The Sowing (7 page)

“Hello,” I say, feeling a little stupid.

“I am your guide, but before we begin exploring, tell me how you want me to address you.”

“Vale, just Vale.”

“Very good, Vale, just Vale.” I think I detect the hint of a smile in her reply and remind myself I’m talking to a computer. “Now, you must name me,” she says. “What will you call me?”

Remy
. It’s the first thing that pops into my head. No. No, how stupid. Why did I think of that? I can’t possibly name my C-Link after—no. “Don’t you have a name already?” I ask.

“No, Vale, this is a part of the process of acquiring a C-Link.”

“Can’t you pick something yourself?”

“To avoid naming me is to avoid yourself. You must choose.”

Not even a minute has gone by and she’s already seeing past my tricks. Or maybe that’s a common evasion strategy, and the computer’s basic programming is designed to prevent indecision.

“Okay, fine. This is harder than I thought, though.” I sit down in my chair and lean back, taking a deep breath. I need to come up with a good name. After all, I am—hopefully—going to be living with this system for a very long time, and because the system adapts to each individual’s personality and speech patterns, it’s important to start out with the right relationship. It’s almost as though the system becomes an extension of your brain. It’s impossible to undo your creation. You can only destroy it and start over.

My mother would never tell me what she named hers—hell, she barely acknowledges she has a C-Link—but I know my father named his “Laika” after the first dog sent into space by the USSR centuries ago. He thought it was both a sign that the computer ought to be as obedient to him as a dog to its owner, and recognition of the technological power and available resources of the old world. I should choose something equally meaningful.

Then it hits me. “Demeter. Your name is Demeter, after the ancient Greek goddess of the harvest, to constantly remind myself what we strive for: to feed our people and to master nature so the famines of the past never return.”

“Well-chosen, Vale. However, perhaps you have chosen a double-edged sword. You know, of course, that Demeter was not only responsible for the growing season, but also for the seasons of death?”

“And she too, during those times, had lost someone very dear to her.” The parallel is clear, but I don’t want to say it out loud. I’ve lost Remy; Demeter had lost her daughter. “I’m not ignorant of what I’ve chosen for you, Deme,” I say, proud of the nickname.

“Then you have chosen doubly well. Now that you have named me, you may begin exploring and charting your course through the database. Where would you like to begin?”

“Well, I guess you haven’t heard, but my boss gave me some homework to do today. I need to put together detailed profiles of each of the top-ranking members of the Resistance, including suspected whereabouts, roles within the Resistance, special knowledge and skills, and crimes against the Sector. Can you help me out with that?”

“Of course. Why don’t we begin by tracing the disappearances of former Sector officials and OAC researchers?”

Perfect. I smile. “That’s a great idea. In fact, let’s start with the two I know the most about—Gabriel and Brinn Alexander, the parents of Remy Alexander.”

The lights in my office dim. Three-dimensional images of Remy’s parents appear in the center of the room, and then files relating to Brinn’s research on botanical compounds and pharmacology and collections of Gabriel’s writings as the Sector’s Poet Laureate are listed. Then, folders relating to the Watchmen’s search of Brinn’s office, lab, and their house, complete with images of each room, including a shot of Remy’s bedroom, stark and empty, not at all like the last time I saw it when her sketches and paintings were plastered all over the walls. I remember how she used up every scrap of her rationed paper from her art class and begged more from her fellow art students. The information keeps coming. I sit back in my chair as Demeter brings up hundreds of files, images, and audio recordings and displays them all across the hologram for me to review. All I can do is marvel.

6 - VALE

Fall 57, Sector Annum 105, 13h26
Gregorian Calendar: November 16

“And so, each of these very particular objectives fits within my larger goals for the Seed Bank Protection Project, which, as you can see, are outlined on the following page.”

I’m finishing up my first presentation on my work so far. Demeter has linked me in to a meeting with the OAC Corporate Assembly and the chancellor and the Board of Governors. Several of the members of the Corporate Assembly are out visiting Farms and factory towns, so it’s a virtual meeting, and my father decided I could present from the comfort of my new office.

“As you all know, the project has been created in response to a new series of threats from those who call themselves the Resistance. The damage that the Resistance has inflicted upon our facilities so far has been minor at worst. However, it is clear from their growing numbers, increasing boldness, and the ease with which they have penetrated our defenses that they could very soon pose a significant threat to the security of our food supply.”

Demeter brings up a series of holographic projections, each image showing one of the government buildings or OAC research facilities with their names and the dates of the raids.

“After consultation with the chancellor and the OAC’s general director,”—it’s always strange to refer to my parents by their titles—“I understand my primary goal for the project will be to not only defend our own facilities, but also to impede the Resistance’s ability to carry out additional operations and to deter those who may be sympathetic to their propaganda from joining their movement.”

“Question, Vale,” I hear within my ear. Demeter immediately switches the hologram in my office to a close-up of the man currently speaking. It’s General Bunqu, a man with whom I’ve had the pleasure to train for the past year. He is a sight to behold. At the weights, at the sprints, at the long-distance runs and at the obstacle courses, Bunqu can best nearly every man who dares to compete against him. He only speaks to answer questions or issue commands, and he very rarely smiles. He is as black as a moonless night, and, for some reason, he always reminds me of the giant oak behind my bedroom at the chancellor’s residence—towering, stately, immovable.

“Could you help us to better understand the goals of the Resistance? What are their motivations for striking at our Seed Banks, for poaching information from them while leaving them largely unharmed?”

I take a deep breath. It’s a great question, and while I’ve thought a lot about it, I haven’t really tried to articulate it. I haven’t had to. Aulion and I spend all our time discussing the finer points of tactics and capabilities on both sides, but he’s never bothered to help me dissect the overall goals of the Resistance. “Of course, General,” I say, and then pause, looking for an answer. Demeter swoops in to my rescue.

“Old world versus new, Vale,” she says. Of course.

“Think of it like this, General. Our exclusive reliance on the OAC’s artificial, genetically-modified seeds has enabled us to overcome the constant threat of famine and successfully feed our growing nation. Additionally, these seeds enable Sector Dieticians to customize our diets in order for us to maximize health and minimize disease. Those who defected all had one thing in common: they made it clear they thought our reliance on these seeds was unsustainable and unethical. Now, as leaders of the Resistance, their goal is to acquire the genetic information for our seeds so they can return them to their natural, pre-modification state and disseminate them so people can grow their own food. While this might sound like a simple idea to some, we know it would be a disaster. As Madam Orleán is fond of saying, ‘Old world seeds breed old world disease.’”

The threat of the Resistance is real: if they succeed, they could cast the world we’ve built back into a dark history of starvation, disease, and death. This is why the Resistance is so dangerous. This is why they must be destroyed. And this is why, for myself, I need to know why Remy would ever
choose
to be a part of such an organization.

General Bunqu frowns, his black face creased in wrinkles as he ponders this. “Hmmm. That would be serious indeed,” he says finally.

“Of course it would be serious,” my mother chimes in, and her dulcet voice carries a soft edge. “Dissemination of old world seeds would contaminate the genes we have worked so hard over the years to perfect. If the Resistance succeeds, it could ruin a hundred years of engineering effort, and we would be forced to start over from the beginning—from where we were after the Famine Years.”

A hush spreads over the presentation room as everyone contemplates this possibility. It is a terrifying prospect. It signals starvation, war, death, disease—all the things we have kept at bay since Jubilation Day, when the Okarian Sector was first founded.

I clear my throat and break the silence.

“And that, Madam Orleán, is why this project is so important. In order to stop the Resistance before it gains more traction, my goals are: First, to assemble a special-ops reconnaissance force designed specifically to infiltrate and dismantle Resistance bases; Second, to hunt down and imprison the leaders of this dangerous movement; Finally, to design a public awareness campaign to counter Resistance propaganda and to prevent defection.”

I look around the room for any questions, and when none are forthcoming, I close my presentation.

“Thank you all for listening. I will send each of you a copy of this presentation. If you have any further questions, please pass them on to me after the meeting, and I will be happy to address them to your satisfaction.”

Inhale, exhale. I survived—not just survived, but perhaps triumphed over—my first joint board meeting. Demeter switches the screen to an overhead of the whole table. My father takes over for me.

“Thank you very much, Vale. We are all anxious to see how your goals progress in the coming months. Remember, this project is an immense responsibility, and don’t hesitate to ask any of us for help. While we all believe you’ll succeed in this task, you’re still young, and as a junior officer it’s our responsibility to help you in any way we can.” A general hum of approval sounds through the room. “Now, speaking only as a proud parent: congratulations, son! You survived your first board meeting,” he says, cracking a smile, and everyone laughs—everyone except General Aulion. “We’ll see you again in a week. Ladies and gentlemen, on to other matters.”

Demeter shuts down the hologram and raises the lights in my office. The anxiety and stress run off of my body like rainwater, and I collapse, sinking deep into my chair. I am exhausted. I hadn’t realized how nervous I was.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it, Deme?”

“No, Vale,” comes the soft and comforting female voice in return. “You were prepared, and you answered each question well. I believe they were impressed.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too.”

There’s a knock at the door. Damn it. I was hoping for some time to relax and not think about anything.

“Who is it, Deme?” There’s a camera outside the door that allows her to screen anyone approaching my office.

“Linnea Heilmann.”

Oh, joy.

“Let her in,” I say, too tired to get up from my chair and open the door myself. It swings open and Linnea, a rush of blonde hair, long legs, and shimmering blue eyes, comes bounding in the door. Dressed more casually today, in a dark green tunic with brown lace-up boots, she looks less dangerous than she did at the graduation ceremony, but no less beautiful.

“How did the meeting go?” She flashes that smoky smile at me. “Corine said it was your first big presentation. She asked me to come check on you after you were done.”

That’s my mom, playing matchmaker again.

“It went really well. Thanks for ask—”

“Your mom was saying how stressed you’ve been since you started work.” Linnea seems perfectly at ease in my office. She walks around my desk and sits herself down on top of it like she’s been here a thousand times. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Well, if you can somehow get Aulion off my back for a half-second.

She crosses her legs and leans back on her hands as her tunic rides up along her thigh, revealing perfectly toned muscle. I can’t help but stare. No wonder half the men in the Sector go to bed dreaming about her.

“No, thanks. I just need to get back to work, is all.”

“Maybe I should kidnap you and take you out for a relaxing dinner. I’m sure you deserve it.” She’s practically purring.

“That sounds nice, Linnea, but not tonight. I really do have a lot of work to do.” She doesn’t take the hint. Instead, she stares around the office, and her blue eyes narrow as she surveys the décor.

“You know, Vale, I was wondering …” She hesitates. “Do you know what ever happened to Elijah Tawfiq?”

Do I know what ever happened to Elijah Tawfiq?
What kind of a question is that? I think about this for a minute, staring at her, wondering what on earth she’s getting at.

“What do you mean?” I ask suspiciously.

“Well, I was just talking about him with Corine. She was saying what a tragedy it is that the OAC lost such a talented scientist to mental illness—you know, he went kind of crazy after the Outsider attack….”

Of course I know all this. Elijah is one of the key members of the Resistance raid teams. He’s led two of the three most successful raids against our seed banks and he disappeared at the same time as Remy and her parents. I didn’t have to profile him for my assignment last week with General Aulion because he’s not considered a senior Resistance leader, but we’ve certainly spent a lot of time talking about him.

“And then he disappeared, of course, and I always wondered.… It got me thinking, what if he joined the Resistance? Do you know anything, Vale?”

Linnea has a dreamy look in her eyes as though she’s not really seeing me, even as she stares at me, waiting for my answer. I know that years ago, when we were younger, Linnea had a thing for Eli, the good-looking young hotshot who was a few years older than us. But her behavior right now is so strange, so unguarded, so unlike Linnea, that I have to wonder if something’s really wrong.