The Harvest

by K. Makansi

  Corine confessed.

  Hundreds of fire drones are buzzing around the inferno that once was the Sunflower, unloading thousands of deep, low-frequency sound waves into the maelstrom, trying to calm the flames. The beats resonate in my chest like Vale’s drumming at the vigil.

  Osprey puts her hands on my shoulders.

  “Remy, are you okay? We need to check the astrolabe. It’s time to find Vale.”

  I nod. Mutely, I pull the semispherical piece of glass from the pocket of my jacket. I press my fingertips to the bottom of the glass, and, looking inside, I see thirteen pale green dots lit up, one for every acorn.

  “Let’s find a grassy spot. We need to plant it.” Osprey leads me to the bottom of the observation hill. “Put it on the ground.” I set the half-sphere into the dirt. As I do, dozens of fine lines sprout from the center of the astrolabe, forming a sort of strange compass or clock. Osprey kneels next to me. Some of the lines are bright and clear; others are so fine they’re almost impossible to see. By planting it on the ground, Osprey told me, you allow the astrolabe to connect to the mycorrhizal network in the area.

  “It’s a lot easier to read when there’s only one or two acorns activated,” she mutters.

  Apparently, reading an astrolabe is like reading a compass, a topographical map, and a radar system, all meshed into one. The acorns give off their own signals, so you can always track them. But in order to take advantage of the astrolabe’s full capabilities, you have to plant it. Then, it will connect you to all the trees and plants rooted into the mycorrhizal network. With the astrolabe on the ground, you can find forests, grassy plains, streams and rivers, caves and cliffs. And if you want to find one of the acorn pendants, the astrolabe will guide you to them in the quickest way possible.

  It seems like magic to me, but Osprey insists it’s all based on real ecology. Around ninety percent of all plants exist in symbiotic relationships with fungi, creating a mycorrhiza, a partnership in which the fungus colonizes the roots of the plant. The fungal network enables larger, more established plants to help out young seedlings by sharing nutrients, but it also allows plants to sabotage each other. Just like people, I think.

  “How do I know which one is Vale?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

  She looks up at me, her brows knitted together. “You have to feel it, remember? Vale has the quercus lyrata acorn.” She touches her finger to one of the lines and gestures to me to do the same. Only with a physical connection to the astrolabe can it guide you, she said yesterday, when she was teaching me how to use it. I can feel it pulsing gently, rhythmically, under my fingertip. “Each acorn has a unique beat. Of course, I don’t know for sure who’s attached to which acorn unless I’ve been told. Vale’s pendant used to belong to Chan-Yu, and he told me when he passed it on to Vale.” She smiles as if we were in the middle of a forest clearing with a babbling stream nearby, instead of in a war zone surrounded by dead bodies. “This acorn’s beat sounds like a dance song.”

  “The mycorrhizal networks produce beats?”

  “Not exactly. The astrolabe converts the frequencies unique to each acorn—that are inaudible to human ears—into a beat that we can feel and understand. It’s more like an interpretation than a reproduction. Use your finger to drag this line to the center.” I do as she tells me. The pulsing beat stops, and the green lines on the astrolabe fade. Now, only a glowing light on the edge of the instrument remains.

  “The astrolabe is pointing straight into Assembly Hall.”

  “We won’t be able to get in the front,” I say. “It’s too high-security.”

  “Let’s go in the back, then.”

  “Where’s Soren?” I ask, my mind still foggy but feeling more focused now that I have a goal, a target. Find Vale.

  “He’s waiting for us. Come on.”

  She leads me to one of the maple trees where Soren is waiting.

  “Remy,” Soren says, pulling me in close to him, folding me into arms that are twice the size of mine. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, but I’m not, not really. “Where are the others?”

  “Eli’s with Bear, helping the wounded. Firestone just landed and the Director is on the ground. Miah and Rhinehouse are still in the sky. Let’s find Vale.”

  With Soren and Osprey behind me, I run on the outskirts of the roundabout that encircles the Sunflower. We duck into a back alley, built for delivery trucks, that leads behind Assembly Hall. The astrolabe is trying to guide me into the glass, inside, but I have to find an entrance. The arrow seems to move as I move, though, shifting until it’s no longer pointing inside the building but dead ahead, in front of us.

  “Did he leave?” I pull up short. “Did he leave the building?”

  Osprey puts a finger to the astrolabe.

  “Maybe. The thing is a lot more helpful out in the Wilds.” She shrugs, as confused as I am. “Let’s find out.”

  “He could be running away,” Soren says. “Maybe he escaped the Control Room after Demeter broadcasted Corine’s breakdown. Maybe Aulion is chasing him.”

  We run past the back entrance to Assembly Hall, but the astrolabe is no longer pointing inside. We run around the city, taking as many shortcuts as we can, jumping fences and cutting through buildings, until the astrolabe emits an audible hum.

  “We’re close,” Osprey says. “Do you see him?”

  We’re by Lake Okaria, approaching the main marina on a smaller street known mostly for its abundance of fancy nightclubs. I don’t see Vale. I don’t see anyone, really, save for a few citizens walking along the buildings, perhaps heading to work or running errands. I wonder if they missed the broadcast, if they realize everything in Okaria is about to change.

  The astrolabe glows right at the front, telling us to head straight. Right onto the docks. We run forward. Where is Vale? The hum only grows louder.

  “Vale!” I shout, Bolt charged and ready in my hand.

  Soren points to our left. “I saw something over there. Movement.” We head toward a large sailboat with a clean canvas sail and a hull so shiny it glistens in the sunlight. Brand new, it appears. I see it then, too: a figure, tall and broad, but I can tell by the man’s grey hair it’s definitely not Vale.

  He turns slightly but doesn’t seem to see us. Now I recognize him: Falke Aulion. The man who hit me when Soren and I were held prisoner in a building not far from here. It’s strange to see him out here all alone without soldiers surrounding him. It doesn’t make sense.

  Osprey lets out a low growl as she, too, recognizes him. I don’t know what her history with the man is, but I know one of the things that brought her and Soren together so quickly was their shared hatred of General Aulion.

  “Lucky us.” Osprey slides the charge on her Bolt to the highest setting and hits the capacitor to reload. Soren doesn’t respond. He pulls his knife from its sheath.

  Osprey sets off down the street, her footfalls silent, and Soren is right behind her. I keep a distance behind them, my ears and eyes pricked for any sign of Vale. Aulion’s coiling up the dock lines, pulling the covers off the smaller solar fiber sails, and lashing lines down along the hull. What is he doing? I wonder, but even as I ask myself the question, the answer dawns on me.

  He’s running. And he has Vale’s acorn.

  He doesn’t know it’s a tracking device. There’s no way he could know we’ve been led here thinking we were following Vale, thinking we were rescuing him. He has no way of knowing that, if he wanted to escape, all he had to do was toss the acorn pendant in the gutter.

  I hang back as Osprey and Soren break into a jog, tucking the astrolabe into my pocket. I’ll be there for backup if something goes wrong. But this is not my fight.

  The boat Aulion’s fussing with is a hybrid air and water sail. They call them Hydroaire boats, or Hydras for short, and it must have cost a pretty penny. A few wealthy citizens, mostly government officials and entrepreneurs, have made it the fashionable, luxurious item of choice. If Aulion’s making
his escape, he’s chosen a good vessel: this ship will easily carry him across Lake Okaria and further, as far as he wants to go. Powered by wind and sun, he could make it around the world without stopping.

  “Where’s Vale?” Osprey calls as we approach the dock. Aulion’s head jerks around, and he drops the line he’s holding and pulls his handheld Bolt from his pocket in a blur of movement. He says nothing, just hits the capacitor and immediately takes aim at Osprey, who jumps out of the way. His shot misses, hitting the cobblestone where her feet were a second ago.

  “Vale’s dead,” Aulion says with a touch of scorn. My breath catches in my throat and my heart stops. My mind goes blank for a few seconds, empty and dull, filled only with a white rage, before a single thought pops into my head: He’s lying. I don’t know this for sure, but I can’t let this old man’s demented words distract me now. “I killed him myself.”

  “Wrong answer.” Osprey and Soren both pull up their weapons at the same time, aim, and fire. Aulion leaps off the dock and ducks behind the Hydra’s hull for cover. He pops back up a second later and fires—this time at me. I leap to the side at the last second, hitting the ground, rolling my shoulder against the hard brick surface as I jump back to my feet.

  Soren and Osprey charge the boat. Realizing he’s outnumbered and trapped, he frantically moves to prepare for launch. As they draw closer and it becomes clear he’s not going to finish by the time Soren’s blade pierces his throat, he bails. He leaps over the other side of the hull and sprints down the dock. He’s fast for an old man, I think, as Osprey stops chasing him for a minute to set her feet. Aulion spares a second to glance behind him and sees Osprey aim her crossbow. He dives behind another boat, this one smaller, at the last second, and her shot flies harmlessly into the hull of the ship. But this gives her and Soren time to gain on him. I follow them, keeping pace from a distance, staying on the brick, my weapon charged and set to a low-power setting. I won’t deprive Soren and Osprey the pleasure of killing him, but I won’t hesitate to shoot if it means preventing him from getting away.

  Osprey pulls another short arrow from her pack and nocks it in place as she and Soren round the boat to where Aulion is crouching. When he hears their footsteps approaching, he scrambles to his feet and sprints to the end of the dock. What the hell is he doing? I wonder a half-second before he leaps with all his might off the end.

  Soren throws his knife as hard as he can. I hear a sharp thwang as Osprey fires off another arrow at Aulion’s back. The knife and the arrow fly true. The knife hits Aulion in the small of his back, and the arrow embeds itself in his shoulder, thrumming like a musical note as he plunges into the dark water.

  Suddenly all is still.

  Neither Osprey nor Soren move. I run up to the dock, standing just behind them, and together the three of us walk to the end of the wood plank, where the general’s body is slowly sinking under the small, gentle waves.

  We stand there like that, watching the lake pull him under, the morning sun bright in our eyes as it glints over the waves. It’s not long before all that’s visible is a few bubbles and dark water.

  “Should we try to get the acorn back?” I ask.

  Osprey shakes her head. “His body will wash ashore in a few days. We’ll get the pendant back then.”

  Soren stares at the water. After a long time, he speaks, before turning and leading us away.

  “I always knew he was a coward.”

  28 - VALE

  Summer 5, Sector Annum 106, 8h52

  Gregorian Calendar: June 25

  I motion toward the main entrance of the capitol building, but my father doesn’t move. Outside, thousands of voices rise and fall.

  “How can I face them?” His voice is barely audible, and he stares at the door as if it opens onto a lion’s den.

  “You’re still the chancellor of the Okarian Sector. It’s your duty to address the people.”

  “We’ve failed them.” He turns to me. His face contorts and his red-rimmed eyes shine with unshed tears. “I failed you. My whole life I tried to live up to my father’s expectations, tried to be the father to you that I missed after he died. Now—” He stops to compose himself.

  “I wish I could have met him.”

  “So much of who I am is because of him. He died young, but his legacy lived far longer than he did.”

  “I saw a picture of the two of you at The Waystation.”

  “The Waystation?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No.”

  “It’s Kanaan Alexander’s house. There’s a painting of you on the wall. You’re holding your father’s hand, and Brinn is sitting on Kanaan’s shoulders. You’re all standing in front of a newly planted live oak.”

  “I never knew Kanaan’s place was called that,” he says. “I only remember being there once or twice before my father left and then—”

  “Never returned,” I finish for him. “Your father died, but I still have a father.” I grip his arm. “Dad, you need to go through those doors and address the crowd as the duly elected leader of this nation. We all choose our own paths. You taught me that. It’s time for you to choose.”

  “I chose wrong.”

  “You have a new choice ahead of you. There are some things you can’t take back. Memories that might haunt you forever. But right now none of that matters. The citizens of Okaria need you to make the right choice.”

  He nods, draws in a long breath, squares his shoulders, and palms open the doors.

  As soon as we step outside, Okarian News Network drones swarm around us. I scan the grounds of the capital complex for signs of Remy. Where is she? There are too many people. Bear had organized five thousand marchers, but there are many more in the streets now. Whether curiosity seekers or concerned citizens, the ranks of the protesters and onlookers have swollen until people line the grassy knolls surrounding Assembly Hall and fill Rue Jubilation as far as the eye can see.

  As soon as the drones are in position to record and broadcast the speech, my father raises a hand and a slow hush falls over the crowd.

  “Fellow citizens. I see before me thousands of hardworking people from all quadrants of the Sector. You have marched on the city in peaceful protest of unjust laws and lives unfairly taken. Under my rule and those who came before me, we have deviated from the principles upon which the Okarian Sector was founded. Here, today, on Rue Jubilation, I want to assure everyone that each of you—whether you labor on our Farms or work in a factory town, whether you are a student at the Academy or a researcher at the OAC—is entitled to the full rights and privileges of citizenship. There are no exceptions.” He pauses and glances toward me. “Before I walked out here, I gave the order for the Watchers to hold their fire, the SDF to stand down, and for the OAC Security Directorate to be disbanded. All law enforcement and defense forces are charged with ensuring the safety of everyone assembled here today as well as that of every citizen throughout the Sector. Again, that means no exceptions.

  “Many of you have heard the leaked broadcast of my wife’s—Corine Orleán’s—confession. As you can imagine, this is a very difficult time for my son and me. A doctor is with her, and she is under sedation. While I cannot speak to the crimes to which she has confessed, I know she must face the consequences of her actions. The College of Deans and the College of the People will be calling for hearings, and, no doubt, criminal charges will be filed against her.”

  Cries rise up from the crowd, but he hushes them. Even now, it is remarkable how much sway my father holds with the people. Many, I’m sure, find it hard to believe—as I did for so long—that my parents could be capable of any crime, let alone the ones my mother confessed to on live broadcast.

  “As for me,” he continues, “I, too, must take responsibility. Whether by turning a blind eye, by being complicit in behaviors I knew were morally indefensible and that contravened the laws of this nation, or by violating the spirit of our founding principles, I have wronged you all and will, no doubt, a
lso face the legal consequences of my action or inaction. That is why I can no longer serve as your chancellor.”

  In the history of the Okarian Sector, no chancellor has ever resigned during his or her term. The crowd stills, as if all of the oxygen has been drained from the air.

  “As of this moment, I resign my position, and until such time that the Board of Directors can nominate and the Colleges can confirm someone to guide the transition to a newly elected leader, I hereby appoint my son, Valerian Augustus Orleán, to the position of interim chancellor.

  “What? No!” I step backward, stunned. Even when I was leading the Seed Bank Protection Project, I had no aspiration to climb the political ladder. “You can’t—”

  A camera drone moves quickly to zoom in on my face, and a roar of voices rises up from the streets below: “Valerian! Valerian! Valerian!”

  “Citizens!” My father raises his arms to calm the crowd. “Even while Corine and I lost our way, beguiled by the false promises of wealth and power, our son was steadfast and honorable. He stood by his friends and by his fellow citizens. At every turn, he made the difficult decisions necessary for true leadership. Even as I step aside, ashamed of my actions, I must tell you that this moment is one of the proudest of my life.” He turns and gestures for me to take his place before the crowd.

  I step forward with absolutely no idea what to say. The last thing I want to do is deal with the Board of Directors or the Assembly. I’m done giving speeches. I’m done being a public figure. I want to go home—wherever that might be—and hold Remy close, laugh with my friends, drink Firestone’s disgusting swill. I don’t want—

  “Vale,” my father says. “They’re waiting.”

  I clear my throat and look out on the crowd. I see a flash of red and then another. Just like at Windy Pines. All along Rue Jubilation, I see fists raised, some swathed in red, others held high. I look back at my father. He gives me a slight nod, as if to say get on with it.