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

by K. Makansi

  I’m already in motion, running down the hall to the central stairs to find Remy. I take them two at a time. I pull open the door to our room and rush in. Standing in the steamy bathroom in one of Bunqu’s oversized bathrobes, Remy’s body gleams like polished bronze against the stark white of the open robe. A shiver of longing runs through me, coupled with an even more powerful desire to stay alive so I can experience her beauty another day. She turns toward me, a smile of anticipation melting into alarm as she sees the Bolt in my hand.

  “Gods, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s Meera.” There’s no time to break the news slowly. Without a word, she reaches out and turns the shower off. “She’s dead. Bunqu’s been arrested. Patrol drones will be back to circle in five minutes. We’ve got to move.”

  “Where is she?” Remy’s already shed the robe, slipping into her clothes. I watch her, marveling at her calm, marveling that despite all she’s been through—or maybe because of all she’s been through—she can take such news in stride.

  “Bunqu’s study.”

  “No sign of him?”

  “No.”

  She nods, taking it all in. Shuddering, she sucks in a deep breath and straightens her shoulders. She hesitates only a second. Now fully dressed, she follows me outside, grabbing her bag on the way. In the backyard, Remy reaches into the air where Osprey’s cloaked oiseau is parked. Her touch deactivates the cloaking. She leaps on, toggling the engine, and I hop on behind her. We zip out of the backyard and down the road as quickly as we dare. The hoverbike’s engine is as quiet as a summer breeze, and within thirty seconds, we’re safely hidden in a copse of trees.

  “Are we out of range?” I ask Demeter.

  “You’re clear. Stay in the trees.”

  Remy pulls the walkie-talkie out from the folds of her jacket and hands it to me. “Soren,” she says. I press the transmit button and signal Soren. When his voice comes back, Remy listens as I fill him in. I can hear Osprey’s voice in the background as Soren relays to her and Saara what’s going on.

  “Should we come your way?” Soren asks.

  “No. Drones are watching the house. We need to get out.”

  “You and Remy have a plan?” Soren says. I hear him confer with Osprey.

  “No. Except to get out of here.”

  “Have them meet us at the outermost PODS dock in the northeast quadrant,” Remy says to me. “We can take the oiseau to meet them. We’ll decide what to do once we’re all together.”

  I relay the message and then, before I sign off, I say, “Soren, ask Osprey what Meera meant by ‘follow the acorns to the tree.’”

  “Roger,” Soren says. Remy raises her eyebrows as we hear him repeat the question. Osprey’s voice, barely audible, crackles through the walkie-talkie.

  “I have no idea.”

  Goddammit, Meera, why do all you Outsiders have to be so fucking cryptic?

  14 - REMY

  Spring 79, Sector Annum 106, 12h18

  Gregorian Calendar: June 6

  It’s high noon and shadows are scarce by the time we make it to The Elysium. I have no idea if Snake will even be here; the smoke den is closed and the sign on the front says it won’t open until 17h00. And from what I understand, Snake works the late shift.

  I hear Vale whispering something to his C-Link. I lean into his shoulder to catch his words.

  “Abandoned houses, untouched vacation homes, old factories, industrial junkyards—anything that will provide us a bit of shelter,” he says. I can’t hear her response, but I assume she’s searching the four quadrants of Okaria for something that will meet Vale’s criteria. “Unguarded and forgotten.” He quiets for a moment, focusing on an invisible spot across the street on The Elysium’s elegant wood-paneled exterior.

  I survey the building. There’s one entrance from the front and no windows, which contributes to the otherworldly, underwater feel of the interior. My heart sinks. I doubt anyone is here now, and I don’t even know Snake’s real name. How am I supposed to tell him about Meera?

  Meera. What did she tell me those first few days I was staying with her? If you ever need to run, there’s a safe house on the outskirts of Okaria. Big, empty, comfortable.

  “My grandfather’s house.” Vale looks at me, surprised, and I realize I’ve said the words out loud. “Meera told me weeks ago I could stay there if I ever needed a safe place.”

  How could I have known that by the end of the day, I would need two more seeds—one for Meera’s death, and one for her life?

  I grab instinctively at the burnished metal that lives in my pocket, the compass that was once my grandfather’s, and then Tai’s, and then Vale’s. Memories wash over me. Picking fresh fruit off the trees in his yard. Drawing the lotus blossoms in his fountain. Learning how to fillet fish, knead dough, slice an onion without crying too much—all contraband activities, declared illegal over forty years ago. The Okarian Agricultural Corporation and the Board of Health and Diet consolidated into the Okarian Agricultural Consortium in response to a bioterrorism threat from the North Pacific Federation. The new OAC outlawed home cooking and food preparation, declaring such activities “unsafe.” My grandfather didn’t care about those silly laws, though, and because of his integral role in developing so many medicines and human modifications, no one bothered him about it.

  “Wow,” Vale says, his voice hushed. “That’s the perfect place.”

  “Have Demeter do a scan, just to make sure.”

  A few seconds later, Vale nods.

  “She says the last aerial photograph of the house was taken over a month ago, and it was totally abandoned.”

  The thought of returning to my grandfather’s house for the first time in five years is almost too much to take. I focus in on the challenge in front of me, so as not to be overwhelmed: how do I find Snake?

  “We need to get in there.” I nod at the door in front of us.

  He shakes his head.

  “No,” he says. “He’s probably not there right now. Tell me everything you know about him, and I’ll have Demeter run it through Personhood. Maybe we can get an address for him.”

  “Purple hair and eyebrows. About thirty, thirty-five years old. Sharp nose, round chin, high cheekbones, very pale, like Soren. He works at the Elysium, he’s the manager, or at least he sets the—”

  “Demeter’s got him,” he says. “His name is listed as Sen Priorat in Personhood. Currently resides in Sector housing—South quadrant, Rue du Vent, Building 39, number 17.”

  I brighten. “That’s not far at all. Let’s go.”

  I turn and set off. Vale keeps pace with me, and I wind my fingers into his. He leans into me as a triad of professionals in golden OAC lab coats walk by. It’s safer to look like a couple. People are less likely to notice you if you look happy.

  As we walk, I hear a rescue drone zoom by, followed, as always, by a medevac truck. The green and red lights flare as the truck blazes through the streets. I follow it with my eyes, but it’s long past us in a matter of seconds. Not five minutes later, though, there’s another one—a drone followed by a medevac team. It turns down the same road we are, zipping past us, and then down a side street. When Vale and I make it there, I can see the truck stalled, its bay doors open, and two nurses carry a stretcher up a set of stairs.

  “Meera said there’s some kind of bug going around where she worked,” I mutter to Vale. “Is that why there are all these ambulances?”

  Vale stops and stares for a moment, watching the medevac team suit up in sterilized gear. But he shakes his head, turning away.

  “It’s just a coincidence. Seems doubtful something could spread so quickly.”

  We walk on.

  A few minutes later, we’re at Snake’s building. The Sector provides residential buildings for unmarried men and women who are either recent transplants to the city or who do not have well-paying jobs. Sponsored housing is very low security. The palming mechanism is heat-sensitive only, so neither of us will risk identify
ing ourselves. There’s no doorman—only a small security drone, not even equipped with a Bolt.

  “You stay outside,” I say. “Dangerous for the cameras to catch us together.” Since Vale escaped, I can only assume that all drones, Watchmen, and soldiers will be on the lookout for us, moving together, working in tandem. He nods. I hand him my plasma and he leans against the wall of the building, pretending to be engrossed in something on the screen.

  I head in.

  The drone barely registers me. I’m sure the video feed is automatically recorded and relayed to someone in the Watchman organization, and if they recognize me, there will be hell to pay. But until then, I’m safe. And with the remnants of my body paint on, and Vale’s hasty makeup job outside of Bunqu’s neighborhood, I feel safe.

  For now.

  I walk past the drone and palm open the door to the stairwell instead of the elevators. I race up the stairs and exit at the second floor, where Snake’s apartment, number seventeen, is on the right. Instead of ringing the bell—which might prompt me for a biomarker so the system can announce me properly—I knock. Loudly. When no one comes immediately, I knock again, pounding at the door with my fists.

  A few minutes later the door swings open, and a very fit man with dark brown skin and only one item of clothing on stares at me blearily.

  “Couldn’t have bothered to ring, could you?”

  “No,” I say, somewhat awed by his physique. “Is Sen Priorat here?”

  The man lifts an arm to rub his hair, the color of black walnut, and narrows his eyes at me. He looks like he was cut from stone, like a god or hero from an ancient myth. He gives me a once-over, and then turns inside and calls softly.

  “Sen, there’s another girl here for you.”

  Another girl? How many suitors does Snake have?

  “Which one?” I recognize Snake’s voice. Which one?!

  “The one who ordered the green apple indica,” I shout back, not waiting for the man to reply. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. A few seconds later, Snake appears at the door, as bleary-eyed as his companion, and in a similar state of undress. His purple hair juts up in all directions, and it’s clear that both men just got out of bed. But his eyes go wide when he sees me, and he immediately grabs a jacket slung over the back of a chair and pulls it on. He pushes past the other man with a whispered word and comes out into the hall with me. He shuts the door firmly behind him.

  “Sparrow,” he says, using my Outsider code name. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “Friends in high places,” I say in a rush. “Listen, Meera’s dead and Onion’s been arrested. There was a scene at Onion’s house, and Meera got stabbed. I watch as the expression on his face morphs from surprise to horror, but I press on. “She left us a note. It said, ‘If you find this, follow the acorns to the tree.’ Do you know what that means?”

  Snake’s green eyes, wide with shock and sadness, zero in on me, intense and bright.

  “Yes,” he says. “Maybe.”

  “‘Maybe’?” I demand, my voice rising slightly. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”

  “Hush, and I’ll tell you,” he says. “The Wayfarers use a kind of technology to communicate between themselves based on tree roots. The acorns—your friend has one, doesn’t he?—signal to each other, and to the Wayfarers’ astrolabes, using that same technology. For decades, though, there’s been a myth that there’s more to it. That the acorns did more than just communicate with each other. That they led somewhere, if you could just string them all together and follow the clues. I always thought it was just an invented treasure hunt.”

  “What was the myth?” I ask, my voice rising in urgency.

  He shrugs, holding his hands up.

  “Nothing more than that. There was never much substance to it. That’s why I never believed it. But—” and here his voice grows even quieter, so soft I have to lean in and focus to hear “—we Outsiders are very good at keeping secrets. Usually, I’m very good at finding those secrets. But it may be that I simply haven’t uncovered this one. Maybe Meera left that note for you because it’s your turn to be a seeker of secrets.”

  15 - VALE

  Spring 79, SA 106, 16h04

  Gregorian Calendar: June 6

  In the golden hour of the evening, the overgrown yard, drenched in yellow and green, begins to look like a fairyland. Remy and I crouch in the bushes about fifty meters from her grandfather’s house under the shade of a giant old oak tree. As we left Snake’s, I contacted Soren on our walkie-talkies and told him to meet us at Kanaan Alexander’s old house. Kanaan’s place is a little over twenty-five kilometers from Okaria’s last POD station, and since we took the oiseau while Soren, Osprey, and Saara travel on foot, we’ve arrived first. After Demeter confirmed the house was abandoned, everyone agreed it would be a good spot to lie low for a few days. There’s only one problem: the place isn’t abandoned. It looks like someone’s made themselves at home.

  There aren’t any obvious signs of habitation, no hovercar parked outside, no smoke drifting up from the chimney, no porch light on, but there are more subtle signs. There’s an antenna going up from the roof, for instance, that Remy claims wasn’t there before. A well-trod path through the grass that leads to the back gate. And a pile of compost around the side of the house that includes fresh onion peel and squash pulp. We’re sitting on our haunches, trying to decide what to do, when we catch a glimpse of movement inside.

  “See that?” Remy whispers. “Someone’s definitely in there.”

  “A trap? Or just someone squatting?”

  “Whoever it is, we need to warn Soren to approach the area with caution.”

  “Wait here. I’ll head back out of earshot and contact him.”

  Remy unclips the walkie-talkie from her belt and hands it to me. She gives me a silent nod, but before I leave our hiding place and head back through the brambles, she tugs my arm and whispers, “Why don’t you circle around and see if you can get a better read on the situation from the other side of the property.”

  “Good idea,” I say. “Be back soon.”

  I navigate down the unkempt path until I’m certain I’m well out of earshot. Then I signal Soren, giving him the news. They figure they’re still about ten kilometers out and won’t arrive for another two hours or so if they keep up their current pace.

  After signing off, I creep as quietly as possible around the other side of the house. As I go, I can see the dock jutting out over the water, the spot where Remy and I first kissed, and I think of the photo Eli showed me the day I left Windy Pines. The photo of him and Tai and me and Remy sitting right there, without a care in the world. A stab of pain slices through me, lamenting that lost innocence, that childhood naiveté none of us will ever get back.

  I glance across the yard toward the clump of bushes where I know Remy is waiting, watching. Before me, there’s a wide open space I need to cross. I can either avoid it by going out of my way to gain the cover of surrounding trees or I can risk it and try to cross it in a mad dash. Since it’s getting close to dusk, and with the few windows on this side of the house covered in curtains, I decide to risk the mad dash.

  I signal to Remy, and then sprint across the yard. I’m halfway across when I run smack into something hard, something invisible, something that knocks me flat on my ass.

  Instinctively, I put my hand to my forehead. This knot is going to be a beauty. I sit up and look around. My head is still ringing. I scramble to my feet, but crouch low, deciding what to do. The only thing that could stop me in my tracks like that is something big, a hovercar or airship equipped with top-notch cloaking. I look across the yard and motion to Remy to stay put, then watch for movement in the windows.

  I stand up, hands out like someone groping in the dark and move forward cautiously. Since I don’t know how big or long the thing is, I don’t know how to go around it. Better to get a feel for the mystery object. I take a few tentative steps forward and my hands hit cool metal.
I flatten my palms to slide along the surface when suddenly the cloaking fades and—

  I look over at Remy and she stands straight up, giving away her position, obviously just as stunned as I am.

  “Still responds to your palm print,” a familiar voice says. Jeremiah Sayyid. Leaning against the corner of the house like he’d just come outside to get some fresh air.

  “But—” I stare at him as if he’s an apparition.

  “Sort of a passion project. Of course, the Director didn’t know about it until all was said and done, and then it was too late.”

  “How did—”

  He ambles toward me like it’s no big deal. “We were all feeling a bit down one night, and with a bit too much of Firestone’s swill in our bellies, the three of us decided what we needed to cheer us up was a new toy. A Sarus, perhaps. Your Sarus. Sitting beat up and abandoned in the middle of the street in old Cleveland. So we went and got her. And here she is.”

  “The three of you?”

  “The three of us.” Eli. Decked out in a long apron adorned with a bouquet of lotus buds and with flour smudged on his cheek, he looks once at me and then turns and holds his arms out wide as Remy tears across the open space and launches herself at him.

  “But how?” I ask, still stunned. I run my fingers along the cool skin of my state-of-the art Sarus as I walk toward Miah.

  “It wasn’t that hard.” Jeremiah puts his hands behind his head, leaning casually against the house. “We went back and picked it up. Easy as pie.”

  “Speaking of pie,” Eli says. “I made torte.”

  “You made torte?” Remy asks, wiping the flour off Eli’s cheek.

  “For you, little bird. Cranberry torte just for you.”

  “I missed you,” she says. “That damn virus—”