The Seeds Trilogy Complete Collection: The Sowing, The Reaping, The Harvest (including The Prelude)

by K. Makansi

  “Yes, well, they’re not always going to be like that,” my mom says reprovingly, “so stay safe, okay?”

  “We’ve got to go now, little bird. We’ll talk to you in a few weeks, when we get everything set up at our next base.”

  “Okay,” I whisper. Now that I’ve got them, I don’t want to let them go. “Bye.”

  “We love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I say, but the words are barely audible. I hear the click, and then the static of an empty signal on the other end. I pull off the headphones and throw them down on the table.

  “Good to go?” Eli asks.

  “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I can’t come,” he says. “I’m doing a double shift.”

  “No way!” I exclaim in indignation. Eli already spends at least sixteen of his waking hours working, either tinkering with some old piece of equipment or doing shifts at different stations around the base. There’s no reason for him to work a double shift.

  “You covering for someone or in trouble again?” Jahnu asks.

  “Apparently I have a bad attitude.” Eli smiles.

  “Really?” Jahnu draws back in mock astonishment, his almond eyes wide. “What did you do this time?” Eli and Jahnu stand in stark contrast to each other. They’re about the same height, but Jahnu’s skin is the color of a shadowy night and his hair is shaved close. Eli’s brown curls, on the other hand, are usually uncontrollable, and his olive skin makes me think of sandy beaches and summer afternoons in the sun.

  “I told the Director what I thought of her plans for the Arysk mission.”

  “Told her politely, I’m sure.” Jahnu rolls his eyes.

  “I’m always polite.” Eli grins. Eli’s version of polite typically includes shouting and slamming doors.

  “That’s why back home they were feeding you OAC happy pills morning, noon, and night,” I throw out.

  “And who knows what they were putting in my food.”

  There’s a sort of pause, a thick silence that fills the moment when the three of us don’t want to say the next thing, the thing that we’re all thinking about, the thing that brought us all to the bowels of this old bombed-out university. To provide a distraction, I stand and try to pull Eli out of his creaky old office chair. It just rolls toward me.

  “You’re coming with us. There’s nothing going on today. Everyone in the Sector is celebrating, so we’re going to have our own celebration.” I want Eli to come because it’s always more fun with him along. We need him, bad attitude and all. “And the Director doesn’t have to know you bailed on your shift,” I add.

  “Besides, what’s she going to do, fire you?” Jahnu says. We all smile at the impossible idea. The Director needs Eli. He’s one of the most important members of our team. Without his skills, half of the technology we use on a daily basis would just be junk. Besides, firing him would amount to nothing. Here at the Resistance, we’re all refugees, and it’s not like anyone’s going to exile Eli into the Wilds.

  Eli is twenty-four, six years older than Jahnu and I. He was two years ahead of my sister Tai, and they’d been together for several months. Tai couldn’t stop talking about him. He was a research and teaching assistant at the SRI, working with one of the professors in the genetics lab where Tai spent most of her time. Eli had always been a class clown, the troublemaker to whom everything came easy and nothing seemed to matter, and Tai was the perfectly poised favorite student, maybe even a bit of a teacher’s pet. Somehow they clicked.

  He was the one who found her. He found them all, every student cut down, massacred by what the OAC called “a savage from the Wilds.” Eli is alive because he had to take a shit in the middle of a lecture and because in the wake of the Religious Wars and the Famine Years, even the Okarian Sector can’t always get its hands on reliable weaponry. Eli had been in the bathroom when the man entered the classroom, and by the time he got off the pot, it was all over. He walked back to the classroom to find the killer standing over Tai’s body.

  “You’re late to the party,” the man said. “Too bad you had to miss out on all the fun. But don’t worry. Lucky for you, there’s an after party right here.” He placed his Bolt between Eli’s eyes and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Stunned, Eli stood immobilized. The man stared at his gun, swore, pointed it at Eli again, and pulled the trigger several times. Still, nothing happened.

  Later, in his testimony before a secret government inquiry, Eli described how, after he realized the charge was malfunctioning, he had lunged at the man, only to be slammed back up against the wall. But instead of turning the weapon back on Eli, the man grinned at him and said: “A word to the wise, kid. Never get on Madam Orleán’s bad side.” He put the Bolt up to his own head and pulled the trigger. This time, the weapon discharged. Eli, now covered in blood and brains, staggered over to Tai’s side and passed out, and that’s where the Watchmen found him.

  So, now he has anger management issues. Who can blame him? He lost his research scholarship and his job because he was “unstable,” the line involving Corine Orleán was stricken from the official court records, and Eli’s testimony was declared “compromised due to emotional trauma.” When his parents petitioned the Sector for a fair public hearing, they were transferred somewhere, no one knows where, and no one has heard from them since.

  Not three months later, the brilliant Corine Orleán was promoted from head of Research and Development to OAC General Director. The whole “investigation” took about six months, but when my parents figured out the truth—and realized that Tai’s death was going to go without retribution—we left. Disappeared. We joined the Resistance and brought Eli with us. Together, Eli and I swore that Tai’s death would be avenged. That we would make whoever was responsible pay.

  Now my friends and I look up to Eli. He’s our link to the reality of what the Sector and the OAC are capable of—of what they will do if they ever catch us. Plus, Eli’s just a great guy, in that big-brother-you-always-wanted kind of way. He has a serious problem with authority and doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. The stuff he pulled when he used to lead teams into the field to scavenge old labs, factories, and farms is legendary—so legendary the Director rarely allows him out anymore without “adult supervision.”

  “You know what? For once, you’re absolutely right. It’s time to get out of here.” He picks up his handheld and punches in a few numbers. “Firestone, get your lazy ass up here. You’re on duty.”

  Jahnu and I glance at each other and smile. Firestone, Eli’s buddy, won’t be happy, but for us, the day is looking up.

  “Yes, I know I was assigned your shift, but things change, my friend. And as you always say—” he pauses and winks at us—“That’s an interesting choice of words. You know swearing is the mark of a lazy mind.”

  Eli holds the handheld up so Jahnu and I can hear the stream of obscenities. “Anyway, as you’re always telling me, we must approach change philosophically, Mr. Firestone, and right now your philosophical ass should be sitting in this philosophical chair. I’ve kept it warm for you all morning.” Eli gives us a mischievous grin. “I’m turning the auto-recorder on now, so you have exactly five minutes to get here before it becomes painfully obvious no one’s on duty. You’re welcome. Anytime.”

  He scoots back over to the main console, types in a few commands, hits the auto-record button, and logs out. He stands with his hands on his hips and looks us up and down as if evaluating our worthiness for combat. Instinctively, we both stand straighter. That famous Elijah Tawfiq smile spreads across his face, punctuated only by a deep dimple in his left cheek. No wonder Tai was in love with him.

  “Topside it is, kiddos. We’ve got a graduation to celebrate.”

  4 - REMY

  Fall 47, Sector Annum 105, 19h32

  Gregorian Calendar: November 6

  Breathless, I bend over, hands on my knees, shoulders heaving. A drop of sweat tickles my back as it rolls beneath my shirt. Man, it feels good! Spr
inting always makes me feel powerful, invincible, and perfectly free, like if I plant my foot just so, jump up and kick off, I could take off up into the air and fly. I could go anywhere, leave everything and everyone and find somewhere new. Somewhere untouched and unspoiled by decay and loss. By betrayal.

  “Great shot,” Jahnu says as he runs up behind me and throws the ball at my head. “Were you aiming for our goal or Soren’s?” It bounces off my skull as I plop down on the ground. I grab the ball and lay back in the grass. The city around us is a ruin, and the once-great metropolis is full of crumbling and collapsed buildings overgrown by weeds, native grasses, scrubby bushes, and trees as far as the eye can see. During the last of the Religious Wars, a series of dirty bombs was detonated in the city center. People in the exurbs survived, but many of them fled or died out during the Famine Years. So now we’ve got the place pretty much to ourselves. Besides those of us at the Resistance base, there are only a few clusters of brave souls hanging on here and there. They’re loners and scavengers, people who refused allegiance to the Sector and couldn’t find a place among the Outsiders.

  “Sad to say, but I think your foot has better aim than your arm,” Jahnu says. I ignore him. The sky above me is a brilliant blue dome that seeps into black at the edges, and I close my eyes and shiver as the sun seeps into my skin.

  “Yeah,” Soren says. “It’s a good idea to at least try to aim for the end of the field, you know, where the goal is. But as long as you’re on the other team, I can’t say I mind.” We had to make up the rules to our game, and sometimes we forget them and just make up new ones as we go. It makes for an interesting system.

  I open my eyes to see Soren standing over me. “I’m directionally challenged. Sue me.”

  “Good thing that doesn’t apply to your skills with a Bolt. Otherwise we’d all be dead,” Jahnu quips.

  “Remind me why we’re friends.” I throw my leg out and try to trip Jahnu who jumps over it easily.

  “Who said we were friends?”

  “So who won?” I ask.

  “Oh, were we keeping score?” Soren smiles. He’s still taunting me, but it’s one of his rare friendly smiles, and I find myself smiling back. “Hey, Eli?” Soren calls out. “Who won?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eli and Kenzie walking towards us from down field.

  “It was a close game, but Soren’s team won.” Eli kicks off his beat-up cleats, peels off his sweat-soaked socks, and wiggles his toes in the rough grass. “Eleven to nine. Of course, my team was at a distinct disadvantage. I had Remy.”

  “I can still run faster than you, old man,” I kick his shoes out of reach. “One of these days I’m going to shoot the sweetest goal you’ve ever seen.”

  “If you ever score a goal, it will be the sweetest one any of us have seen,” Kenzie says.

  “Traitor!” I exclaim. Kenzie is the only girl around my age at main base. A natural athlete, she’s a full head taller than I am and at least twenty kilos heavier, all of it muscle. Her pale skin is a kaleidoscope of freckles, and she has short ringlets that fly away from her head like little birds. Depending on her mood, they make her look either adorable or ferocious. Kenzie is one of the nicest people I’ve ever known—except when her competitive drive kicks in.

  We barely knew each other back at the Academy, but we’ve grown close since we ended up bunking together after her family arrived. Her mom is a former Sector Dietician and her dad is one of the engineers in charge of keeping the lights on and the air and water clean in our underground home. Kenzie inherited her mom’s interest in chemistry and her dad’s ability to take things apart and put them back together again. She’s always trying to explain to me exactly what her dad does. I insist I don’t need to understand the intricacies of water purification systems, fluid dynamics, or nuclear engineering to appreciate his job, but she keeps trying. I still don’t understand, but I always say a word of thanks each night that he’s at work and that the lights will be on when I wake up.

  “Speaking of sweet things,” Eli says, “I’d say it’s time for your official graduation feast.”

  “Yeah, I’m starving,” Soren agrees.

  “We don’t have much,” Kenzie says. “Jahnu and I scavenged what we could from the kitchen without being seen by old man Rhinehouse.”

  “That man guards his pantry like it holds the secrets of the universe,” Jahnu says.

  “Maybe it does.” Soren plucks a thick blade of grass and splits it to make a whistle. He whets his lips, puts it to his mouth, and blows. Being outside has calmed Soren down since watching the graduation ceremony. “He’s actually a pretty interesting guy. And he plays a mean game of chess.”

  “He’s whipped my ass more than a few times,” Eli says.

  “Yeah,” Soren adds, “he sees more moves with that one eye than most people will ever see with two.”

  “Does he ever talk about his past?” I ask, suddenly intrigued by the fact that Soren is apparently buddies with Rhinehouse. “Where he came from, how he lost his eye?” These are questions I’ve been wondering about since Rhinehouse showed up out of the blue and became the de facto cook for the outpost. The Director and all of the senior members obviously knew him because they took him in without a word despite the fact he was covered in blood and babbling in some language none of us could understand.

  “He talks about it sometimes,” Soren says.

  “Well?” I press.

  “It’s not for me to say.”

  “How’d you worm your way into the old man’s heart?” Eli asks. “My time with Rhinehouse is spent either scrubbing pans or trying desperately to save my king from capture. Although my charming demeanor usually wins over everyone, he is strangely immune.”

  “Imagine that,” Soren laughs. “I’ll tell him you’re pining away for his attention.” I notice that Soren didn’t answer Eli’s question.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Eli says. “He’s not really my type.”

  “Do you know what language he was speaking when he showed up here?” I ask, determined to pull something out of Soren.

  Soren turns and looks at me. His smile is gone. “If you’re so interested in his life history, why don’t you try talking to him? Try being a friend instead of a gossip.”

  I glare at him from the grass but I don’t respond. Soren turns his attention back to his grass whistle as if nothing happened.

  “Look at this bountiful feast Kenzie and I have stolen for you,” Jahnu says, drawing everyone’s attention back to the real celebrity here: the food. “A barley loaf and pumpkin butter. Cherries, chokeberries, walnuts, hazelnuts, cheese, and some of Rhinehouse’s famous Mystery Jerky.”

  “I wonder what the jerky’s made out of this time?” Eli says.

  “I just hope it’s not opossum. I don’t know why, but they creep me out.” Kenzie shudders.

  Jahnu picks up his dented standard-issue water bottle and holds it up in the air like it’s a wine glass. “I’d like to make a toast,” he says.

  Jahnu’s pretty quiet around most people, but in the past few months, I’ve noticed him coming out of his shell, and I think that change is largely due to Kenzie. She says sometimes when they’re hanging out, he’ll hardly shut up, as if he’s saved up everything he wanted to say until he could say it to her. But talking’s as far as he’s gotten, and Kenzie’s been wondering if she’s reading him all wrong.

  We grab our bottles and hold them up to toast.

  “I know we had different reasons for leaving the Sector behind, for joining the Resistance. It was hard today watching what could have been if we were still there with our old friends and family. I’m not embarrassed to say it tore me up. But I’m proud of what we’ve done here and I’m proud of what we’re fighting for. So, congratulations to us. We were the best and the brightest. Now, we’re the best, the brightest—and the most wanted.”

  “To us!” we all cheer.

  Kenzie kneels, taps her water bottle against Jahnu’s, leans in, and t
o everyone’s surprise—especially Jahnu’s—she kisses him right on the lips. “Happy graduation, Jahnu Nair,” she says with a challenging grin.

  A broad smile spreads across his face as if a new, wondrous idea is slowly dawning on him.

  “Sometimes a girl has to do everything,” Kenzie laughs and shakes her head.

  “To Kenzie and Jahnu,” Eli declares.

  “Finally,” I add.

  With that, we dig in. Jahnu is the first one to go for the food—he’s always hungry—and the rest of us follow suit. Only Eli holds back, and after a few minutes, I notice he’s staring off into space with that same faraway, thoughtful look in his eyes, just like he was when we found him in the comm center. I’m starting to worry he’s descending into another bout of darkness. My protective instinct kicks in.

  “Eli? Not hungry?” I ask, through a mouthful of bread. “You okay?” Just like before, he starts, as if abruptly jerked away from a different world.

  “Yeah, starving,” he says, but he still doesn’t touch the food.

  “What’s up?” I demand.

  “Just thinking. Did any of you get a weird feeling from Vale’s speech today?”

  “Just reading between the lines here, but it sounds like he’s preparing to hunt us into oblivion. Is that what you’re talking about?” Soren asks sarcastically.

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. But why and why now? Think about it. We’re not a real threat. We’ve never killed a Sector citizen. We’ve never bombed a seed bank or blown anything up. So what’s the real motivation for the Seed Bank Protection Project?”