by Makansi, K.
“So we just go in and wait to see what happens?” Kenzie says.
“We go in prepared for the worst, but yeah.”
“And what if the worst happens? What if we’re discovered? More troops are brought in? Do we start shooting? To protect ourselves? To protect the workers?” Soren demands.
“Remy,” Jahnu says, his voice low and soft. “If Evander is as brutal as the rumors say, then we will be outgunned and outnumbered. It could be Thermopylae all over again. Only this time unnarmed workers would be caught in the middle. Is that what we want?”
“Of course that’s not what I want. But do you really believe he’s going to open fire on the workers? He may go after us, but he’s not going to slaughter innocent people en masse.”
“I don’t know,” Vale murmurs. “I don’t think anyone knows what he'll do.”
I look at Miah and then Vale, holding his gaze. “You and Miah are with us now. That you are still here gives me hope. Others will join us, too, but only if they know the truth and only if they have the capacity to understand it. We have an opportunity to make real change here. We can’t let caution hold us back. We have both an audience and an opportunity. To abandon both now would be idiocy. In my opinion,” I add, sitting down, but refusing to look away from the faces of my friends, comrades, my chosen family. The silence is deafening, but I hold my ground.
Finally, Vale speaks.“I’m with Remy. She and Bear have been working to tell the Farm workers the truth. Before them, Brinn and Gabriel did the same. While it may seem like things are moving too fast here at Round Barn, in reality, the Resistance has been at it for years. And you’ve made inroads. Look at Zeke, here. And Firestone. And Bear and his friend Sam.” Vale pauses and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly while we all wait. “Bottom line is we all believe Evander will do something, and know it won’t be pretty. So let’s get the footage and show everyone in the Sector the truth. We may never get another chance like this one.”
“Okay.” Soren draws in a deep breath, grimacing, as if it causes him physical pain to agree with Vale. “Nothing is safe anymore. We have to take our opportunities as they come, and be prepared for the inevitable fallout.”
Kenzie and Jahnu nod. Eli stares at me, not speaking, but when I look over at him, he smiles, and I know he’s with me. Bear looks uncertain, but resolute, and Zeke rubs his hands together, thoughtful. His team members watch him, waiting.
“The Resistance is based on an ideal of non-violence. To invite violence in such a way, and to then capitalize on the carnage, literally or metaphorically, is … quite a different strategy than what I’m used to. I am reluctant, I hope you understand, not because I disagree with your intentions. Rather, I want to keep as many innocent people free from violence as possible.” He is silent again, then he turns to Miah. “What do you think, son?”
Miah’s eyes go wide. Clearly he wasn’t expecting to be addressed in such a way. “Uh. Well, the way I see it, if you stay silent, no one knows you’re there. No one knows you care.”
I glance at Vale and Soren and wonder if they think Miah’s words are about more—much more—than his opinion about the operation at hand.
“It seems we’re going to be discovered sooner or later, anyway,” he continues. “Maybe we’re being rash. But if we continue to go slow, we’ll have nothing to say for ourselves when they do track us down, and no one will know we even tried to change things. If we make a move, we at least have a fighting chance to let people know we’re here. We’ll at least be able to say we did something.”
Zeke considers his son, and I’m convinced Miah’s words hit home. After a long silence, he looks around the circle, and then his gaze settles on me.
“All right, then. This is the path you choose?”
“It is,” I say.
“So be it. We will help you if this is truly what you think is right. My only requirement is that we let the Director know our plans. Just in case.”
19 - VALE
Spring 13, Sector Annum 106, 14h52
Gregorian Calendar: April 1
Explosions in the distance. Bolt fire to my left and right. Screams of fear and pain across the Farm. And Evander Sun-Zi facing me down with a Bolt in his hand and grenades clipped to his belt. I hope he doesn’t have a death wish, or I might get a better view of those grenades than I’d like.
In the end, Remy was right. More so than she ever dreamed. When word got out that Evander had taken control of the Farm and that the MealPaks were being cut in half because of the meat shortage, it didn’t take long for the Farm workers to start coming to us, via Rose and Luis, for more food. And come they did. By the second night after Evander’s arrival, we had emptied our stores and were forced to radio the Director for backup.
“Remember, we don’t have a goddamn 3D printer, Eli!” the Director shouted. “I can’t just create food out of thin air!”
But by that point, someone on the inside had realized something else was going on, just as we had suspected they would. The Farm workers, far from being hungry and tired from caloric deprivation, were bright-eyed, restless, and growing angrier by the minute.
“Why won’t they just feed us the food we grow?” one worker asked, as I handed her the last round of cheese to share with her daughter. “We got all kinds of stuff in the hydroponic greenhouse, plenty in storage, in the silos, too. Why can’t we eat that?”
Because the Dieticians haven’t processed it yet. Because it hasn’t been treated with the individually-tailored chemical cocktail that renders you incapable of asking that question, I wanted to respond.
“That’s a question for Evander,” is what I said instead.
This morning, the third day after Evander’s arrival, word got out that we had been picked clean as well. That’s when the trouble really began. At first, it was a peaceful protest, but then someone managed to break into one of the storerooms. I don’t know what they found there, but my best guess would be more food—food the Dieticians had been keeping from the workers. Whether because it hadn’t been treated or it was for the staff, we don’t know.
That fight turned bloody quickly. And it escalated from there, just as Remy had predicted. When Rose got word to Bear that all hell was breaking loose, Firestone radioed Normandy and asked for backup from all over the Resistance. That was when we decided it was time to go in. We emptied out all the weapons we brought from Normandy and all the weapons Zeke’s team had on their airship and prepared for anything and everything. Bolts, grenades, pistols, knives, even rocks. When we were loaded down, Remy, the smallest and quickest of us all, fastened Eli’s tiny camera to her headband and turned it on.
“Here we go,” she whispered.
“Remember what Zeke said,” Eli addressed us all, “We don’t shoot to kill. Our job today is to record the protests and, if need be, protect the Farm workers.”
We entered the Farm hoping to get the evidence we need to prove that things in the Okarian Sector are not what they seem. And that’s how I find myself face-to-face with Evander Sun-Zi, weaponless, my Bolt long since lost.
Casually, he lifts his Bolt and fires a shot that blitzes past my ear. He missed on purpose—that much is obvious. Taunting me, I’m sure. Instead of my life flashing before my eyes, I see the last three days reflected in the blazing heat of the azure flame. I see the slabs of meat growing in those huge vats, Miah hugging his dad, Soren looking at me with grudging acceptance, and Remy, always Remy, nodding, smiling, laughing. Small gestures that fill me with fire.
“Joined up with the losing side, have you?” Evander sneers. I don’t respond. If there’s one thing controlling, angry types hate, it’s silence. They don’t have the patience for it. “What are you going to do out here without mummy and daddy to save you? Aulion always said you were a coward.”
Just two days ago, I was looking into Remy’s eyes, standing so close I could have kissed her without taking a step. Now I’m looking into Evander Sun-Zi’s, his flat cheekbones and deep-set eyes maniacal
in the afternoon light. The only thing I want to kiss him with is my Bolt, which was knocked to the ground when an Enforcer nabbed me in the ankle and I tumbled down a hill.
It’s too beautiful today, too beautiful for this fight. If only I had access to Demeter. She’d tell me what his weaknesses are and how best to take him down. All I can do is watch his stance, his hands, his eyes—remembering Aulion’s instructions in hand-to-hand combat even as I hope he hasn’t led me astray. Watch your enemy’s eyes, not his hands, Aulion said. They’ll give him away. I keep my mouth shut and my eyes fixed on Evander while he rambles on and the fighting rages behind us.
“The Resistance,” he mocks, waving his weapon at me. He’s standing casually, even-footed, over-confident. He’s not making any sudden motions but his weight is on the balls of his feet, ready to move in an instant. He’s damn quick, his movements sure and ferocious. But I know he’s not going to shoot to kill. Not yet. He isn’t done talking.
“Little boys and girls without the guts to see the way things really are. To see that to maintain order in this world, you have to keep the people in their place. Did anyone ever tell you how I got my nickname, Valerian?”
“No, Evander, do tell,” I say, glancing around for something to use as a weapon. I spot a gnarled branch, an old dead trunk from one of the vines, lying a few meters away. I’m about to jump for it, but Evander follows my eyes and pops off a shot to blow the thing to smithereens, showering me with splinters and forcing me to cover my eyes.
“A dead branch?” He laughs. “Really?” Laughing as though this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard, he takes aim at my feet and fires. His movements are careless. He’s toying with me as though I am a worm, ready to be squashed beneath his boots. I have just enough time to dive and roll to the side to get out of the way. Fortunately this puts me a few meters closer to him. I’m almost within reach. He takes a few steps backwards, his eyes narrowed, suddenly more alert.
“Not bad, Valerian. Your footwork has improved. Have you been practicing?” I don’t respond. He grins again. “You are curious, aren’t you? How I got my nickname.”
“I’m waiting with bated breath.”
He shakes his head as if he feels sorry for me. “I think you’ll find it interesting. It’s a story about the last time the Farms rose up in rebellion. It was back when Cara Skaarsgard was chancellor, when SD210 went running through the grain fields and everything died.” He says the word ‘died’ like he’s telling a group of children a ghost story, drawing the syllables out and making a clownish sad face that, I’m sure, will haunt me until I die. He backs up slowly, out of the vines and toward a little mound. I keep my eyes trained on his, willing myself not to break eye contact, finding my way through the turned ground slowly, by feel rather than by sight. When he stops talking, the games will begin.
“Starvation was rampant, but little boys like you would never have known, because I kept everything running smoothly and made sure your parents got all the food they needed to keep your little tummies full. But to make sure children in the capital were happy, children on the Farms went hungry. Poor things.”
He drops the childish narration. His voice harsh. “There was a rebellion at Four. Live Oak. They stormed the silos and tore down the greenhouses, just like they’re doing today. Three hundred workers in one of the hothouses, looking for something to eat, snatching tomatoes and peppers right off the vines, tearing down trellises, stuffing their faces as they went. Poor hungry bastards.” His eyes gleam with anticipation. “Know what I did?”
Suddenly Evander’s not looking at me, but above me, beyond me. I can’t help it. I follow his eyes, turning slightly to the side so I can keep him in my peripheral vision and still see whatever it is he’s looking at.
Another airship is hovering over the Farm. It sits about thirty meters above one of the hothouses the workers have broken into. It takes me a moment to recognize the design. It’s not military-grade. With twin flamethrowers positioned at the front, these are the ships we used to use to clear forest or swamps for new farmland. They aren’t equipped with gun batteries or shield capabilities and they haven’t been in regular use for about thirty years. But now I’m thinking of Evander’s nickname and wondering … Where is Remy? Where are the others? My eyes are trained on the airship, watching it descend. I can barely comprehend his words when Evander says, from behind:
“I breathed fire on them.”
The airship now hovers about ten meters above the ground, and my heart stops as twin jets of blue-white flame erupt, sending people below running, screaming, engulfed in flames, their clothes incinerated, hair burning, and flesh dripping like grease from their bones.
I cry out, but no sound comes.
“Evander Sun-Zi, the Dragon,” he says slowly, drawing out every syllable. “That’s how I got my nickname.”
I pause for another half-second, my thoughts rattling in my skull, watching as dozens—no, at least a hundred—Farm workers are incinerated in the flames. The field lights up, wet and smoking, as the airship pivots in the air. People running, screaming, rolling on the ground. Smoke and autumnal orange and dragon’s breath. It smells like fall, the crisp scent of crackling fire, but with the added aroma of death. Flames sucking at the heels of screaming protesters like a cat lapping up cream.
I turn, lunge at him. My only thought now is preventing that airship from doing any more damage, and I can’t do that if I don’t have a weapon. I put every ounce of energy I have into that initial spring, bounding at him like a deer over a hedgerow. His eyes go wide with surprise as he skitters backwards and pulls his gun up, but I’m too fast. My hand is on the barrel, pushing it to the side and out, so that when he pulls the trigger the hot metal burns my arm but the shot goes wide. He throws his other arm up at me, perhaps thinking my hands are going for his throat, to kill him, but I’m focused on the weapon. With my right hand I pin his shoulder to the ground and with my left I wrench the Bolt out of his hand. He brings his knee up into my gut but I’ve already got what I came for, and in an instant I’m off and running.
The airship hangs in the sky, and I imagine the pilots sitting safely above the melee, smug, waiting for orders. Bolt fire from our cloaked airship starts raining down on the sector ship, but Miah and Firestone are too high, their direct hits can’t target the underbelly where it’s most vulnerable.
The ship’s attributes run through my mind.
Airship, light class, model introduced S.A. 64. Twin flamethrowers installed for land clearing and Farm work.
Firepower: None unless modified.
Shield capacity: Light.
Shield dispersal: Located at the wing-to-hull joint.
Control systems: Hull, front belly, beneath cockpit.
That’s twice in one day I’ve had to be grateful for Aulion’s intensive drills. The idea that I might owe that man anything makes me sick. I bit back the sting of bile as I run.
I don’t have much time before Evander or one of his soldiers comes at me, so I flip the energy dial to its highest setting, kneel, take aim, and fire. At this setting it takes three full, endless seconds to recharge, but in that time I can see I missed. I swear, aim again, and fire, and as I wait for the capacitor to reload, I watch the blue Bolt fire strike the exposed intake vent of the engine compartment. Sparks and flame shoot forward as the airship lurches sideways and starts to fall. I stand, watching as it tumbles slightly from the sky, listing downwards, and then—
White explosions of light in my vision, followed immediately by blackness.
Pain.
Nausea.
When I come to, my head hurts like hell and I feel like I’m suffocating. I gasp for air before realizing there’s a boot pressing into my windpipe, just hard enough so I can pull in slow, raspy breaths. Before I open my eyes, I know the boot belongs to Evander. He’s holding the Bolt I stole from him, watching something in the sky. From this vantage point it’s hard to see his expression. I wriggle and try to move, but then he looks down
at me and points the weapon at my head.
“Not a fan of fairy tales, are you? Otherwise, you’d know it’s a bad idea to rouse the wrath of a dragon.”
His face is neutral. He looks like someone casually remarking about a change in the weather. He turns back and looks at the sky again. I crane my neck, but nothing’s there.
“Aulion will be disappointed when he hears I got to you first,” he mutters to himself. Then he glances down at me, a look of fatality in his eyes. His fingers clutch the gun a little tighter, and I know he’s had enough of my antics. He’s stopped talking. That’s how I know. I close my eyes and wait for death to take me. The thought flies through my head as hope dies in my chest: I love you, Remy.
But instead of dying, I feel the pressure fall away from my throat and I open my eyes again to the brightness of the world and see that someone has a knife to Evander’s back. Someone small, dark, and with an unruly mess of brown curls like a halo crowning her head.
20 - REMY
Spring 13, Sector Annum 106, 15h09
Gregorian Calendar: April 1
My heart beats all over my body. In my thighs, in my chest, in the pit of my belly, the blood pulses with insistent, unstopping regularity. In that pit I feel the spark of hatred, and it’s beautiful, powerful, intoxicating. I hate Evander and everything he stands for, and now he has nowhere to go.
“Drop the Bolt and get off him.” My voice emerges as a growl, low and unfamiliar, as though it came from someone else’s throat.
“Ah,” Evander gasps, as my knife presses into his throat. “True love. Aulion was right after all.” He chokes out a laugh and tosses his Bolt aside in a gesture of surrender. It infuriates me. I know he hasn’t given up so easily—no, this is mockery. “Valerian Augustus Orleán betrayed the Sector for a girl.”
