The Sowing (The Torch Keeper)

by Santos, Steven dos

  I have to warn Cage and the rebels. I grab my transceiver. If they get this message and broadcast it to the entire Parish, there might be a chance to deal a significant blow to the Establishment, Cassius, and Sanctum all at once.

  Digory’s face is brimming with different emotions. It’s as though the footage of our home has unleashed deep feelings inside him, feelings he’d prefer to keep buried forever rather than have to relive the horrors that caused him to block them all out in the first place.

  The hangar door blows open and we barely manage to move out of the way in time. Then the Fleshers that were pursuing us swarm in like an insect colony, taking their positions all around us.

  There’s nowhere left to go.

  Straton and Cassius trail into the bay behind them.

  Cassius notices my amazement and smiles. “This is how we’re finally going to be rid of the Establishment once and for all.”

  “This is your peaceful solution? Hundreds—thousands—of innocent people slaughtered in battle? Captured and mutated into these things?” My voice is barely audible over the clamor of activity engulfing the hangar bay. I turn to Straton. “Or, consumed for the greater good?”

  Straton smiles. “Tomorrow morning our regiments march on the Parish. It is time the experiment be brought to its conclusion.”

  I ignore him, homing in on Cassius. “Just get it over with quickly.”

  Cassius cocks his head. His eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Our deaths,” I respond. My words simmer on their way to boiling point. “You’re obviously not going to let us go, not with everything we know. When you murder us, just do it fast, Cassius, if I ever meant anything to you at all, like you claim.”

  My eyes sync with Digory’s. He nods. No trace of fear on his face. At least we can have a few more minutes together. This time we’ll die together, the way it should be.

  Cassius shakes his head with something akin to pity in his eyes. “Everything with you, Lucian, is always so black and white. Just because the sky is occasionally gray doesn’t mean the rain will fall.”

  My resolve turns to dread. “You’re not going to kill us?” The thought of what might now be in store for us makes me long for death. I can’t help think of this processing plant and what it stands for.

  Cassius sighs. “Once again you misjudge me, Lucky.” His eyes bounce between Digory and me. “The both of you are far too valuable alive—oh, I know you’re thinking about the limited food resources here in Sanctum and the way the religious choose to bond with their enemies.” He shakes his head. “That will never happen to either you or Tycho, I promise.”

  My lips purse. I shift my gaze to Straton and the Fleshers. “So you’re not going to let them eat us. I guess I should thank you, but I’m sure that you understand if I don’t.”

  Now Cassius’s lips bow into a serpentine smile. “Even though I imagine the rabble would be more than pleased to behold their protector—the great Torch Keeper himself—in the flesh, you’ll stay here in Sanctum under my protection while I escort the ailing Prime Minister Talon back to the Parish for some accountability issues. Trust me, Lucian. We both want the same thing. The Establishment must be stopped.” He pauses. “As must the insurrection.”

  My blood turns to ice water. “What do you mean?”

  He stares directly into my eyes. “Your friends who escaped Infiernos—that Micajah and his sister, your fellow trainees—they’re being tracked by a homing beacon aboard their ship. As soon as they make contact with their fellow insurrectionists, squadrons will be sent to neutralize them.”

  I’m stunned. Here I thought my friends had a chance. Now, not only they but the rest of the resistance—the very people who are the Parish’s last chance—are doomed.

  But if they received the data I transmitted, they could still be safe.

  I swallow hard. As far as Cassius is concerned, I’ve learned not to rule anything out as long as there’s some detail in need of clarification.

  “What about Digory?” I finally dare to ask.

  Cassius stares at Digory, then back at me. “It’s time to initiate the next phase of his Ultra Imposer Program.” He leans in close. “When Tycho didn’t die from that virus they injected, the decision was made to study him—to test bio-warfare on his immune system in order to genetically engineer the perfect Imposer. Tycho will undergo the nanotech procedure and become a new breed of Flesher.”

  thirty-five

  The walk to nanotech lab is the longest one in my life. Leading us is a squad of armed Sanctum personnel. The four Fleshers who used to be the Fallen Five flank us. I can’t help but wonder how they feel—if they feel anything at all—as they travel the path that transformed them from frightened Recruits into the lumbering machines trundling beside us, seemingly cold and impassive. Surely there’s some remnant of their former selves inside them. The way the one shared the ID tags and let us go, I have to believe the Fallen Five aren’t completely dead. If I don’t cling to this, I’ll have to accept that Digory will be dead within minutes.

  And he’ll never come back again.

  We enter a sector we haven’t been to before. I’m still wearing the same jumpsuit, but Digory’s been stripped to nothing but a pair of neon white shorts, the contours of his body

  glistening from the antiseptic solution they dipped him in during the procedure prep.

  As we’re marched along, I can’t stop staring at him, wishing we’d never left that park we landed in. It was the only time since we’ve met that we were truly free and happy, if only for a short while.

  We reach a flight of steps leading up to a triangular platform. In its center, a transparent, bubblelike container is suspended by translucent cables pulsating with glowing light and leading into a bank of flashing, oblong instruments. The bubble descends and splits open like a blooming flower, its interior large enough to encase a body.

  My heart forgets to beat.

  I feel like a cornered animal. My fight-or-flight instinct is triggered in a mad rush of panic and adrenaline, as if I were back competing in the Trials.

  But Digory’s face is calm, resolute. He stares back at me with weary eyes, the hint of a reassuring smile on his lips.

  The Fleshers prod us closer to the bubble. Cassius and Straton are already waiting there, the flickering light from the cables alternately bathing them in eerie iridescence, which gives their eyes an almost glowing effect, and shadows, which carve their features into hard edges.

  I take a step toward Cassius. “Please. Don’t do this. He’s been through enough. Take me instead.”

  My words break Digory’s calm façade. He grunts and pushes forward, trying to shield me with his body.

  “L-Lucky.” His deep voice echoes through the chamber.

  The sound of my name from his lips freezes me in place. It’s been forever since I’ve heard it. And all at once I’m flooded with joy and grief.

  I press my body against Digory’s. He pulls me close and our lips press together; we relish our warmth in the coldness of this place. In this one kiss, there’s a lifetime of regret—for all that was lost and for what will never be. Hot tears sting my eyes, mingling with his. There’s so much I want to say, but the words don’t come …

  The four Fleshers move in closer to us. I catch the gleam of their pincers poised to strike, and this time it’s me who covers Digory with my body.

  “Digory, listen to me,” I whisper in his ear. “There are too many of them. They’ll kill us both if we try anything.”

  His chest heaves and his muscles tense. Slowly, his body relaxes again.

  “I’m a-afraid, Lucian,” he says, the words coming with great effort.

  “Why?”

  “Things they’ve done … to me … made me do … not the same person … ”

  I can tell that speaking is a monumental effort for him, but he’s
determined to get the words out.

  Reaching out, I wipe a tear from his eye and he clutches my hand to his face.

  “Begin the final phase of the Ultra Imposer Program on Tycho.” Cassius’s voice is low, emotionless. He may as well be one of the Fleshers himself.

  Two of the Fleshers grip Digory while the other two clutch me.

  And then we’re torn apart.

  “Don’t let them make you forget,” I call to him. “Never give up.”

  This time he smiles. “Never forget you.”

  Then he’s dragged into the bubble, his body shackled into a spread-eagled position. All of his muscles tense as the bubble seals shut, trapping him inside.

  Cassius and Straton bark orders, but they’re nothing but muffled sounds in my ears as I watch the glowing nanotech fluid fill the sphere—crawling up Digory’s calves, slithering up the mounds of his thighs, tightening around his waist before swarming over his heaving chest and neck and engulfing his head.

  Our eyes meet one last time—a look of longing and pain—before his face is immersed in the fluid.

  I can’t breathe. I’ve never felt so helpless. All I can do is watch as his body writhes in the swirling mass of protoplasmic goo.

  The minutes stretch into an unbearable blur as his body finally begins to still.

  And then it ceases to move completely.

  Straton studies the readouts. “He’s quite a strong specimen, but it appears his body isn’t rejecting the nanotech cells.” He looks up from the monitor, his face glowing in the reddish haze. “Assimilation has begun.”

  The words strike me like a bullet. At first I’m dizzy with emptiness. But that’s quickly filled with rage. This time I won’t hesitate to kill Cassius.

  Cassius nods. “Transfer Tycho’s body to a cryogenic tube and prepare it for transport, along with Talon’s medpod. It’s time for me to get back to the Parish.”

  I catch one last glimpse of Digory as the Sanctum techs descend on the bubble to carry out Cassius’s orders. Within minutes, the fluid is drained from the sphere and Digory’s body is transferred into its new prison, a cryo capsule that’s loaded onto a glider transport and carried away, taking what’s left of my soul with it.

  Straton glances at me, then back to Cassius. “What about this one? When can we begin the hippocampus stimulation phase?”

  “This one,” Cassius says, “is not to be touched until I give authorization, as per our agreement. Understood?”

  Straton can barely hide his anger. “Understood.”

  I shoot a look at Straton and then Cassius. “Hippocampus is part of the brain, isn’t it? Why the hell are you interested in my memories? Does this have something to do with that Sowing Protocol?”

  Cassius grips my shoulder. “You’ll be safe here until I return. I promise.”

  Then he’s gone, too.

  Straton signals the Sanctum personnel, who grab hold of me and lead me out of the chamber.

  All I’m thinking about is how little time I have—to break out of these restraints and go after Cassius and Digory—when we round the corner and the four Fleshers attack.

  But they don’t attack me. They attack the Sanctum guards, skewering them with their weapons until the guards’ bodies are nothing but lifeless clumps of bloody pulp.

  The numbness I’ve been feeling is replaced by a surge of adrenaline. The lead Flesher approaches me with one of the sharp cutting blades, raises it—

  And cuts through my manacles.

  “Which way to the hangar?” I ask.

  Then I’m racing after them through the dark maze, burning with the one emotion I’d never thought I’d ever feel again.

  Hope.

  thirty-six

  The Four lead me through a maze of tunnels that spill out into a smaller hangar bay. I can hear the low thrum of engines even before I spot the sleek lines of the Vulture-class ship prepping for takeoff. The craft is positioned on a circular hydraulic platform that will lift it up a seemingly endless shaft to the surface.

  Cassius has his back to me as he gestures to two of the Sanctum escorts, who are busy loading Digory’s encapsulated body into the compartment in the ship’s underbelly, next to Talon’s medpod. I duck behind a terminal as Cassius strides up the boarding ramp, which begins to lift as soon as he disappears inside.

  Taking a deep breath, I give the Four a final nod and dart for the ship. I leap and roll into the cargo hold, hoping the sound of the engines have drowned out the sounds of my body bumping the ship.

  My muscles tense for a fight as I expect guards to appear in the opening of the hatch any second. But the last sliver of light coming in from the bay disappears with a loud clank as the hatch finally seals. The whine of the engines gets louder. The Vulture is vibrating almost as fast as my heart is.

  Then we’re moving, and I can feel the pressure as the hydraulic platform shoots up the shaft to the surface. I take a deep breath as the Vulture lifts off from the ruined city and zooms away at full throttle, leaving Sanctum far behind us.

  The cargo hold is small and rectangular. There won’t be enough room to hide once we land and the hatch is opened. But if I remember the layout of this type of ship correctly, there’s a small hatch in the corner of the ceiling that leads to the back of the passenger cabin. Bracing against the turbulence, I reach up and test it. It gives with a loud squeak and I cringe, easing it closed again.

  I slide down to the floor of the hold, exhausted. Beside me, I can barely see the contours of the capsule encasing Digory. I crawl past Talon’s medpod and over to it, sidling up against the cold hard shell. Inside, Digory is perfectly still, his body floating in the pool of genetic fluid as if he were merely peacefully asleep.

  I touch the glass across from his face. “I’m right here,” I whisper. Then I curl up beside the pod and close my eyes.

  I’m not sure how many hours later it is when my eyes spring open. Even with all the jostling from the turbulence, I’ve managed to sleep on and off, the steady thrum of the engines creating a kind of white-noise effect that makes it easy to give in to my physical and mental fatigue. But it didn’t stop the nightmares—horrible images of Digory and Cole morphing into Fleshers. The last one was the worst. I thought I’d woken up and seen a reflection of myself in the glass of Digory’s tomb, but something was wrong with my face. The skin was bruised and peeling. When I tried to pull off a flake of dead skin, my flesh began to rip. I couldn’t stop myself from pulling and tearing, my face disappearing in bloody tatters and replaced by a biomechanical machine underneath, staring back at me with soulless eyes—

  I was a Flesher.

  I awoke from this dream in a clammy sweat, despite the ice-cold air that wracks my body with the shivers. It must be the altitude taking its toll. If we don’t land soon, I’ll die of hypothermia before I ever see the Parish again.

  Reaching out a trembling hand, I swipe a clear space in the frosty condensation covering Digory’s capsule, which I immediately have to clear again as my breath fogs it up.

  He still looks the same.

  That’s when I feel the ship begin its angled descent.

  Springing to my feet, I crack open the hatch just enough to look through the cabin windows. The sky is coated in the pink and orange hues of dusk. Even from the limited vantage point of my perch, I spy the billowing mushroom smog from the factories, soon replaced by the cold gray turrets and spires of the Citadel of Truth. I never thought I’d see them again, let alone be happy at the sight. Whatever else it may be, the Parish is still the only home I’ve ever known.

  And somewhere down there, my brother is waiting for me.

  At least I hope he still is.

  We’re heading for one of the hangars near the top of the Citadel’s main building.

  I take one last look at Digory. “See you soon.”

  Then I’m clim
bing into the main cabin and wedging myself into one of the overhead storage compartments. I’m too big to fit inside completely, but I manage to get the access door closed enough to hide from view just as the ship’s braking thrusters kick in and we come to a bumpy stop. I’m counting on Cassius being too preoccupied with his arrival to scrutinize the cabin.

  The engines cut out and the exit ramp begins to lower. Cassius bursts from the cockpit and marches down in seconds. I can hear muffled voices and the grind of the cargo hold opening. I wait until the sounds of footfalls die, and then I ease my aching body out of the cramped compartment and slink out of the aircraft as stealthily as I can, pausing at the foot of the gangplank to make sure no one’s around.

  Cassius has obviously landed the ship in his small, private docking bay in the Citadel’s main tower. Rummaging through the hangar’s supply closet, I find a flight uniform and helmet that aren’t quite my size but will do the trick. I could really use some firepower, but the only thing I come across is a flare gun. Not ideal, long-term, but it can do a lot of damage to a human body up close. Stripping off what I’m wearing, I don the uniform, tuck the gun into my pocket, and exit the bay.

  I immediately expect to have to dodge squads of Imps making their rounds, so I’m surprised to find that the corridors are uncharacteristically deserted.

  I race through the hallways. Several Imps surprise me when I round a corner, but they’re running too and don’t bother to stop as they disappear down the far hall.

  It’s then that I realize that the growing pounding I hear isn’t coming from my chest. I pause to listen. The thudding is too uniform to be thunder. It’s the sound of impact blasts and alarms, loud enough to vibrate through the soundproof windows of the Citadel and rock its foundations.

  Cage and the others must have been tracked to their rebel cell.

  The Establishment’s strike against the resistance is underway.

  I dart down the remainder of the hall to where two Imps usually guard the stairwell that leads to the roof of the Prefect’s chambers. But no one’s there and I push the doors open, sprinting up the steps and bursting out onto the Citadel’s rooftop.