by K. Makansi
Firestone ducks beneath the belly of the ship, opening one of the panels and pressing a few buttons. In a minute, the siphon hoses are stretching out and down as Firestone guides them to the source.
Soren and I stand a little ways apart, on either side of the stream, watching each other as much as our surroundings. I imagine the emptiness of the woods around us is getting to me as I feel eyes watching me, and not just Soren’s. There’s a prickling sensation at the nape of my neck, and I try to focus on the trees and the sky above them, reminding myself that drones could set upon us at any minute.
And then I see them. My eyes meet another’s, round and child-like, the whites of them so stark against a small dirty, smudged face I can’t believe I didn’t see them before.
The child breaks eye contact with a flurry of movement, and dashes to my left, disappearing behind a bush.
“Who’s there?” Soren says, loudly. His gun is up and pointed at the shaking leaves.
“It’s a kid,” I say, putting my hand up to him, motioning to him to wait. I take a few slow steps towards the tree line. Soren doesn’t lower his weapon, but he doesn’t make any attempt to move, either.
“What’s going on?” Firestone demands from under the airship.
“Hello?” I call. “It’s okay, you can come out. We won’t hurt you.”
Nothing moves. I take a few more steps forward, my gun slung behind my back, hands out, palms up. I hear Soren behind me, his boots making little slurping noises as he wades across the stream. I glance back. His gun’s still up, though he looks more curious than threatening.
“Put your Bolt away, Soren.” He glares, obviously not keen on taking orders from me. I can see the momentary indecision as he tries to figure out whether to do as I’ve said or to continue waving a large weapon at a child. After a second, he lets the gun fall to his side, and he holds his hands out as I’ve done.
“Are you hurt?” I say to the underbrush. “Look, we’ve put our guns away. We won’t hurt you.”
Five heartbeats pound in my chest before an older man, maybe thirty, steps out from behind a tree, with a little girl, no more than five years old, clutched tightly in his arms. He’s at least as dirty as the girl, who must be his daughter, with bits of leaves in his hair and worn clothes that look like standard-issue Farm work wear. Back and forth, he regards Soren and me, muscles working along his clenched jaw. Another three heartbeats, and a woman stands up from where she was apparently lying behind a bush, her hair mussed and looking like it hasn’t had a good comb in a long, long time.
“Who are you?” the man demands.
Soren and I glance at each other, and for a second I think we’ll share our first real laugh together. We are two of the most recognizable faces in all of Okaria. But the creases of a smile disappear, and he turns back to the disheveled little group in front of us.
“You don’t know?” he asks them. It is possible that they wouldn’t know us, if they were Outsiders, or vagabonds, among the stragglers who have slipped through the Sector’s fingers and live in the empty spaces on the maps. But the man and the woman both have their high-calf Farm boots on, which makes me think they’re runaways.
Recognition dawns on the man, and his jaw drops slowly, as he stares back at the two of us, the son of the Chancellor and the son of a former Chancellor, standing together in the middle of the Wilds, both of us undoubtedly looking quite a bit different than the last time we appeared on Sector broadcasts.
“But—you, you’re … Evander said you … your father said—”
“Never mind what Evander or my father said. We can help you,” I say, as gently as I can. “Is that your daughter?”
The man nods at me, wordlessly, as the woman slowly creeps to his side. The little girl’s eyes have never left my own.
“You look like you need food and shelter and warmer clothes than what you’ve got. What are your names?”
He clutches his daughter and steps back. “Names? Why should we trust you? What are you doing out here?” His hands are shaking. “The Chancellor said you’ve been kidnapped and here you are with Bolts and an airship out in the Wilds. With him!” He points at Soren. “You could make us go back there for all we know.”
Soren and I find ourselves on the same side of the Sector lies and at a loss as to how to explain why we’re together out in the Wilds. Just then, the woman points and gasps, clutching at the man’s arm.
“The terrorist!” she says wildly. “That’s him! He kidnapped them!”
I turn, confused, following her finger back to the airship, where Miah has just dropped out of the hatch and is staring at us, utterly baffled. I almost laugh out loud, watching Miah’s bearded face scrunch up in confusion at the scene in front of him. Soren, of course, spares not a breath for decorum, and actually does start laughing. It doesn’t take long, though, before he takes a deep breath and turns back to the renegades in front of us, trying to explain.
“No, listen to me,” he implores, his hands wide, palms up. “The Sector wants you to think that Jeremiah Sayyid kidnapped us, kidnapped Vale. But Vale and I—” he looks at me with grudging acknowledgment “—came out here because we wanted to. We left the Sector willingly. Jeremiah is our friend. We don’t work for the Sector anymore, and, from the looks of it, you don’t either. We can help you. We can get you somewhere safe, with food and clean water and warm clothes.”
“You obviously know who we are,” I say. “Why don’t you tell us your names? Believe me, the last thing we’re going to do is turn you over to the same Sector forces hunting us.”
The woman rubs her temples as if her head hurts and wobbles a bit, and he wraps his free arm around her and pulls her to his side. She shakes her head, confused. “If you’re not kidnapped, if you left willingly, why are they saying those things and why are they hunting you?”
“It’s a long story—” I start.
“They want to find us, arrest us, and try us for treason,” Soren interrupts. “A group of individuals in the OAC and the government are controlling Sector citizens by manipulating the food supply. We aim to stop them and they’re none too happy about it.”
“The food supply?” They two glance at each other again and the woman says. “We haven’t eaten much since we left and I’d be glad for a MealPak. Especially for Violet. She strokes the little girl’s arm tenderly. “Our daughter is hungry. We’re all hungry.”
“Hello, Violet,” I say, wishing I had a treat in my pocket to give her and at the same time thinking, That’s stupid, Vale, she’s not a puppy. “My name is Vale, and we’ve got some food in the airship that we’d be happy to share with you.” I give the little girl my best ‘don’t be afraid of me’ smile. She is adorable, and even under all the dirt, her eyes are bright and inquisitive.
“I’m Elissa,” the woman says. “And this is my husband, Cal.”
“Husband and wife? And yet, you’re wearing Farm garb. Since when do they allow official marriages on the Farms?” Soren says.
“We done it ourselves,” Cal says. “Out here. Once we left.” He looked down at his wife.
“How long ago did you leave?” I ask.
“It’s been four days.”
“No wonder you’re hungry.” I smile. “Come on, we’ve got plenty to share.”
A half-hour later, we’re back up in the air and Violet is full and her shyness has disappeared. She’s giggling, and she and Jahnu are competing to see who can make the silliest faces. Aside from watching Jahnu with complete adoration, Kenzie’s been laughing so hard she actually got the hiccups. Once this mess is all over, if it ever ends, I can imagine them with a house full of kids.
Firestone’s at the controls while Miah sits with Eli, Soren, and me as we share slices of bread and jam, prosciutto, and handfuls of freeze-dried berries and talk with Cal and Elissa.
“What are they saying at the Farms?” Miah asks, unsurprisingly eager to hear what new and terrible things the Sector is saying about him.
Cal glances
at Soren and me, then turns to Miah. “All the broadcasts say you and your papa been the ones responsible for capturing all them people the last few years. That you helped the Outsiders with the massacre on the SRI il y a trois annees.” Three years ago, I translate. Now I am grateful to my parents for insisting I take Old French when I was at the Academy.
Grateful to my parents? I shake my head, torn, as I always am, by alternating feelings of love and loathing.
“Has anything changed, security-wise? Have they increased drone surveillance or the number of guards?” Soren asks.
“Gotten a bit more relaxed, if anything,” Elissa says, her watchful eyes on her daughter. “Fewer drones, these days. Some of the guards have even been transferred from our Farm.”
Eli raises his eyes in surprise. “Really? Do you have any idea why?”
“I was sort of friendly with one of the Enforcers,” Cal says. “He left a few weeks ago. Said he was going into training to be with the SDF—Sector Defense Forces. Said it was a big type of promotion that a lot of the Enforcers were taking. More pay and privileges.”
Fewer drones, these days. Guards transferring into the SDF. It doesn’t take much to put two and two together.
“They’re diverting their resources,” I respond. “I’m just guessing here, but I’m sure they’ve figured, based on the Resistance’s past tactics, that the Farms aren’t a focus point, that there’s unlikely to be a threat there. And I’d be willing to bet they’re diverting the drones from perimeter security at the Farms and the towns and spreading them out through the Wilds, trying to find bases like Waterloo.”
“Makes sense,” Miah said. “Remember what Philip said in his broadcast?”
Kenzie looks up mid-hiccup. “We weren’t there, remember? We never heard the full replay.”
Miah shrugs. “He said, ‘We are hot on the terrorists heels. We will track them down and hold them accountable for their crimes.’ Sounds like Vale’s guess isn’t far off.”
“If they’re able to do what they did at Waterloo with even one or two more bases,” Soren says, “they’ll cut our numbers severely.”
“We probably never were more than a thousand all told,” Eli says.
“On the other hand,” I say, smiling a little, “if security at the Farms is lighter, Remy and Bear might have a shot at—”
“At what?” Soren snaps. “We’re not going out to help Remy and Bear on a fool’s errand. We’re bringing them back so we can get on with the Director’s plan. Don’t think for a second about going along with this ridiculous scheme of hers.”
Well, our brief moment of friendship was certainly short-lived. But, I remind myself, we don’t really know what Remy’s up to. She’s not stupid. We ought to at least give her a chance.
Eli sits up straighter, focusing on Cal and Elissa.
“Why did you leave?”
“They was gonna take Violet,” Cal says, shaking his head as if still trying to wrap his mind around the idea. “Elissa and I, we want to be together—and we love our Violet. We named her ourselves.” He watches the little girl with so much tenderness, it almost hurts to watch. “When Elissa got pregnant, we were so happy. We petitioned to live in the same unit and everything, and they let us. We were good workers, never caused no one any trouble.”
“Then Violet came along. She was a wonder,” Elissa says, watching the little girl, now tracing lines on Jahnu’s palms with Kenzie looking on. “We couldn’t stop looking at her. There’s lots of folks on the Farms don’t feel the bond with their babies. Not us.”
“And she is smart. See it in every move. Just a month ago, some official from one of the quadrant schools came and said her tests were so good they wanted to take her away to a special school,” Cal says, continuing the story. “We didn’t want her to go, or else we wanted to go with her. So we both applied to transfer to Windy Pines, where her school was.”
“Cal’s transfer was approved right away, I guess ‘cause he’s such a good worker, but mine got rejected,” Elissa says. “They said I wasn’t qualified to do the kind of work available. So I had to stay at the Farm.”
Cal takes Elissa’s hand. “We told them we didn’t want to go if we couldn’t all go, but they said they were gonna take Violet anyway. That we had no choice. That it was the best for the whole Sector and that maybe some day she’d even go to the Academy in the capital. Well, we weren’t about to let our little girl go, so we decided to leave.”
“So you just up and walked out?” Kenzie asks.
“What else was we to do?” Elissa says. “There wasn’t no other choice.”
“At first it was hard, cause we were all a bit sick after we left, although we’re feeling much better now. Just worn out, tired, is all. Hard to even get the energy to find something to eat.”
“Besides that,” Elissa rubs her temples again, “my head’s been all muddled, like I can’t quite think straight.”
“It’s the withdrawals,” Miah says. “I had a bad case. I got sick and just kept getting sicker. Hoo boy.Not fun.”
“Withdrawals? What does this mean?” Cal asks.
Eli expression is dark, his moods as unpredictable as the weather, and all too often just as dangerous. “When you stop eating your MealPaks, your body reacts to the absence of all the chemicals that had been flooding your system with every poisoned bite you ate.”
“Poisoned?” Elissa whispers. “Surely, not poison! No one would do that. No one could do that … could they?”
“It’s hard to explain, but it has to do with how the Sector was controlling your behavior by manipulating your diet. Now you need plenty of rest and some real food. There’s a Resistance outpost not too far out of our way. We’ll radio them, set down nearby, and they’ll send someone out to meet you.”
“Will they let us stay together?” Cal asks.
“No one in the Resistance would ever separate a child from his parents,” Eli growls.
His. He’s not talking about Violet. He’s thinking about his own parents, how they disappeared after the hearings into the SRI massacre, remembering how he felt losing his mother and father so soon after the death of the girl he’d fallen in love with. It’s no wonder he’s so close to the Alexander’s and so protective of Remy. No doubt hisparents’ disappearance was directed on my parents’ orders. I feel like I need to shower, scrub my skin raw to remove the stain of being an Orleán.
“And they’ll help us there? Help keep Violet safe?” Cal persisted.
Jahnu, usually so quiet it seems Kenzie does most of the talking for the both of them, speaks up. “As safe as possible.”
“Is that where you are going? To this base?” Elissa asks.
“No,” Eli’s face is stony when he responds. “We’re going to the Farms.”
Seven hours later we’re headed north to Farm 10. After dropping Cal, Elissa and little Violet off as close as we dared to the nearest Resistance outpost and delivering an encrypted message both to the base and back to Normandy about getting the family the help they need, we headed back out to scout.
Although we were able to get a good look at the area around Farm 12, we couldn’t get close to 11. So much for lax security. Clearly not all the Farms are diverting personnel to the effort against the Resistance. Farm 11 was crawling with OAC and Farm security personnel and equipment. Eli’s advance-warning wristband went from blinking blue to just staying on all the time, so even though we’re traveling with a drone blocker and the airship has good cloaking technology, we were afraid to get too close.
Getting a look at the beefed up perimeter—even from a distance—reminded me of the brief exchange between Aulion and my parents just after my graduation ceremony, the day Miah and I graduated from the Sector Research Institute. I remember my mother mentioning the “troubling situation” at the Farms, but she didn’t say which one because I didn’t have an official security clearance yet. And at the time, I was much more interested in partying than anything else. After I took my position as head of the See
d Bank Protection Project, my concern was with the security at our installations. I had little knowledge of what went on at the Farms—that was Evander Sun-Zi’s area.
As the Director of Agricultural Farm Production, and my father’s right-hand-man, Evander has one of the most powerful positions in the Okarian Sector. He oversees the Farms, ensures that the latest research coming out of OAC labs is implemented in the food production chain, and, most importantly, manages the Dieticians. Since the seed banks store and, in a few cases, actually produce the seeds using printers like the ones Eli wants to steal, they should fall under Evander’s purview as well. But when my father set up the Seed Bank Protection Project, he placed it under the military, so I reported to General Aulion instead of Evander. I don’t know who is worse, though. Aulion may be a snake, but Evander’s nickname is “The Dragon.” I never knew for sure where he got the moniker, but it sounds ominous enough.
What is clear from reconnoitering around Farms 12 and 11 is that something’s going on that has the Sector worried. Jahnu’s take on the situation is intriguing, though.
“What if Brinn and Gabriel’s work around the Farms was really beginning to have an effect? We know they worked primarily around Farms 9, 11, and 12, those on the Sector’s southernmost flank. What if people are being punished for asking questions? Or for taking action? Like Bear’s friend, Sam?”
“It’s certainly something to consider,” Eli adds. “And it’s possible that the little food Brinn and Gabriel did give them made a difference.”
“It could be that changing a person’s diet just slightly makes you less susceptible to the Dietician’s influence,” Kenzie says.
“We need to talk to Rhinehouse and the Director. All of us just went cold turkey, and we all had various levels of withdrawal symptoms. I walked around in a fog for a month.”
“And look at Miah,” Soren says. “He had a bad case of withdrawal symptoms.”
