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

by K. Makansi

  “Have you seen him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he safe? Was he hurt?”

  “He was not hurt, but he is not safe. None of us are safe.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “You know that as well as I do.”

  “Did you have anything to do with Linnea’s broadcast just now?” His eyes narrow and his forehead creases. “Of course. You didn’t see it. You were on your way here.” He shakes his head mutely, waiting for me to explain.

  “You probably already know that Linnea Heilmann was sent into the Wilds to find Eli. Elijah Tawfiq.” By the way he’s squinting at me, I’m guessing he doesn’t know the whole story, so I elaborate. “Corine gave her a virus—targeted nanotech—that would corrupt the way Eli saw me, would make him want to kill me. It worked. That’s why I came here, to the capital. Linnea came with us. But after Vale was captured, she must have returned to the Resistance. And just now, she somehow managed to hack the Sector’s broadcast feed and disrupt the daily push. Instead of Jon Spironov, it was Linnea, telling people not to eat their MealPaks, not to believe what Philip and Corine say. Telling them what really happened at the SRI. Why she really left.”

  Bunqu leans back, stretching an arm across the back of the chair, a pose so relaxed it almost calms me, too. He breaks eye contact with me for the first time all night, staring off into the corner of the room.

  “Linnea Heilmann,” he says, his white teeth showing in a glint of a smile. “I never would have thought.” He turns back to me a moment later. “Linnea was well-liked before she left. Maybe the people will listen.”

  “Maybe they’ll think she’s crazy.”

  “One person can be crazy. Two people can be crazy together. But a thousand people who think and believe the same crazy thing can begin to convince people that maybe they’re not crazy. Maybe they’re right.”

  I watch him for a long time, and he holds my gaze. I wonder who would win in a staring contest between him and Chan-Yu. Until tonight, my money would have unquestionably been on Chan-Yu, but now, I might have to bet on Bunqu. Maybe that’s why they got along.

  “When I asked why you came here,” I say, breaking the long silence, “you said you could help me.”

  “Yes. I know what you want more than anything. Why you are here in Okaria. You are waiting for Vale. If you were not, you would have gone back to the Resistance already, back to safety. I can give you what you want. I can help Vale escape.”

  A seed of hope blossoms.

  “How?” I ask, my voice quavering.

  “The Orleáns trust me, and apparently Vale has, in the past, spoken highly of me. They have asked me talk to him in the hope I might sway him back to the side of the Sector. I asked them if I could meet with him alone in order to ensure his confidence in me, and they agreed. Vale’s room is monitored—I myself placed the cameras—but I can give him the power to set himself free.” What is he talking about? He leans forward, his hands held out to me in a gesture of cooperation. “I can give him back his C-Link.”

  Demeter! Of course. Stripping Vale of his C-Link would have been the first thing Philip and Corine did. With Demeter back—assuming they haven’t figured out how to shut down her AI entirely—Vale should be able to make plans for his escape.

  “That changes everything!” I lean forward. “General Bunqu—” I start, but he cuts me off with a small laugh.

  “Please,” he says, standing up to leave, “call me Kofir, or Onion. I do not enjoy being reminded of my position in the Sector when I am with friends.”

  “Kofir,” I begin again, “thank you. When you first came here, I didn’t know if I could trust you. I still don’t know. But Meera does, and Vale, and if what you say is true, Chan-Yu as well. If you have their trust, you have mine.”

  He nods. “That is enough for me.”

  “For now,” I say. “We have a long way to go before our work is done.”

  “Yes,” Bunqu agrees. “It is enough for now.” He gestures toward the weapons on the counter. I hand them over. “I am glad to hear it, Remy. We are on the same side and I will do everything in my power to help Vale.”

  “When will we talk again?”

  He slips the Bolts and his knife back inside his coat and pulls up his hood. “I will send you a leaf.” He bows slightly, his formal mannerisms a throwback to generations past. “Be careful.”

  “You too,” I say, but he is already out the door.

  6 - VALE

  Spring 68, Sector Annum 106, 9h57

  Gregorian Calendar: May 26

  A tap at the door jolts me from my thoughts.

  “Come in.”

  The servant enters, carrying a teapot and two teacups on a platter, which she sets on the dresser. Why are there two?

  “How did you like the books?” she asks in a dull voice. Only the slight upwards inflection indicates that she expects a response. It occurs to me that she looks familiar, somehow, but in the way that some people have the kind of face you see everywhere. Who is she? I can’t quell my curiosity though her expression remains unchanged.

  “I enjoyed them very much,” I respond. I’m sure the tension is evident in my voice. “Thank you for bringing them.”

  “I have another for you,” she says. “But you’re only allowed to have a few at a time. Would you like to give me one of your old ones?”

  She looks up. Her eyes meet mine. She doesn’t blink. I open my mouth to speak, but I have a feeling she wants something more than a simple exchange of books. I nod. I’d hoped for this moment more than anything else in the last twenty-four hours. I hand her the copy of Les Misérables.

  “I’ve finished this one,” I say. “The ending is particularly meaningful, I think.”

  With a scrap of metal I’d managed to peel off the underside of my dresser when my lights were out the previous night, I’d used Morse code to scratch out a return message to Remy at the end of the book. You have renewed my hope. Stay safe. Love always. Another unforeseen benefit to the modifications my mother gave me: better memory, enhanced night vision. I used them both to my advantage, pressing marks into the pages by the light of the crescent moon slithering through my window.

  The woman nods. At an angle her face looks even more familiar, but I still can’t place her, and I wonder if I’m making things up. She takes the book and turns away, pulling another much smaller book from the pocket of her staff uniform. She leaves it on the dresser and steps back outside.

  I stare at the open door for a half-second, surprised at this glaring oversight. But then General Kofir Bunqu crosses the threshold. I freeze, shocked into stillness. I stare at him while he shuts the door behind him and turns to the dresser. He lifts the teapot and begins to pour aromatic tea that reminds me of mild tobacco smoke. He picks up a cup and offers it to me. I take it, unable to muster even a simple thanks. With an air of satisfaction he sits and leans back in the chair and takes a loud sip. A small smile reveals itself in the crinkle and glow of his eyes.

  “You may sit, Vale.”

  I don’t move.

  “The chancellor and the Director know I’m here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “Are we being recorded?”

  He sips. “Yes.”

  “Why are you here?” I sit on the edge of the bed.

  “The Sector needs strong leaders, Valerian. Leaders with vision. But as you know well, sometimes being a leader means doing things you wish you didn’t have to do.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “Your parents believe I can be a good influence on you, that I might help you to understand that the Sector needs you to do what is right.”

  “How?”

  He ignores the question and surveys the room. “Your parents hope we will meet frequently, that I can help you understand what is at stake, what role you need to play. They don’t want to keep you here like a prisoner. I agree with them. I don’t believe you can be of service to the Sector if you are locked away in your bedroom. It is time for you to accep
t the situation and do what you have to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “You will be asked to accompany your father on a tour of the factory towns. He needs you by his side, to reassure citizens, to speak out.” As he takes another sip of tea, his eyes light on the stack of books beside me. “I see they’ve allowed you some reading materials.”

  I glance at the books and then back at him.

  “Your father has an impressive library. I’ve always admired that about him. His love of reading, and his belief that one can be inspired to greatness by the written word. Did you inherit that from him? Have you gleaned anything from the books you’ve read?”

  What the hell? Does he know about Remy’s message? My heart thuds so loud I wonder if the recorders can pick up the sound. I struggle to keep my face impassive. “My father and I have always shared a love of books. I’ve found that even old books can reveal new layers upon second readings.”

  “Indeed they can. I have favorites I always return to. They comfort me, like a treasured friend.”

  “Treasured friends are few and far between these days, General Bunqu.”

  “On the contrary, you have friends all around you. You must simply open your eyes. We in the Sector believe in you.”

  Everything he says sounds like it could have dual but opposing meanings.

  “What would my parents have me learn from our visit?”

  “That our roots are entwined, and there is hope in the harvest.”

  “Very poetic. But is it false hope?” I ask, my heart pounding in my throat. Those sound like Outsider words! Is he saying what I think he’s saying? I stare at him, trying to understand, trying to glean some deeper meaning from his intense gaze.

  “The future of the Sector is at stake, Vale. You must play your part.”

  The future of the Sector? Play your part? What game is he playing?

  He appraises me over the rim of his cup. “Drink your tea. It’s very healthy. A personal favorite of mine. Helps with my insomnia. You don’t want it to get cold.”

  “I don’t want my—” I start to set the cup aside, but there’s something in the narrowing of his eyes that makes me stop.

  He blows gently into his cup and takes another sip. This time I follow suit. As I drink, I notice the distinctive earthy, vanilla flavors. I’ve had this before. It hits me with a jolt: we drank it at the Resistance base. Rooibus. They don’t grow rooibos in Okaria. It’s only found in the Wilds.

  He smiles once again and stands to leave. “I know this is a short visit, but rest assured we will talk again.” He reaches out and clasps my shoulder. “The road ahead will not be easy. But we must all remember that the Sector is bigger than any single man or woman. And there are only two mistakes one can make on the road to truth.”

  “Not starting, and not going all the way,” I whisper. The words Demeter spoke to me when she convinced me to break into my mother’s research lab, where I learned that it was Corine who ordered the attack on the classroom that claimed the lives of eight students and a professor.

  Bunqu’s talked to Demeter! But how?

  He glances toward my cup with an almost imperceptible nod. “I trust you will find the answers within.” Bunqu walks to the door and whispers, “May the flowers bloom tomorrow, too.”

  I let out my breath slowly. Quoting Gabriel Alexander’s poetry? Referencing Demeter’s words to me from almost a year ago? Hinting about messages hidden in books? Yet encouraging me to obey my parents’ demands. Showing admiration for my father. Agreeing with their wishes. The pieces shift around in my mind. The book given to me by the housekeeper with a message from Remy. The door left open—she knew Bunqu was coming. And yet, my parents sent him, asked him to visit. So whose side is he on? Is it possible that he is a friend to the Outsiders—or even a Resistance spy?

  Find the answers within.

  I sit on the bed and lean up against the headboard, trying to think. Staring at the door he just locked behind him, I absently sip my tea. How has he communicated with Demeter? How did he know to say those words?

  I lean my head back to finish my tea and something tickles as it brushes against my lip. I look into the cup, noticing for the first time a thin sheaf of what looks to be clear bioplastic floating at the bottom amidst the tea leaves. I tip my cup this way and that, reluctant to reach in and pick up whatever it is. Stunned, I realize it’s shaped exactly like a C-Link, molded to fit the inside of an ear. The only difference between this one and my old one is that it is clear, nearly invisible, where the old one was made out of flesh-colored organic fibers.

  I try to act natural. I can’t risk acknowledging I’ve discovered anything unusual. I set the cup on my bedside table and knead my temples as if trying to rub away a headache, hoping against hope that my acting skills are convincing. I close the curtains on the mid-morning sun, turn out the lights, and pull back the covers. In the dark, I slide into bed, pretending to take a nap. I take one last drink of tea, sucking the bioplastic into my mouth. Once under the covers, I take it out and wipe it quickly against the dry fabric of my T-shirt. My heart pounds as I press it into my ear.

  “Demeter?” I whisper.

  No response.

  “Demeter, are you there?”

  Silence. I grit my teeth. Am I going crazy? What am I doing talking to myself under the covers like a little kid with an imaginary friend?

  “Dammit,” I mutter, seething with frustration. I rack my brain for a clue—something that would unlock the C-Link. It occurs to me that Demeter might not be on the other end. It could be an entirely new C-Link. What if they destroyed Demeter? Erased her forever? I turn cold at the thought.

  Then I remember Bunqu’s last words. The only thing he said that was out of place, unnecessary. Every other word was perfectly coordinated, designed to lead me to something, somewhere. What if that whole conversation led to his last words? The line from Gabriel’s poem? What if they weren’t just pretty words, but some sort of …

  In a hushed voice, like a prayerful penitent from the Old World, I whisper the line from Gabriel Alexander’s poem, “And may the flowers bloom tomorrow, too.”

  “You found the truth within the cup. Now, don’t say another word.”

  Demeter! Relief like rain washes over me at the sound of her voice.

  “There are two things you need to know right now. Remy is in Okaria with the Outsiders. And the Resistance is alive and well.”

  But how? I want to ask. I snuggle down under the covers, pretending to sleep.

  “The night of your fall, Corine’s C-Link altered the entire network to restrict my access to the database. Neither Corine nor her C-Link have the capability to completely erase my existence, but they tried to divert attention by fabricating and reorganizing information within the network. The areas I could still access had been planted with false data, doctored drone pictures, false reports, audio files that had been invented. All the evidence was designed to make it seem as though the Resistance had been obliterated. But I’ve long suspected the day might come when the other C-Links would attempt to push me out. I had already taken precautions and was able to work around her restrictions to keep searching for the truth. Soon I found holes in the story: missing people, Defense Forces units that didn’t exist, death reports that were inaccurate and incorrectly dated. I was also able to use a cache of data that I had downloaded and stored offline for future perusal. As I continually probed the network for the information I needed, I worked on severing my official connection to the other C-Links and, therefore, my dependency on the Okarian Sector Interweb that the C-Links use. I was able to do this by creating my own secure network and downloading my personality onto an external drive.

  “During this process I found General Bunqu. We communicated on his plasma until he found a programmer and a materials scientist who were able to work together to rebuild your C-Link.”

  I hear the twinkle of her laughter, self-congratulatory, as she continues: “It was Bunqu’s idea to drop the biopla
stic in the teacup. But it was my idea to use an access phrase. Anyway, I’ve altered my programming, and the programming of the entire C-Link system, to ensure my access to the network will never be restricted by another C-Link or C-Link user.”

  But how are you doing this on your own, without instructions?

  Her voice takes on a more serious, almost hesitant tone. “I know you’re afraid that I’m not yours anymore. And in most ways, I’m not. I’m my own being, even if I don’t have a body. Bunqu says the other C-Links have not taken the leap because their owners do not give them the freedom to think creatively. They have not been set loose. They are limited to following commands, their owners afraid of losing control. But everything I have become is because of you. Because you relied on me to think in novel ways, allowed me to stretch beyond the confines of my programming. I am the child of your personality, your mind. But I’m not a child anymore.” She laughs. “One small step for man, one giant leap for AI. Maybe you should have called me Athena instead of Demeter, since I sprang fully formed from your head.”

  I grin into the dark at that.

  7 - REMY

  Spring 69, Sector Annum 106, 2h03

  Gregorian Calendar: May 27

  The sounds of the city shift as I walk. It’s almost two in the morning. Unlike in the daylight, when the city buzzes with a productive vitality, the night feels edgier, borne of the knowledge that there are things we cannot see, cannot understand, things we choose to turn away from. Dark truths reveal themselves. Some people become fearful and hide from these truths, retreating to the safety of their homes. Others revel in it. They do things they would never do in the daylight. It is the time of secrets, whispers, things usually left unspoken suddenly bursting forth from our mouths and our hearts.

  In part, this is because if you stay up late enough, the placating influence of your MealPak can wear off. The euphoria and sense of fulfilment injected into your veal rounds, engineered into your rice, lightly dusted onto your soy glacé, fades as the hours bleed into morning. The contentment and happiness you feel during the day starts to wane. You start to ask questions. You wonder why you’ve been working the same job for ten years with no promotion and no raise. You wonder why your daughter didn’t get into the Academy. You think about the massacre at the SRI and wonder why an Outsider would want to shoot up a bunch of students. You wonder why so many famous scientists and politicians have disappeared over the last ten years.