by K. Makansi
“Wait,” I say. “Why don’t we just cut the main power supply and get out of here?”
“Won’t they notice that? If we steal the harvester films, it will take them longer to discover the cause of the outage.”
“Won’t take them that much longer.” We head over to where the solar arrays tie into the main power line, and I stop and look out over the farm. “You know what?”
“What?” she says.
“I like your idea better. Besides, the Resistance can probably find a good use for the harvesters.”
Her face lights up. “Let’s get to work.”
She cuts off to the right, following the conduits of power cords, encased in bioplastic for protection from the elements, while I walk straight ahead to the solar arrays.
At the first solar cell, I stop and drop my pack, digging out a small screwdriver and a pair of tweezers. I pry off the clear, protective layer of plastic, and then start to unscrew the photovoltaic panel from the rest of the array. The tricky part is getting the voltaic fibers to pull apart from the metal that supports them and conducts the electricity to the main system. Using the tweezers and the screwdriver in conjunction, I try to wedge the screwdriver in between the fiber panel and the metal supports.
After a few seconds, I’ve got it, and I use my fingers to pry the rest of the panel off the support. These are wafer-thin sheets of fibers, a combination of plant material and rare earth metals salvaged from the vast, decrepit solar arrays of the Old World, refashioned into much more efficient solar harvesters. They’re thin but sturdy, so thin I can roll this one up into a tight little scroll and stuff it in my pack.
Working quickly, I move from cell to cell, first removing the plastic cover, and then peeling off the voltaic fiber panel, rolling it up, and jamming it in my bag. By the time Remy rejoins me, I’m halfway through the panels.
“They are all fairly new,” I respond. “Probably deployed within the last year. My dad said these new ones have a ninety-percent conversion and retention rate. It’s the thermotunnelling that makes them so efficient.”
She lets out a breath, long and low. “Wow,” she says. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
As much as I’d love to explain the physics, there’s no time. Instead, I show her how to disassemble the units, and soon she’s deftly peeling the fiber panels away at my side. Working in tandem, we’re able to finish the second half of the harvesters in about a half-hour.
“Okay,” Remy says, looking at our packed bags. “Let’s get out of here. It’s going to be a lot harder on the way out, carrying all this stuff with us.”
I nod, sling my pack over my shoulders, and follow her as we walk through the now-destroyed solar array and back towards the air duct system she climbed to get up here. Remy goes first, climbing back down the pipes and fans, and I follow. We can’t risk the rope, as we’ll have no way to untie it, and leaving it would be pretty clear evidence.
“I want them to think that maybe, just maybe, someone on the inside did this,” she says, as she goes over the edge. “After all, they don’t know we’re here. They’ll first suspect the Farm workers, but why would they do something like this? Their next step will be to turn inwards, to go after anyone who has access to this building. The longer we can keep them guessing, the better.”
By the time I hit the ground, I’m giddy with adrenaline and a sense of rebellious accomplishment. Remy’s enthusiasm is contagious. Together we’ve done something that will make a difference. That will set the ball of rebellion rolling. When the Farm Enforcers and Dieticians find out that the MealPak formulas have been tampered with and the solar harvesters have been removed, they’ll pull the plug on the Farm worker’s food supply until reinforcements arrive. When that happens, the workers will either go hungry or come to us.
We creep along the edges of the buildings, keeping to the shadows until we’re far enough from the buildings to pick up the pace. Then we jog toward the perimeter through the stillness, the peaceful beauty of the landscape shrouded in darkness. We go up and over the fence with a little more difficulty than the first time, now that our packs are full of fiber panels.
On the other side, Remy pauses for breath, panting a little from the exertion of hauling herself over the fence.
“I’d love to see their faces in the morning,” she says, almost gleefully, with a light in her eyes that speaks of both danger and promise. “The fire has been lit, Vale. Now, we just have to carry the torch.”
18 - REMY
Spring 9, Sector Annum 106, 02h03
Gregorian Calendar: March 28
I half expect Eli or Soren to be pacing out in front of the cave, waiting for our return, but the area is eerily quiet. Just in case, someone is awake inside, though, I pull up short before we go in. I put my hand on Vale’s arm and he stops, turns toward me. We didn’t say a word as we jogged back in the dark, watching our footing, and trying to get as far away from the Farm as quickly as possible before the early birds get up and start the work day. It’s nearly four in the morning, and now, it seems like there’s too much to say. What we’ve done … it’s just beginning to sink in. Sabotaging the formulas in the Dieticians lab was one thing, but this … this is a whole order of magnitude more dangerous.
“Any regrets? Second thoughts?” I whisper.
“We’ll get read the riot act as soon as the others find out, but no. No regrets.”
“This is just the beginning. We’ve started the revolution. I don’t want anyone else to die, Vale, but it has to stop. It….”
“I know,” he says. “And you didn’t start it, Remy. They did. My parents. Aulion. Everyone on the Board, in the Assembly, at the OAC. Everyone who knew and looked the other way … Now we have to finish it.”
“Thanks,” I say, my voice, barely a whisper. “For … for going along with my crazy idea. If it’d been Soren, he would have—”
“You should know,” he says, interrupting, his voice low, sonorous. “I would do—” He stops, clears his throat, and then continues, “I’m glad I was there.”
I turn away, unsure what to say in response, but grateful for that little moment—whatever it was. I can’t stop myself, though, from wondering how he was going to finish that sentence: I would do … what?
Just inside the cave, we find Eli still sitting up, head lolling forward, eyes closed. Some guard.
“Eli!” I whisper. He jerks awake.
“Remy,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “How’d it go? What’d you find? Soren finally fell asleep. Bear was up half the night, too.”
Vale sits and drops his pack, as I settle in next to Eli. I put my pack full of rolled-up solar fibers in front of him and gesture for him to look inside.
“We brought presents.”
He opens the pack and peers in. “What are these?”
“You don’t recognize them?” I ask, teasing.
“Wait….” he pulls one of the rolled up panels out. “What the…?”
“Solar harvesters,” I say. “The fiber panels.”
Eli’s mouth drops open. He unrolls the panel and presses his fingers to it, awed.
“Where the hell did you get this?” He rummages through the bag. “And how many are in here?”
“Vale’s got a pack full, too.”
“What did you two … I’ve got a bad feeling.” Eli knits his brow and studies both of us. “Something tells me I should never allow you two to go off alone again.” He points his finger at me. “Spill it. What the hell did you do?”
“It’s a protein lab,” I say. “Giant vats full of meat being grown in petri, industrial scale. Just like they used to do in the Old world, until all the bacterial outbreaks shut the labs down.”
“Gods,” Eli says, staring at me, then Vale, then back at me. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“Serious as the grave.”
“So … the harvesters are from the lab?”
“We destroyed their power supply. Took all the solar harvesters off the roo
f. They’ll have a hell of a time repairing that job, and hopefully it’ll take them a while to figure out that the films from the solar panels are gone.”
“It’ll take at least a week to get that many new harvester panels to Round Barn and installed,” Vale adds. “In the meantime, the meat will go bad and what will the Dieticians feed the workers and Farm staff? They won’t have anything—or not enough—and we can smuggle our supplies in.”
“But … there’s still livestock on the farm. They can slaughter them, surely, use them as substitutes in the MealPaks.”
Vale shrugs. “It strikes me that the reason they’re growing the meat instead of slaughtering it, is because they can manipulate it chemically as it’s grown in the lab more effectively than by inoculating live animals. So even if they can use the livestock as a temporary substitute, the meat won’t have the same chemical profiles, and since Remy and Bear substituted sugar water for the individualized MealPak additives, if they inject the meat as the Paks are being prepared, it still won’t matter. Sugary steak. Yum. Could be good, but it certainly won’t be as powerful chemically no matter what they’re feeding or shooting up the livestock with.”
“Plus,” I add, “They’d have to slaughter quite a few of the animals on hand to supply the MealPaks they need to produce for all the workers and the staff in the next week. That would be a major operation in and of itself.”
“So the Resistance airship is supposed to show up late tomorrow,” Eli says, “and just when the supply of MealPaks dries up, we’ll be ready to step in and hand out real food, good food. I’m sure Soren and the Director will think what you did at the protein lab is premature—okay, more like full-blown idiotic—but I get it. You were there, you saw the opportunity, you couldn’t pass it up. I’d have done the same thing. Now the show’s on. No turning back.”
“Huh,” I say with a laugh, more to myself than to anyone else. Miah, Soren, and Vale, their eyes scanning the horizon, turn to look at me.
“What?” Soren says.
“Nothing….” I shrug.
I squint into the last vestiges of the blazing sunset as they turn their heads skyward again. The four of us have hiked from the cave to a clearing near where the commandeered Normandy ship is parked waiting for the Resistance airship bearing reinforcements and food.
“It’s just funny,” I say.
They all look at me again. “What’s funny?” Miah says, his voice is tight. Ezekiel Sayyid, Miah’s dad, is leading the incoming team, and Vale told me on the hike over that Miah hadn’t had a great relationship with his dad since his parents split. He’d been at the Academy when he got the news, and his dad basically disappeared. He hasn’t seen him since.
“Look at us,” I continue. “We’re all standing here watching the sky even though we know perfectly well we won’t see the airship with the cloaking on. We’ll only know it’s here when it signals us or when we feel the air displacement. And yet, we’re all craning our necks expectantly, peering into the blue as if we can make the ship suddenly appear if we just stare hard enough. It’s giving me a headache, frankly.”
“A rare display of logic from the woman who makes a habit of breaking into laboratories and wreaking havoc in her wake.” Soren shakes his head and looks back up into the blue. Seems like with each day in the field, our relationship slowly devolves back to what it was before, back before the ill-fated raid, before we were captured, before our escape, before the incident on the boat. Before Vale showed up. After all we’ve been through together … I don’t quite know how to feel about it, but I do know it makes me sad.
When Eli decided Miah and I should greet the new team and lead them back to camp—Miah because of his dad and me because I could brief them about what we’ve accomplished so far—Miah immediately asked Soren and Vale to come along. He’s obviously a bit bugged out about seeing his dad after all these years, and I guess he wants his two bests friends with him for moral support. Soren and Vale glanced at each other with something like grudging acceptance and, of course, agreed at once. If sometimes I feel like I’m yet another chasm separating the two of them, Miah is definitely the bridge connecting them.
We resume the wait and after awhile, a chilling wind whips my hair into a swirl of curls. I tuck a few tendrils behind my ears and look up. As the airship descends below the tree line and settles in to land, the pilot deactivates the cloaking, and the vessel comes into view—a rusty, clanky old thing, typical of Resistance equipment, so old the tripods give off a high-pitched squeal as they emerge from the hull. It’s bigger than the “requisitioned” Normandy ship, closer to a transport class, but still nothing like the size of some of the Sector’s airships.
“What a piece of junk,” Miah says. I glance over at him. He’s drumming his fingers against his arm. Nerves.
“Not like he had a choice,” Soren reminds him.
“Do you know when his dad joined the Resistance?” I lean toward Vale, my voice low enough that only he can hear. “I’ve never met him.”
“I’m not sure. But I do know they hadn’t seen each other in years.”
“Pretty impressive. Ezekiel commanding a team already. The Director must like him.”
“Could have at least fixed up those tripods,” Miah huffs, gesturing at the ship. “Never seen landing pads so off-balance.”
Maybe they’re sinking into soft ground. Either way, the whole thing tilts ominously. The loading bay creaks opens, revealing the shadowed interior from which a woman in dark green emerges. She looks to be a few years older than me, probably around Eli’s age, and she’s got a Bolt slung over her shoulder. Good, I think. I’m glad they’re prepared for battle. She strides toward us, a bit of an easy swagger to her walk and a broad smile on face. She’s got close-cropped blond hair and deep-set, intense eyes.
“Hey,” she says, her voice deeper than I expected. “You must be Jeremiah.”
“How’d you know?” Miah says, his eyes narrowing.
“Because you’re the spitting image of your father, that’s how,” she says. “He talks about you all the time, you know. In fact, I’m kinda tired of hearing about how great you are,” she says, a teasing twinkle in her eyes. “I’m Reika, by the way.” She offers a hand to each of us, but stops at Vale and peers closely at him.
Vale shifts his weight, uncomfortable with her close examination. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”
“Valerian Orleán, of course,” She’s almost as tall as he is. “Never thought I’d have the privilege of meeting an Orleán up close and personal. Well, it’s truly an honor.” The sarcasm in her voice escapes no one, especially not Soren, whose smug smile makes me want to take him by the shirt collar and shout, You were the goddamn chancellor’s son, too! Soren is apparently incapable of seeing how similar he and Vale really are, how easily their positions could have been switched, if it weren’t for the scandal, the virus, that knocked Cara out of office. And Vale’s parents’ giving them a little political push out the door.
A few more people disembark, unloading their packs and stretching. And then, finally, that must be Ezekiel Sayyid—he’s got hair almost as black as Vale’s except peppered with flecks of grey, and Miah’s gentle eyes and handsome swarthy face. He’s a little slimmer, but every bit as tall, and he strides over to us with an air of command tempered by kindness. Miah stiffens, and Vale and Soren both inch closer to their friend. Both protective. Another thing they have in common.
“Jeremiah,” Ezekiel says, reaching out to clasp his son’s hand and clapping his other hand on Miah’s shoulder. His jaw clenches and his eyes shine with emotion. He starts to speak and then stops. For a moment, he just stands there looking at his son. “You have no idea how much it means to me to see you here.” His voice is tight and his accent is thick with the long vowels and slightly off-beat emphasis most Farm workers and people from the factory towns have. Firestone’s accent is similar, though much more relaxed. Maybe it’s the age difference, but Ezekiel speaks more formally than Firestone does.
<
br /> Miah hesitates, then takes his father’s hand. “Been a while.”
But Ezekiel isn’t put off by his son’s reticence. He pulls Miah into a hug, holds him close for a long while and whispers into his son’s ear until Miah’s expression softens, and he returns the embrace. Soren turns away, and the hint of a melancholy smile crosses Vale’s lips. Both have essentially lost their fathers, and I wonder whether either one overheard the exchange. When Ezekiel pulls away, there’s a sort of understanding—not forgiveness or acceptance, necessarily—but full acknowledgement in Miah’s eyes.
“You three need no introductions, but I guess I do. Zeke Sayyid,” he says, extending his hand to Vale, Soren, and me in turn. “True friends,” he nods as if satisfied we’ve passed inspection. “That’s what matters.” He claps his hands and the tender moment is gone.
“What say we get to work?” He turns to Reika, who has been watching the exchange between father and son. “Let’s unload this ugly beast.”
Working in pairs, we carry the supplies to the cave. I join up with a short, wiry man named Dale, while Soren and Miah are paired up, and Vale and Reika are just behind them. As we’re about to head up the last big hill with the last of the crates, I catch sight of Eli running towards us. As he sprints, my heart rate spikes. What the hell? He stops just short of us, panting, hands on his knees.
“We’ve got company,” he says between breaths. “Kenzie’s on lookout. She spotted an OAC airship … a dragon emblazoned on the side … not even five minutes ago.”
Then the strangest thing happens. Soren and Vale meet each other’s eyes, and for perhaps the first time ever, they have the same thought at the same time.
“Evander Sun-Zi,” they say, in unison. “The Dragon.”
“What the hell’s Evander doing here?” I ask. “Does he show up every time there’s a power outage?”
“They must have already discovered that the problem with the power at the protein lab was no regular outage,” Eli says, digging his hand into his side like he’s got a cramp, still breathing heavily.
