28 - VALE

Summer 5, Sector Annum 106, 8h52

Gregorian Calendar: June 25

I motion toward the main entrance of the capitol building, but my father doesn’t move. Outside, thousands of voices rise and fall.

“How can I face them?” His voice is barely audible, and he stares at the door as if it opens onto a lion’s den.

“You’re still the chancellor of the Okarian Sector. It’s your duty to address the people.”

“We’ve failed them.” He turns to me. His face contorts and his red-rimmed eyes shine with unshed tears. “I failed you. My whole life I tried to live up to my father’s expectations, tried to be the father to you that I missed after he died. Now—” He stops to compose himself.

“I wish I could have met him.”

“So much of who I am is because of him. He died young, but his legacy lived far longer than he did.”

“I saw a picture of the two of you at The Waystation.”

“The Waystation?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“It’s Kanaan Alexander’s house. There’s a painting of you on the wall. You’re holding your father’s hand, and Brinn is sitting on Kanaan’s shoulders. You’re all standing in front of a newly planted live oak.”

“I never knew Kanaan’s place was called that,” he says. “I only remember being there once or twice before my father left and then—”

“Never returned,” I finish for him. “Your father died, but I still have a father.” I grip his arm. “Dad, you need to go through those doors and address the crowd as the duly elected leader of this nation. We all choose our own paths. You taught me that. It’s time for you to choose.”

“I chose wrong.”

“You have a new choice ahead of you. There are some things you can’t take back. Memories that might haunt you forever. But right now none of that matters. The citizens of Okaria need you to make the right choice.”

He nods, draws in a long breath, squares his shoulders, and palms open the doors.

As soon as we step outside, Okarian News Network drones swarm around us. I scan the grounds of the capital complex for signs of Remy. Where is she? There are too many people. Bear had organized five thousand marchers, but there are many more in the streets now. Whether curiosity seekers or concerned citizens, the ranks of the protesters and onlookers have swollen until people line the grassy knolls surrounding Assembly Hall and fill Rue Jubilation as far as the eye can see.

As soon as the drones are in position to record and broadcast the speech, my father raises a hand and a slow hush falls over the crowd.

“Fellow citizens. I see before me thousands of hardworking people from all quadrants of the Sector. You have marched on the city in peaceful protest of unjust laws and lives unfairly taken. Under my rule and those who came before me, we have deviated from the principles upon which the Okarian Sector was founded. Here, today, on Rue Jubilation, I want to assure everyone that each of you—whether you labor on our Farms or work in a factory town, whether you are a student at the Academy or a researcher at the OAC—is entitled to the full rights and privileges of citizenship. There are no exceptions.” He pauses and glances toward me. “Before I walked out here, I gave the order for the Watchers to hold their fire, the SDF to stand down, and for the OAC Security Directorate to be disbanded. All law enforcement and defense forces are charged with ensuring the safety of everyone assembled here today as well as that of every citizen throughout the Sector. Again, that means no exceptions.

“Many of you have heard the leaked broadcast of my wife’s—Corine Orleán’s—confession. As you can imagine, this is a very difficult time for my son and me. A doctor is with her, and she is under sedation. While I cannot speak to the crimes to which she has confessed, I know she must face the consequences of her actions. The College of Deans and the College of the People will be calling for hearings, and, no doubt, criminal charges will be filed against her.”

Cries rise up from the crowd, but he hushes them. Even now, it is remarkable how much sway my father holds with the people. Many, I’m sure, find it hard to believe—as I did for so long—that my parents could be capable of any crime, let alone the ones my mother confessed to on live broadcast.

“As for me,” he continues, “I, too, must take responsibility. Whether by turning a blind eye, by being complicit in behaviors I knew were morally indefensible and that contravened the laws of this nation, or by violating the spirit of our founding principles, I have wronged you all and will, no doubt, also face the legal consequences of my action or inaction. That is why I can no longer serve as your chancellor.”

In the history of the Okarian Sector, no chancellor has ever resigned during his or her term. The crowd stills, as if all of the oxygen has been drained from the air.

“As of this moment, I resign my position, and until such time that the Board of Directors can nominate and the Colleges can confirm someone to guide the transition to a newly elected leader, I hereby appoint my son, Valerian Augustus Orleán, to the position of interim chancellor.

“What? No!” I step backward, stunned. Even when I was leading the Seed Bank Protection Project, I had no aspiration to climb the political ladder. “You can’t—”

A camera drone moves quickly to zoom in on my face, and a roar of voices rises up from the streets below: “Valerian! Valerian! Valerian!”

“Citizens!” My father raises his arms to calm the crowd. “Even while Corine and I lost our way, beguiled by the false promises of wealth and power, our son was steadfast and honorable. He stood by his friends and by his fellow citizens. At every turn, he made the difficult decisions necessary for true leadership. Even as I step aside, ashamed of my actions, I must tell you that this moment is one of the proudest of my life.” He turns and gestures for me to take his place before the crowd.

I step forward with absolutely no idea what to say. The last thing I want to do is deal with the Board of Directors or the Assembly. I’m done giving speeches. I’m done being a public figure. I want to go home—wherever that might be—and hold Remy close, laugh with my friends, drink Firestone’s disgusting swill. I don’t want—

“Vale,” my father says. “They’re waiting.”

I clear my throat and look out on the crowd. I see a flash of red and then another. Just like at Windy Pines. All along Rue Jubilation, I see fists raised, some swathed in red, others held high. I look back at my father. He gives me a slight nod, as if to say get on with it.

“Citizens of Okaria,” I begin. “I pledge to uphold the Articles of Incorporation and fulfill the duties of interim chancellor until someone more experienced and more suitable can take my father’s place. In the meantime, I will do my best to ensure this is a peaceful and speedy transition. To prepare for the days ahead, I will be counting on the assistance of General Kofir Bunqu and Dr. Cillian Oahu, whom many of you will remember as Director of Research of the OAC.”

I’d like nothing more than to be done and get my father back inside, but I know I’m not finished yet.

“As interim chancellor, my first order is to dismantle the OAC inoculation program my mother authorized earlier today. This program, which few of you will have heard about, would have locked in through genetic alterations the physiological modifications made by the MealPaks—which were, in themselves, effectively preventing people from realizing their true potential. The parasite that has caused so many to fall ill was a modified organism that the OAC created. It was not created or disseminated by Dr. James Rhinehouse. It was distributed through the MealPaks and the disease it causes has always been curable. Watchers will be dispatched to clinics and hospitals to ensure medical personnel cease giving the inoculations that were ordered this morning and that all materials related to the inoculation program be returned to OAC headquarters immediately. Medical personnel will be working around the clock to administer the true cure which kills the parasite and relieves all symptoms. And those who have already received the injection, though we hope there will be few, will be closely monitored and cared for.”

I start to wind the speech up when it hits me. As long as I’m in office, there are two more things I should do. I search the crowd for Remy’s face, but I don’t see her. There’s no sign of Soren or Osprey, but right down front, I see Eli and Bear helping tend to the wounded.

“Given the events of this morning, I hereby rescind all previous executive orders declaring members of the Resistance traitors to the Sector. Full and unconditional amnesty is granted to all citizens who joined the Resistance, allied with them, or gave aid and comfort to them—” I think of Lyle from Windy Pines and wonder where he’s being held “—and no charges shall be brought or punitive actions taken against any non-citizen Outsider living in the Sector or in the Wilds who worked with Resistance members. Further, whether in office or not, I pledge to work to eliminate the mandatory MealPak program as soon as is feasible. With help from our Outsider allies and friends in the Resistance, we will make every effort to reintroduce diverse food crops into the dietary marketplace and to allow each citizen to choose whether or not to eat foods that have been genetically modified to enhance or change physiology in any way.”

With that, the protesters erupt in cheers, and scarves flutter up and down the avenue.

The nightmare is ending. I marvel at how quickly a moment can shift, how soon our lives can change. But then I think back to the long days, the sleepless nights, the walks through the woods, the puzzles, the fighting, the casualties. It only seems instantaneous because it’s happening now, and the pieces on the chessboard were already in place.

Checkmate.

I hold my hands up again, and the crowd quiets. There is yet one more thing to say. I close my eyes, hoping I remember the words of one of Gabriel’s poems.

“Arise, arise!

The world is alight

Morning dawns and seasons change

We gather, we harvest.”

There is a long pause and then the crowd erupts, the cheering so loud I can barely hear my own voice.

I turn to my father. “Let’s go.” I take him by the elbow and usher him back through the doors and into Assembly Hall where two lieutenants stand guard, looking between the two of us.

“Please arrange for a squad to escort my father back to his office. Make sure he is under guard, but that he is afforded all due respect.”

Despite the speeches they surely just overheard, the two soldiers look to Philip first for approval. “Vale is in charge now,” my father says and bows his head, abdicating any further responsibility.

“I’ll send for you as soon as I speak to the board,” I tell Philip, as he’s escorted down the hall.

“I’ll be waiting.”

I hear a pounding on the doors nearby. I glance behind me. To my astonishment, a bearded face is pressed against the glass doors to Assembly Hall. I stare. The pounding continues. After a few moments, I walk over and palm open the doors.

“Congratulations!” Miah walks in and claps me on the back. His face is haggard, but he's obviously as relieved as I am. I half expect him to have a bottle of champagne open. “The youngest chancellor ever. How do you feel?” Behind him, the smaller but much more intimidating figure of Cillian Oahu stands flanked by four Resistance fighters I vaguely recognize.

“Move.” Cillian pushes past Miah and through the open doors.

Finally, I think. Somebody who knows what they’re doing. And god knows I’m not talking about Jeremiah Sayyid.