The Seeds of Man (2 page)

That was always good for some titters from Becky and Kristy, who sat in the front row and would turn to look at her. It didn’t make sense. They were stupid and they understood algebra.

Fortunately, on that particular day, Mrs. Norman was presenting new gobbledygook, so Lora wasn’t required to go up to the whiteboard and prove how inadequate she was. The hour hand crawled around the clock and eventually came to rest on the twelve. A buzzer sounded, students stampeded out of the room, and Lora followed.

Kristy and Becky were waiting outside. Kristy was blond, with high cheekbones and a pouty mouth. Becky was a brunette with a heart-shaped face and an upturned nose. Both wore identical ponytails, skirts that hit just above the knee, and custom-made shoes that looked like slippers, violations of the dress code that the Head never seemed to notice. “So, leaver,” Kristy began. “What were you and the giraffe doing on Level Eight this morning?”

“I’ll bet she kissed him,” Becky put in. “Zits and all.”

Suddenly weeks of pent-up anger boiled up inside Lora and she reacted. Her balled fist made contact with Becky’s upturned nose, something gave, and blood spilled down the front of her white blouse. Kristy screamed as Becky sampled the red stuff with a finger, looked at it, and began to cry. Then both girls took off for the lavatory. Cory had witnessed the entire thing and watched them go. “That was awesome.”

Lora shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. It was stupid.” She turned to look at him. “And Cory . . .”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it.” With that she walked away.

There was no point in going to her next class only to be removed from it—with all the embarrassment that would entail. So Lora walked down a long hallway, entered the office, and sat on one of the three chairs generally reserved for troublemakers. The secretary turned to look at her. Mrs. Olson was nice, the way Lora imagined her mother might have been if she had survived childbirth. “In trouble again?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Who sent you?”

“I sent myself.”

Mrs. Olson laughed. “I like your style. Mr. Wilkes will be back soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A full five minutes passed before the Head came through the door, started to say something, and stopped when he saw Lora. “She came in on her own,” Olson said pointedly.

Wilkes looked Lora in the eye. His expression was serious. “You broke her nose and her parents will be furious. Striking another student is completely unacceptable. I will talk to your father. Then we’ll see what sort of punishment to impose.”

Lora looked down. “Yes, sir.”

Wilkes glanced at his watch. “Okay, it’s too late to make your second class, so go to lunch. And, Lora . . .”

Lora’s head came back up. “Sir?”

“Please stay out of trouble for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, sir.”

So Lora was the first student to enter the cafeteria and the first person to take her place at the so-called loser’s table, where all the outcasts gathered. Matt arrived shortly thereafter and sat across from her. “I hear you fed Becky a knuckle sandwich. Well done.”

“Mr. Wilkes is going to tell my father,” Lora said bleakly. “And he’ll be mad at me.”

“You’ll survive,” Matt predicted. “Just say you’re sorry and look pitiful.”

As it happened, that was exactly what Lora planned to do. She changed the subject. “Somebody spotted us on Level Eight. Kristy knew about it.”

Matt frowned. “What did she say?”

“She thought we were making out.”

“Works for me.”

“Well, it doesn’t work for me,” Lora said primly.

Matt never got to reply because a girl named Anne joined them and the conversation turned back to the fight. As the room began to fill, Lora could feel the stares and knew people were talking about her. That made her uncomfortable, plus there was the possibility that Kristy and Becky would arrive at any moment, so she hurried to finish her meal. Then, having returned her tray, she was out the door and off to her favorite class. Agro 105 was all about the technical side of growing food indoors—and the students were learning by doing. That meant rebuilding the irrigation system for Plot 3 on Level 7.

Lora made her way to the girls’ locker room, where she took a quick look around. Fortunately Becky and Kristy were nowhere to be seen, so she changed into a blue T-shirt and khaki shorts prior to heading down to Section 4 of Level 7.

That part of Level 7 was dedicated to the Sanctuary’s central purpose, which, as Lora’s father liked to point out, wasn’t to keep a couple of thousand people fed while the rest of humanity starved. No, the seed bank’s true mission was to provide a backup should a war or natural catastrophe result in the destruction of one or more species of plants. Had that taken place? There was no way to know without sending a team of scientists out to assess the situation. And the keepers wouldn’t permit that. They pointed out that once the barbarians knew where the Sanctuary was, they would attack it. And George Larsy hadn’t been able to counter that argument. Not to Lora’s satisfaction anyway.

But according to her father, the overriding concern was to supply the starving populace with cold-tolerant seeds, regardless of the dangers. To hear him tell it, the Sanctuary should transform itself into what amounted to a factory—and distribute seeds far and wide. And to hell with the consequences.

As Lora arrived in Section 4, her thoughts turned to the task at hand. Having removed the soil from the planter boxes, the students were installing a new irrigation system to replace one that was twenty years old. Since Lora liked to work with her hands, she delighted in laying tubing, hooking it up to the misters, and testing each run to make sure that it was working properly.

So she was already engrossed in her work by the time class started. Mr. Teal was there to offer advice when required but was willing to let his students make mistakes as part of the learning process. And he was willing to tolerate some horseplay as well, which typically resulted in one or more people getting wet.

The class was over before Lora knew it. She was down on her knees working on a water manifold when Mr. Teal appeared beside her. “We made good progress today . . . It’s time to wrap it up.”

“Okay, Mr. T. All I need is another ten minutes. I’ll put the tools away.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lora heard the crunch of gravel as the instructor walked away—and was busy tightening a hose clamp when she heard the same sound again. Five minutes had passed by then, but she was expecting to see Mr. T as she turned to look. Only it wasn’t Mr. T. Becky’s brother Luke was big, strong, and nineteen years old.

The kick was already on the way and, if Lora hadn’t been in motion by then, would have connected with her head. As it was, Luke’s boot grazed her temple. She fell sideways and tried to roll away. But Luke followed, kicking where he could and connecting with various parts of her anatomy. Her right shoulder, arm, and ribs all took hits.

The pain was intense, and all Lora could do was roll up into a ball and wrap her arms around her head. A blow hit one of her thighs, and Lora figured that Luke was going to beat her to death; then he stopped. She couldn’t see, but the voice was clear enough. “That’s for Becky . . . Don’t go near her again.”

There was a crunching sound as Luke walked away. Lora hadn’t cried until then, but suddenly tears came. A deep sob rocked her body, but it made her injuries hurt even more, so she stopped. That was when Lora moved—or tried to. But the pain was so intense that she couldn’t get up. So she lay there, staring at the level above, careful not to move. At some point she fell asleep, something that became apparent when she awoke to her father’s voice. “Oh, Lora,” George Larsy said sadly as he knelt next to her. “What have they done to you?“

Lora felt a profound sense of gratitude as her father scooped her up and carried her to the elevators. The hospital was on Level 18, and she heard her father tell someone, “Please let me by,” as they crossed a narrow sky bridge. Then there were lights, doctors, and tests. “Nothing is broken,” she heard someone say. “Give her one of these every four hours and let her rest. She’ll be sore for the next few days.”

“Okay, let’s see if you can stand,” a female voice said. Lora sat up, winced, and swung her feet off the examining table. Her father was there to help her down. The doctor had a kindly face and wore a stethoscope around her neck. “Call me if she feels dizzy or nauseous.”

George promised that he would and assisted his daughter out through a sliding door. It was dark by that time. A Toshiba microreactor supplied almost all the Sanctuary’s power; the habitat’s citizens could have kept the lights on twenty-four hours a day had they desired to.

But most people preferred the traditional diurnal cycle—so the lights began to fade around six o’clock. And now it was at least two hours later than that. As George and Lora crossed a sky bridge, the transparent elevator tubes glowed in front of them. They entered a capsule and rode it down. The car came to a smooth stop, and Lora was grateful for the relative darkness as her father escorted her home. If there was anything worse than getting beaten up, it was being stared at. It felt good to enter their tiny apartment and collapse on the couch.

That was when Lora saw the items laid out on the floor. She looked at her father. He had a shock of gray hair, a long face, and sallow skin. “What is this stuff?”

“Things we’re going to need,” George replied vaguely. “We’ll get into that—but first I want to know what happened today. And don’t leave anything out. The hospital has notified the protectors by now, and they will want to speak with you.”

So Lora told him, starting with Matt, followed by the run-in with Becky and Luke’s sudden appearance. As she told the story, her father’s face began to darken and she could see the anger in his eyes. “The bastard! I would press assault charges if it wasn’t for the fact that we’re leaving.”

Lora sat up. “We’re what?”

“I was going to tell you when you came home from school,” George explained as he took a seat in his favorite chair. “And when you failed to arrive, I went looking. Anyway, there was a council meeting last night, and I was there.”

“They threw you out. Matt told me.”

George winced. “Yes. My friends and I made a last-ditch attempt to convince the council that it should carry out the mission the Canadian government had in mind back when the seed bank was constructed.”

“Right,” Lora said sarcastically. “And how did that go?”

“You know the answer. They said no. That’s why we’re leaving. We’re going to take some seeds and deliver them to the right people. Then we’re going to teach them how to propagate more seeds. And eventually it will make a difference.”

Lora was shocked, dismayed, and frightened. “You’re serious? The leavers are going to leave?”

“Yes,” George said, “that’s the plan.”

“But it’s illegal. The only people who are allowed to go outside are the protectors and maintenance crews.”

“We’re going anyway,” George said steadfastly. “We’ve been working on it for months, making the gear we’ll need, and gathering information. Now we’re ready. We’ll be gone by this time tomorrow night. Can you imagine?
Outside!
”

Lora was momentarily mute in the face of her father’s boyish enthusiasm. Then she found her voice. “What about
me
? What if I don’t want to leave?”

“I continue to struggle with that,” George admitted. “At sixteen you aren’t a child anymore. But you aren’t an adult either, and I’m selfish—I can’t bear the thought of leaving you behind. Besides,” he said hopefully, “look at what happened today. Do you really want to stay?”

Lora had to admit that the thought of being able to leave Kristy, Becky, and algebra behind had a lot of appeal, as did the prospect of experiencing the outside world. But unlike her father, she was a pragmatist, and that meant she could see some problems looming ahead.
Big
problems. “What will we eat?” she wanted to know.

“We’ve been stockpiling food for some time,” George replied. “Enough to last for three months. Longer if we can supplement our rations with wild game.”

“And the barbarians?” Lora asked. “What about them?”

“We’ll try to avoid contact with the wrong sort of people,” George said. “But if it comes to that, we’ll be ready to defend ourselves.”

Lora knew next to nothing about weapons and fighting, and her father didn’t either. But she could tell that his mind was made up. “So you’ll force me to go?”

George shook his head. “No, Lora . . . I won’t make you go. Stay if you must. But I hope you’ll come.”

Lora didn’t want to leave the Sanctuary for the same reasons other people didn’t, but the prospect of parting company with her father was more than she could bear. “All right,” she said reluctantly, “I’m in.”

George’s face lit up. “Really? That’s wonderful! Now, remember . . . What we’re going to do is a closely held secret, so don’t tell anyone. And work on getting well. I would delay the departure date if I could, but the longer we wait, the more likely a leak becomes, and we’ll only get one opportunity. If we blow that, it’s over for good.

“Now, take it easy,” George added. “I’ll move this stuff to my bedroom. The protectors could drop by at any moment.”

“What should I tell them?”

“Tell them the truth minus the meeting with Matt. It has nothing to do with the beating and there’s no reason to get him in trouble.”

“Should I go to school in the morning?”

George grinned. “No, you have the perfect excuse not to. I’ll call Wilkes and tell him that you’re in a lot of pain.”

Two protectors arrived shortly after that. George let them in and listened while they asked all the obvious questions. Did she recognize her attacker? Did he use a weapon? And so forth. Lora answered honestly and they left.

After a light dinner, Lora went to bed, but she couldn’t sleep. Not with the day’s events running through her mind—and fears about the future to confront. But after an hour of lying there, she was able to drift off. A jumble of troubled dreams was waiting for her.