by M. G. Herron
It took some convincing, but eventually her uncle agreed to take a message to Senator Khan. He did not look enthusiastic about his task.
Po then went to her father’s lab, and found a formula for one of her father’s rice seeds—it was an old piece of work, one of his earlier experiments from over a year before. The last modified date on the file told her that much. But it would do. She loaded the data onto a thumb drive.
Then Po had tracked down and gave Nando his assignment, which he accepted by flashing Po his patented grin and scampering off.
Finally, the office of the president called them back. Ming didn’t answer his phone. Wallace muted his phone next. The phone in the gatehouse rang but no one picked it up. They all ignored the calls.
“It’s time to go,” Po said.
Wallace lowered the bridge, and then he, Ming, and Po walked across it. They waited a moment longer while the bridge was raised again, isolating them.
A field pounded into mud by a million footfalls stretched out before her. Po walked to the middle and the two men followed, one at each shoulder. She was tense, exhausted. Her heart raced and her jaw ached from grinding her teeth. When the trio stopped halfway between the bridge and the front line of the entrenched army, a muscle spasmed in Po’s lower back. She massaged the angry knot.
Rage had been with her since the gate to King Valley fell, since the rebels ripped her life apart. It rose up when they burned her home down and never went away. But now the coals of injustice, a different emotion than anger, smoldered in her belly. This one looked like the stoic brother of anger. Anger was hot and hungry and loose. Injustice was cold.
Inexorable.
Khan made them wait in the field. She suspected he would do this, and had armed herself against it. Since Bohai took the news to Khan, they simply had to arrive at the appointed time. The waiting was awful. She turned the decisions, the bad luck, the ill will that had all lead to this place in her mind. Sky had cleared and the harsh sun glared down on the still wet-earth.
An hour passed, then another. Still they stood.
Finally, three black SUVs turned off road and drove across the field.
A dozen mechs stomped behind them, leaving deep holes in the damp earth.
Po removed her mother’s mirrored comb from her back pocket and tilted the reflective surface in the sun while she sent a silent prayer to whatever God was listening.
Two dozen armed special forces soldiers deployed from the black SUVs. They fanned out and trained their guns on the trio standing there. The mechs arrayed themselves noisily behind the SUVs and the soldiers.
Po allowed herself to glance back. Only once.
She smiled.
Nando and his friends had spread the word like she knew he would, and people had arrayed themselves strategically to cover the hills visible from this point. They covered the hills like a high tide, leaving only the muddy river flowing through the valley’s heart untouched.
Here we are, their presence said. We will not hide ourselves because our existence troubles you.
And we are not afraid to die.
CHAPTER 57
NEGOTIATION
The leader of the unit of bodyguards gave an all-clear signal. Two Chinese men in the prime of life—healthy, well-fed men—got out of the car. Po recognized one of them as General Greif—she had asked Ming to find her a photo beforehand, so she would recognize him. He was a neat man of average height, with a deeply pockmarked face and a sparse yet carefully trimmed mustache. His dark green uniform was sharply creased. The gold stars along both shoulders practically glittered.
Khan wore an expensive blue two-piece suit, polished gold cuff links, and a red tie. His face bore a haughty expression, and as he stepped forward, his gaze met the blue eyes of Wallace, and the dark, flat stare of Kai Ming, while sweeping right over Po, who stood between them.
A fat man with a brush mustache huffed out of the car and lurked behind the two, and then lastly, Bohai got out of the car. He walked over to stand behind Ming and Po with a frightened glance at Khan. His skin was waxy and beaded with sweat.
“Is it true?” Khan demanded, looking pointedly at Ming.
“Ask her,” Ming said.
Khan looked down his nose at Po. “Who the hell are you?”
“Do you only watch clips of yourself on the news?”
“Oh, I recognize you,” he said. “You’re the girl who almost got squished by the mechs.”
“Careful how you talk to my niece,” Bohai said. Po thought that was brave of him, considering it looked like he might vomit. Po ignored him and answered Khan for herself.
“I’m the girl who has the rice seeds.”
“Let’s see them, then.”
“Do you agree to our demands?”
Khan stared at her.
“Let me repeat them for you. Terminate martial law. Withdraw the army from the city and turn security back over to the police. Release and pardon Ari Klokov, who is falsely accused. Resign as president pro temp—”
“I read your list of demands,” Khan spat, interrupting her. “We do not negotiate with terrorists.”
“If you really believed we were terrorists you wouldn’t have come all this way. We’re not terrorists. He’s a cop, he’s a magistrate, and he’s a serving senator. ”
“That’s the only reason I’m here.” Khan smiled smugly, with no warmth in his face.
“That and the fact that we control King Valley,” Po said. “And have the rice seeds.”
Khan stood still, lips held firmly shut, refusing to acknowledge it verbally, and that’s when Po knew that she had him. He couldn’t ignore the fact that Po held the seeds and the valley, not if he purported to be helping the country get through the hunger crisis in one piece.
“Prove to me you’re here in good faith,” Po said.
The general spoke up first. “The army will withdraw from the city when peace is restored,” the general said, “and no sooner.”
Khan glared at him, but didn’t disagree. At the end of the day, the army belonged to the general, not to Khan.
“Peace will never return to the city unless the army withdraws. Don’t you see that?”
“Forget this,” said Khan. “You’re nobody. The army can take control of King Valley in a single day, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
The general narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything to contradict Khan.
“Sure, you could take the valley back,” Po said. “Over the dead bodies of half a million innocent people. All that will prove is that you’re no better than the dictators throughout history who drove tanks over people to get their way. Besides, if you try to take the valley,” she said, pointing back at the people covering the hills, “we’ll burn it as we retreat.”
“She’s right, Joe,” General Greif said. “No good will come of attempting to take the valley back by force.”
“Fine,” Khan said. “We’ll starve you out then.”
“We have supplies to last months.”
Khan scoffed. “No you don’t.”
Po shrugged, and glanced at Ming.
“The UN is sending food aid to the valley. It will arrive within a day.”
Khan looked back and forth between the group behind Po, and the general. Out of the corner of her eye, Po noticed Ming smiling with a self-satisfied expression. Wallace shifted his weight on his feet.
Khan took a frustrated breath. He glanced at General Greif, who bobbed his head noncommittally. The general leaned in to whisper to Khan. His soft voice carried some words to Po. “Like we discussed…stretch the rations…a whole army to feed.”
Khan turned back to her. “Fine, we’ll terminate martial law and turn security back over to the police with a transition period of a month. In exchange you give us the rice seeds and relinquish control of the valley.”
“Not good enough,” Po said.
Khan glared at her, then strode back to the middle SUV, opened the back door, and yanked another
man out, a tall, muscular European man with short hair and a deformed face. He hit the ground hard, and a pained moan escaped his mouth. Po cocked her head and felt the sweat on her arms turn cold.
Khan yanked Ari to his feet and dragged him by the arm over to where Po and the others were standing. His hands were bound behind his back. Dried blood covered his face, especially around his mouth. The bloodstains extended down the front of his shirt, dried black blotches. So much blood.
“Po,” Ari croaked. “Eave me eere.”
The hot, hard anger returned swiftly. “What did you do to him?” Po demanded.
Ming covered his mouth as his eyes watered. Wallace stiffened. Bohai reached out a hand and rested it on Po’s shoulder, to comfort her. She shrugged her uncle’s hand off. It took a supreme effort of will, but Po tore her eyes away from the dried blood around Ari’s mouth.
“I cut his tongue out,” Khan said, gloating. “A punishment fitting for a spy and traitor.”
The anger swiftly returned and Po’s face shook with the tremors of rage. “You’re the traitor.”
“Insulting me will not get you what you want. Do we have a deal or don’t we?”
“You will resign.”
“No, I won’t.”
She clenched her jaw and waited while the unavoidable nature of her mission descended over her again. People were counting on her. Their lives were in the balance. That knowledge was enough to make the difference. Now she knew how Mokabi Telerethon could have been so brave in the refugee crisis. When it was just your life on the line, you acted in your own best interest. But when other people’s lives depended upon the actions you were about to take? That was different.
It was no decision, really. It was what had to be done.
“Fine,” Po said at last, knowing that her uncle and Ming would pick up the charges of corruption where they left off after this was over.
Ari was alive, her people were safe, and they were going to end the food riots. Those were the important thing. Po turned and flashed the mirrored comb at the bridge. The bridge lowered, and the three officers they had entrusted with the rice seeds trotted out to where they were. Po held out her hand, and the officer who reached her first placed the flash storage drive in her hand. The other two officers, one white woman and one lean Asian man, watched the tactical unit of bodyguards and the line of stalwart mechs with caution as they approached. One of the officers was using his hat and one hand to shield his face from the glare of the sun.
The storage drive fit in her palm. Po walked over to Khan and dropped the drive into his hand.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded.
“The genetic formula my father used to create the rice seeds.”
“That wasn’t the deal!”
“You can grow your own seeds, just like everyone else who has the formula. You don’t get exclusive rights to it. Like the valley, that formula belongs to the people.”
“No deal!” Khan said. His eyes bulged from his head and his face flushed.
“Check it,” said the general, taking the drive from Khan and handing it back to Khan’s assistant, who plugged it into a laptop and pulled up the file.
They waited while the man typed into the laptop, compared the genetic structure to the files in the Agricultural Commission’s database. “It seems legitimate. We’ll have to have our researchers verify the information.”
“No fucking deal!” Khan moved closer. His eyes had gone wild. He took a few quick steps closer to Po. The men moved forward, and the cops who had come up to deliver the drive closed in around her. “You stupid bitch! We have the formula now, so what the hell do we need you for?”
“Everyone will have the formula if you don’t agree to our terms. I queued it up to publish online in thirty minutes. And do I really need to remind you that we still hold the valley?”
“I’ll flood your valley with the blood of refugees and traitors!” Khan shouted. The bodyguards stepped closer to the man, tensing for a fight, but the general waved them back, put his arm around Khan’s shoulders, and turned him around so his back was to Po.
Po looked to her left, saw the tall, lean Asian officer tense next to her and fold his arms in front of him as his fingers reached up his sleeve. Po’s eyes drifted up, as some kind of disconnect pulled at her subconscious mind.
It struck her like a blow to the chest, and pained her worse than any of Khan’s hurtful words. The name tag on his chest read Officer Evans. The name nagged at her, and it took Po a second to realize how out of place it was.
This was a tall, lean Asian man. Had he just switched name tags on accident? She finally looked up. His face was shown to her in profile, the hat pulled low. His cheeks were stubbled with a couple weeks growth of beard. A spark of recognition hit her as she saw the ragged right ear, torn like he’d been attacked by an animal.
Ari yelled, his words coming out as an unintelligible moan of surprise and anguish.
Felix Hull leapt in front of Po as he lunged at Khan. Grabbing the other man’s shoulder with one hand, Felix rammed a stiletto dagger that fell out of his sleeve into Khan’s lower back. The senator fell to the ground and his bodyguards fired on Felix. Four shots.
Po’s ears rang from the gunshots and she tasted dirt as the breath shot from her lungs. Felix Hull rolled before her, spasming on the ground, his blood pooling on with the mud.
“Po!”
Ari knelt beside her, pressed his hands to her body as she looked at the sky. Tears streamed down his deformed face. Po reached out and touched the tears on his good cheek.
Around the boots and legs of the assembled people, she could see Felix Hull’s lips moving. He mouthed something that Po thought was, “Backstabbing bastard.” Then the life faded from his eyes and he went still.
Po tried to stand, but she couldn’t get her legs under her. They wouldn’t respond. Ari held her shoulders down. Strangely, there was very little pain.
An argument broke out among the men. Guns were drawn. The general radioed back to the camp. The ground shook as the mechs advanced. Khan was losing blood fast, and a siren screamed as an ambulance roared out from the army encampment.
A minute later, medics shifted Po onto a stretcher and lifted it up.
“I’m not going anywhere until they agree to the deal.”
“Khan has been taken back,” Uncle Bohai insisted, the tension tight in his voice. “Po, you need medical treatment.”
She ignored her uncle and gestured at General Greif. Ari glared at the general as he approached.
The general walked over to where Po lay on the stretcher. She reached out and took a handful of his crisp green uniform in her hand, and pulled his pockmarked face down close to hers.
“How many more people have to die before we put an end to this civil war?”
She could see the pain in his face. A general, perhaps better than anyone, knew what a life cost.
“You tricked us,” he said.
“What kind of trick ends in me getting shot?” she asked bitterly.
“I take your point.”
“You have the leader of the rebel faction dead in the grass over there. You let Ari go, and lift martial law.”
“When peace returns to the city.”
“You’re the only obstruction to peace. Do we have a deal or not?”
“Yes. We do, girl.”
“My name is Po.”
“Aye, Po. We have a deal.”
“Uncle…Magistrate Ming…make sure he upholds his end of the bargain.”
She barely got the words out before her strength faded. Po lay her head back, and the darkness took her.
Epilogue
NEW LIFE
Po went straight into surgery. They could not repair all the damage the bullet had done when it struck her spinal column. The doctor told her she might be able to walk after several months of rehabilitation, but that she would never run again.
She had done a lot of running in the past few weeks, so at first she didn�
��t mind the idea, but she quickly grew sick of the sterile white hospital room.
Since Ari would never be able speak without a horrible lisp again, he bought a new phone, and typed to Po while he sat at her bedside. They had long, rambling conversations that went on for hours and hours during her convalescence. Ari also told her what he could remember about his family, about his childhood in Slovakia before it became a nuclear wasteland. Po told him about her childhood in King Valley, about her mother, about her plans to become a geneticist and pick up where her father left off his work. They had both lost people and it brought them close.
Kylie, her uncle, and Jia spent a lot of time at the hospital while Po recovered. Her uncle brought news that the army had withdrawn from the city and officially turned the policing and security back over to Wallace. People were allowed to stay in the valley. It was late summer, close to harvest time. Bohai had helped a group of farmers organize a work-for-food program. People were immediately put to work rebuilding damaged homes, weeding fields, picking the sparse crops that were ready to harvest. In late summer, they were as ready as they would get. The World Food Programme had finally deposited several packages in the valley, too. There was a scuffle over the first few drops.
“But don’t worry,” Uncle Bohai said. “Ming is there overseeing the fair distribution of the rations and making sure that no one goes hungry.”
Two weeks after her surgery, Ari pushed Po out of the hospital in a wheelchair. They moved out to King Valley, to a neighbor’s guest house at first, where Jia and Kylie joined them. A couple days after they got there, Po sent Ari out to retrieve Nando. He brought the boy back with him—and several of his friends. The first thing Po made them all do was take long, hot baths.
Po was astonished to see that a group of neighbors had cleared away the wreckage of her parents house and erected a timber frame on top of the old stone foundation, which had already been repaired.
Po and Ari made crosses out of sticks and stuck them in the ground to mark her parents’ graves. When the headstones came, they held a very private, very somber and tear-filled ceremony, just the six of them—Po, Jia, Kylie, Bohai, of course, and Ari and Nando, who all lived there now.