by K. Makansi
A long silence is interrupted by her whimpering, a sound that fills me with an odd mixture of sadness and encouragement.
“It’s true.” She pulls her lips into a thin line. “I had to do it because of the database.”
“Tell me about the database.”
“Old world seeds breed old world disease,” she mutters. “I couldn’t let it happen.”
“Let what happen?”
Corine turns away from me to face the vidscreens, where hundreds of marchers have gathered on the steps of Assembly Hall and medevac trucks swarm the plaza below. “No,” she says. “I won’t say any more.”
“Corine, we deserve to know everything.” My father looks around the room. “How many of you knew about this? About the massacre?” Heads shake. Some stand and back away. The energy in the room shifts. Where once no one questioned Corine’s decisions, now everyone is looking to Corine for answers. Philip turns to Aulion. “Were you a part of this?” He takes a step toward the general. “Have you known all along?”
Aulion doesn’t respond, but Corine speaks up. “No one else knew. Not about the massacre. Not at first.” She looks distraught, her eyes wide, her mouth downturned, as she watches the action on the screens. Drone footage shows the sheer size of the crowd, as they pan in and out. The streets are full as more and more citizens from around the city have joined the protest. The sounds of the march are even audible from inside the building.
“Is it true Aran Hawthorne came upon a discovery that could have brought back hundreds of Old World seeds?”
She says nothing. I realize I need to take a different approach. I cross the room in a few quick strides, and to my surprise, no one tries to stop me. At my mother’s side, we survey the aftermath of Evander’s devastation.
“People died today. Just like they did at the SRI. Just like at Round Barn.” I pause. “What do you see?”
“I see skeletons,” she says so only I—and Demeter—can hear. “And everything feels like death.”
“Did you cause that?”
“Maybe. No. No, I didn’t do that. Evander did.”
“Would you have stopped him?”
“No.”
“Why do you think all these people are here in our city?”
“I don’t know.”
“They want the freedom we have. The Farm workers. Would you give it to them?” No response. “What did you just tell Moriana to do?”
“I told her to go ahead with the genetic modification program.” She turns around, locking eyes with my father. “Philip, you agreed with me, right? We discussed it together, we planned everything together.”
“Not everything.” He shakes his head.
I cross back over to sit beside her, marveling that Aulion hasn’t hauled me away yet. “Did you order one of your soldiers to murder Remy Alexander and Soren Skaarsgard while they were being held prisoner?” I ask.
“I haven’t murdered anyone!” she spits out, swiveling around to get in my face. “I’ve saved thousands from famine, and my research will only continue to reduce the chance of disorder and chaos.”
“I heard you, Mother. I was there when you gave the order.”
“No.” She looks up at me, her eyes clouded in confusion. “That night? How?”
Finally, Aulion’s had enough. He pushes me away from Corine. “Arrest him for poisoning Director Orleán.”
“I told you my mother has not been poisoned. She’s ingested a large dose of peyote, a psychedelic drug. It’s harmless.”
Philip steps in front of me. “Stand down, Falke. You’re not authorized to make that decision.”
“Not authorized?” Aulion spits. “It’s my job to make these decisions. Your son poses a danger to the Sector, and if you don’t see that, then you are blind.”
Corine shakes her head. “Let him be.” Once again, Aulion steps back, his mouth set in a grim line. The only person he’ll answer to is my mother.
I continue. “Did you or did you not authorize Evander Sun-Zi to unleash flamethrower airships intended for agricultural clearcutting on actual human beings, Farm workers?”
“I had to do it,” she says.
“What happened to Cara and Odin Skaarsgaard?”
“Falke removed them.”
“I never knew about the massacre,” Philip interjects, a note of disgust in his voice.
I turn to him. “You never knew? But you knew about Cara and Odin, didn’t you? And what about Elijah Tawfiq’s parents? Did you know about them? You knew about the modifications program. You were responsible for torturing Remy. You knew enough.”
Now Philip falls silent, sinking back into a chair, refusing to meet my eyes. His face is pale as he runs unsteady hands down his face.
Corine cries out, babbling incoherently, clamping her hand over her mouth and pulling her legs up toward her chest as if she’s seen a ghost. She looks like a terrified child. I turn back to my father. “Someone needs to order the SDF and Watchers to stand down and let the protest continue in peace. Chancellor, it’s time for you to make your choice. Do you stand with the people or not?”
There’s a long silence in the room, the only sounds coming from the screens. The protesters assembled on the steps outside are chanting: We are the Sector, we are the Resistance, we are the People.
“Chancellor,” Olivia Renteria breaks the silence. “Your son is right. We must do something.”
“Dad.” My voice is softer now. “You need to address the marchers.”
“If you don’t go out there, I will,” Olivia says.
My father pushes himself to his feet, raising his head to address the room.
“General Aulion, you are removed from duty effective as of this moment. Laika, call a medic for my wife.” He nods toward one of the soldiers standing at the door. “Remove Vale’s handcuffs. And someone find him a shirt.” He meets my eyes. “Get your boots on. We’re going out there together.”
27 - REMY
Summer 5, Sector Annum 106, 7h55
Gregorian Calendar: June 25
I stand over Evander’s body, staring into his glassy eyes, feeling nothing. On the street below, people shout, move, run. The noise swells inside my ears, drowning all thought, all emotion. My Bolt hangs in my hand, forgotten. The thin, white scars are still visible from when I carved my initials into his cheeks at Round Barn. There are bruises and open wounds all up and down his face, neck, and exposed arms from where the Bolt blast hit him. It gives me a deep sense of satisfaction to know that he will never hurt anyone again, will never breathe his flames down on innocent people. But the triumph I thought I’d feel is missing.
I walk away, down the stairs, back into the crowd. This is for his death. I imagine throwing his body into the blazing inferno that was the Sunflower. This is for his rebirth in the calm trees, in the peaceful sky, the gentle waters of a stream.
I look around for Eli. I never saw what happened to him. Is he safe? In a daze, I wander. Over the city’s speakers, I hear voices but I can’t focus on them right now. Medevac trucks descend from all directions, helping to care for the wounded and clean up the bodies. The soldiers and Watchmen continue to contain the crowd and prevent escalation. But beyond that, none of them seem to know exactly what to do. I look to see if anyone needs help, but the violence has abated. Many of the marchers push forward onto the steps of Assembly Hall, while others stay behind, cradling bodies or helping the wounded. I scan the plaza for people I know, hoping against hope that none of my friends have fallen. I have no conception of time passing—has it been five minutes or an hour?
“Remy!” someone screams. I hear the voice as if from miles away, or underwater—muted and slow. I pull my Bolt up, looking for a source of danger. But there’s nothing. A tall figure with a black hood and a small crossbow barrels toward me. Instinctively, I point my weapon at the charging figure—and then realize it’s Osprey.
“Check the astrolabe,” she pants, stopping short at my side. “We need to find Vale. Corine just confe
ssed, and Demeter pushed it out to the whole city. She’s high as a fucking cloud. Did you not hear?” I stare at her as though she’s speaking another language. It dawns on me slowly what she’s talking about: our plan worked. It all worked. Soo-Sun must have gotten the peyote to her, she started hallucinating, and Vale pressed her for the truth. About everything.
Corine confessed.
Hundreds of fire drones are buzzing around the inferno that once was the Sunflower, unloading thousands of deep, low-frequency sound waves into the maelstrom, trying to calm the flames. The beats resonate in my chest like Vale’s drumming at the vigil.
Osprey puts her hands on my shoulders.
“Remy, are you okay? We need to check the astrolabe. It’s time to find Vale.”
I nod. Mutely, I pull the semispherical piece of glass from the pocket of my jacket. I press my fingertips to the bottom of the glass, and, looking inside, I see thirteen pale green dots lit up, one for every acorn.
“Let’s find a grassy spot. We need to plant it.” Osprey leads me to the bottom of the observation hill. “Put it on the ground.” I set the half-sphere into the dirt. As I do, dozens of fine lines sprout from the center of the astrolabe, forming a sort of strange compass or clock. Osprey kneels next to me. Some of the lines are bright and clear; others are so fine they’re almost impossible to see. By planting it on the ground, Osprey told me, you allow the astrolabe to connect to the mycorrhizal network in the area.
“It’s a lot easier to read when there’s only one or two acorns activated,” she mutters.
Apparently, reading an astrolabe is like reading a compass, a topographical map, and a radar system, all meshed into one. The acorns give off their own signals, so you can always track them. But in order to take advantage of the astrolabe’s full capabilities, you have to plant it. Then, it will connect you to all the trees and plants rooted into the mycorrhizal network. With the astrolabe on the ground, you can find forests, grassy plains, streams and rivers, caves and cliffs. And if you want to find one of the acorn pendants, the astrolabe will guide you to them in the quickest way possible.
It seems like magic to me, but Osprey insists it’s all based on real ecology. Around ninety percent of all plants exist in symbiotic relationships with fungi, creating a mycorrhiza, a partnership in which the fungus colonizes the roots of the plant. The fungal network enables larger, more established plants to help out young seedlings by sharing nutrients, but it also allows plants to sabotage each other. Just like people, I think.
“How do I know which one is Vale?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
She looks up at me, her brows knitted together. “You have to feel it, remember? Vale has the quercus lyrata acorn.” She touches her finger to one of the lines and gestures to me to do the same. Only with a physical connection to the astrolabe can it guide you, she said yesterday, when she was teaching me how to use it. I can feel it pulsing gently, rhythmically, under my fingertip. “Each acorn has a unique beat. Of course, I don’t know for sure who’s attached to which acorn unless I’ve been told. Vale’s pendant used to belong to Chan-Yu, and he told me when he passed it on to Vale.” She smiles as if we were in the middle of a forest clearing with a babbling stream nearby, instead of in a war zone surrounded by dead bodies. “This acorn’s beat sounds like a dance song.”
“The mycorrhizal networks produce beats?”
“Not exactly. The astrolabe converts the frequencies unique to each acorn—that are inaudible to human ears—into a beat that we can feel and understand. It’s more like an interpretation than a reproduction. Use your finger to drag this line to the center.” I do as she tells me. The pulsing beat stops, and the green lines on the astrolabe fade. Now, only a glowing light on the edge of the instrument remains.
“The astrolabe is pointing straight into Assembly Hall.”
“We won’t be able to get in the front,” I say. “It’s too high-security.”
“Let’s go in the back, then.”
“Where’s Soren?” I ask, my mind still foggy but feeling more focused now that I have a goal, a target. Find Vale.
“He’s waiting for us. Come on.”
She leads me to one of the maple trees where Soren is waiting.
“Remy,” Soren says, pulling me in close to him, folding me into arms that are twice the size of mine. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, but I’m not, not really. “Where are the others?”
“Eli’s with Bear, helping the wounded. Firestone just landed and the Director is on the ground. Miah and Rhinehouse are still in the sky. Let’s find Vale.”
With Soren and Osprey behind me, I run on the outskirts of the roundabout that encircles the Sunflower. We duck into a back alley, built for delivery trucks, that leads behind Assembly Hall. The astrolabe is trying to guide me into the glass, inside, but I have to find an entrance. The arrow seems to move as I move, though, shifting until it’s no longer pointing inside the building but dead ahead, in front of us.
“Did he leave?” I pull up short. “Did he leave the building?”
Osprey puts a finger to the astrolabe.
“Maybe. The thing is a lot more helpful out in the Wilds.” She shrugs, as confused as I am. “Let’s find out.”
“He could be running away,” Soren says. “Maybe he escaped the Control Room after Demeter broadcasted Corine’s breakdown. Maybe Aulion is chasing him.”
We run past the back entrance to Assembly Hall, but the astrolabe is no longer pointing inside. We run around the city, taking as many shortcuts as we can, jumping fences and cutting through buildings, until the astrolabe emits an audible hum.
“We’re close,” Osprey says. “Do you see him?”
We’re by Lake Okaria, approaching the main marina on a smaller street known mostly for its abundance of fancy nightclubs. I don’t see Vale. I don’t see anyone, really, save for a few citizens walking along the buildings, perhaps heading to work or running errands. I wonder if they missed the broadcast, if they realize everything in Okaria is about to change.
The astrolabe glows right at the front, telling us to head straight. Right onto the docks. We run forward. Where is Vale? The hum only grows louder.
“Vale!” I shout, Bolt charged and ready in my hand.
Soren points to our left. “I saw something over there. Movement.” We head toward a large sailboat with a clean canvas sail and a hull so shiny it glistens in the sunlight. Brand new, it appears. I see it then, too: a figure, tall and broad, but I can tell by the man’s grey hair it’s definitely not Vale.
He turns slightly but doesn’t seem to see us. Now I recognize him: Falke Aulion. The man who hit me when Soren and I were held prisoner in a building not far from here. It’s strange to see him out here all alone without soldiers surrounding him. It doesn’t make sense.
Osprey lets out a low growl as she, too, recognizes him. I don’t know what her history with the man is, but I know one of the things that brought her and Soren together so quickly was their shared hatred of General Aulion.
“Lucky us.” Osprey slides the charge on her Bolt to the highest setting and hits the capacitor to reload. Soren doesn’t respond. He pulls his knife from its sheath.
Osprey sets off down the street, her footfalls silent, and Soren is right behind her. I keep a distance behind them, my ears and eyes pricked for any sign of Vale. Aulion’s coiling up the dock lines, pulling the covers off the smaller solar fiber sails, and lashing lines down along the hull. What is he doing? I wonder, but even as I ask myself the question, the answer dawns on me.
He’s running. And he has Vale’s acorn.
He doesn’t know it’s a tracking device. There’s no way he could know we’ve been led here thinking we were following Vale, thinking we were rescuing him. He has no way of knowing that, if he wanted to escape, all he had to do was toss the acorn pendant in the gutter.
I hang back as Osprey and Soren break into a jog, tucking the astrolabe into my pocket. I’ll be there for backup if
something goes wrong. But this is not my fight.
The boat Aulion’s fussing with is a hybrid air and water sail. They call them Hydroaire boats, or Hydras for short, and it must have cost a pretty penny. A few wealthy citizens, mostly government officials and entrepreneurs, have made it the fashionable, luxurious item of choice. If Aulion’s making his escape, he’s chosen a good vessel: this ship will easily carry him across Lake Okaria and further, as far as he wants to go. Powered by wind and sun, he could make it around the world without stopping.
“Where’s Vale?” Osprey calls as we approach the dock. Aulion’s head jerks around, and he drops the line he’s holding and pulls his handheld Bolt from his pocket in a blur of movement. He says nothing, just hits the capacitor and immediately takes aim at Osprey, who jumps out of the way. His shot misses, hitting the cobblestone where her feet were a second ago.
“Vale’s dead,” Aulion says with a touch of scorn. My breath catches in my throat and my heart stops. My mind goes blank for a few seconds, empty and dull, filled only with a white rage, before a single thought pops into my head: He’s lying. I don’t know this for sure, but I can’t let this old man’s demented words distract me now. “I killed him myself.”
“Wrong answer.” Osprey and Soren both pull up their weapons at the same time, aim, and fire. Aulion leaps off the dock and ducks behind the Hydra’s hull for cover. He pops back up a second later and fires—this time at me. I leap to the side at the last second, hitting the ground, rolling my shoulder against the hard brick surface as I jump back to my feet.
Soren and Osprey charge the boat. Realizing he’s outnumbered and trapped, he frantically moves to prepare for launch. As they draw closer and it becomes clear he’s not going to finish by the time Soren’s blade pierces his throat, he bails. He leaps over the other side of the hull and sprints down the dock. He’s fast for an old man, I think, as Osprey stops chasing him for a minute to set her feet. Aulion spares a second to glance behind him and sees Osprey aim her crossbow. He dives behind another boat, this one smaller, at the last second, and her shot flies harmlessly into the hull of the ship. But this gives her and Soren time to gain on him. I follow them, keeping pace from a distance, staying on the brick, my weapon charged and set to a low-power setting. I won’t deprive Soren and Osprey the pleasure of killing him, but I won’t hesitate to shoot if it means preventing him from getting away.
