and wouldn’t be able to say what he’d come to say. “I reviewed the documents you gave me,” he said, settling into a chair.

  “What do you think?”

  “Impressive,” Nikolai said honestly. “Beyond anything I could have imagined.”

  “That’s due to your daughter, sir. She’s got a lot of ideas, and the brains to back up her enthusiasm. She impresses me every time we talk about it.”

  Nikolai appraised Kennedy, appreciating the high esteem with which he seemed to hold Tatiana. If only the man weren’t so much older than his daughter, perhaps Nikolai could learn to see beyond his privileged upbringing. “There’s one thing that bothers me.”

  Kennedy raised his eyebrows in question.

  “It was a mistake the way you handled the situation with Corinne,” Nikolai said. “Keeping the colony a secret.”

  “Ah, that,” Kennedy said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “I don’t know your mother personally, but from what I know of her, I questioned the wisdom of hiding our plans. But she’s Tati’s grandmother, so it was Tati’s call.”

  Kennedy’s pet name for Tatiana grated on Nikolai’s nerves, but he did his best to set that aside. “It was the wrong call. Tatiana is bright, but she’s young. What good is the wisdom of your years if you keep it from her when she’s making a mistake?”

  “But isn’t that how we gain wisdom? By learning from our mistakes?”

  “We only learn from mistakes we survive! The situation with Corinne was trivial compared to my children sailing on a fool’s errand.” Nikolai rose from his chair and towered over Kennedy.

  “I understand you’re upset—”

  “Do you? Because ‘upset’ doesn’t quite capture it.” Nikolai tried to pace, but there wasn’t enough room. “Okay,” he said, trying to calm down. “It’s clear from the plans
that the new settlement is based upon farming and trade, but why look for seeds in Southern California, for God’s sake? We already know there are no seeds there.”

  “I beg to differ, sir,” Kennedy said, his voice and demeanor calm. “Tati spent a great deal of time poring over the research your late wife left, as well as doing additional research on her own. There is strong evidence that there are seeds in Southern California.”

  “I don’t care about all the damned book research on the globe. I’ve been to the ruins of the Seed Repository in San Diego. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. There are no seeds.”

  “Tati didn’t go to San Diego.” Kennedy’s brow furrowed. “I thought you knew.”

  “There seems to be a lot no one has bothered to tell me.” Nikolai looked Kennedy square in his too-perfect face. “So tell me—where did my daughter go?”

  “The evidence . . . all the research showed . . .” For the first time, Kennedy seemed hesitant.

  Nikolai leaned across the desk, daring him to continue.

  Kennedy cleared his throat. “San Clemente Island.”

  “What? In God’s name, why? No, don’t answer that. There’s no reason good enough.” Nikolai spun around to leave, the tops of his ears burning and his palms throbbing where nails bit into already raw flesh.

  “Wait,” Kennedy called. “I don’t understand. What’s the big deal with San Clemente?”

  Nikolai turned around to rail at Kennedy, but saw on his face that he really had no idea. He took a breath, trying to compose himself. “San Clemente is the base of the southern pirates, and those pirates are a bit . . . different than the northern ones. They like to cut designs in themselves. And others.”

  “Cut what, skin?”

  Nikolai nodded. “To mark themselves as belonging to their ‘tribe.’ What they do to captives is unbelievably painful, and not at all pretty if the captive survives the process.” He noted that Kennedy looked as horrified as he himself felt.

  “Tati didn’t . . . I never would have . . . she didn’t tell me.”

  Kennedy looked both betrayed and confused. Nikolai briefly felt bad for him, but the fear and anger raging through his own veins quickly blotted out his compassion.