9 - VALE

Spring 76, Sector Annum 106, 06h45

Gregorian Calendar: June 3

Philip paces. I’ve been listening to his footfalls back and forth across the airship cabin for the better part of ten minutes. He hasn’t said a word, but the tension is so tangible it rolls over his shoulders like a morning fog over Lake Okaria. There are dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there yesterday. He’s barely uttered a word since we boarded. Two nights ago, at the Pan-Okarian Gymnasia Championship, Remy somehow hijacked the media control center and broadcast the footage from the farms to every screen in the Sector. It must have been her, because she kept that footage in case it came in handy—and it did. Ironically, although it was the first night my parents allowed me to access the vidscreen, I almost missed the broadcast.

I’d been reading all day and needed a mindless break. The cook had prepared my dinner and one of my guards brought it to my room with the announcement that, if I wanted, I was allowed to eat in the family room. Family room. I almost laughed aloud and said thanks, but no thanks, but the truth was I needed out, so I dutifully followed him down the hall to where I’d spent many happy hours with my parents and friends. The scent of the garden wafted in from the open windows, and I could smell jasmine and lilac in the air. The long couch was more than inviting, so I stretched out and tried to relax.

The guard placed my tray on the low table in front of the couch, activated the vidscreen, and took up his post out in the hallway. My parents were attending the annual competition in person, of course, and watching it wasn’t high on my list of priorities so I barely paid attention to the first half. Instead I ate my dinner and then walked around the room, surveying the trinkets and memorabilia on the shelves, examining the books and artwork, some by Okarian authors and artists, some saved from the Old World.

In the background, the sounds on the screen shifted. Angry yelling, people crying out. Panting, footsteps pounding on the ground.

“Don’t move!” someone shouted. I turned to the vidscreen. The video was jerky, clearly recorded by somebody in motion. It panned around quickly, so fast it was hard to tell what was happening. The idyllic setting—rows upon rows of vegetables, trellised vines, and trees dotting the landscape—clashed with the chaos in the foreground. In the distance a soldier, wearing a Farm Enforcer’s uniform, kneeled with his weapon trained on an unarmed man. As the video turned back, I recognized the large, distinctive red barn.

By the harvest. This is Remy’s footage. This is Round Barn.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” the man screams. “My hands are—” Then a crackle. Bolt fire. The man on the screen crumpled, his chest lit up in blue.

“Hey!” The landscape tilts as Remy runs forward. When the Enforcer turns toward the sound, a blue blast emerges from right beneath the camera. He collapses to the ground. More footsteps as Remy runs to the man’s limp body. The camera gets a clear shot of the man’s face as she rolls him over.

“You’ll be fully recovered in a few days.” Her voice was barely audible, but the disdain came through loud and clear. “Unlike the man you just murdered.”

My heart pounded. Who did this? This footage could out me. If they showed me on screen, they’d blow my cover. Then I asked myself: is that really such a bad thing? If everyone in the Sector believes Jeremiah kidnapped me, watching me fight Evander at Round Barn would show them where my allegiance truly lies.

I have my own tragic memories of that day, but by watching the broadcast I was able to see everything through Remy’s eyes. Farm workers cried out with hunger, asking why they were being starved, protesting that they just wanted food, food they’d helped plant and tend, helped nurture and harvest. Evander’s airships hummed in the background, but you couldn’t see them quite yet.

I wanted to turn away. The thought of watching it all unfold again put a pit in my gut. I didn’t want to see the fire shooting out from Sector airships like dragon’s breath in an old fairy tale. I didn’t want to see the burning bodies. I didn’t want to see Evander’s smirking, self-satisfied face. I didn’t want to watch as Remy’s hands carved Evander’s flesh.

But I couldn’t turn away. I needed to see what the rest of Okaria was seeing.

As Evander’s airships moved into view and their cannons breathed fire on the crowd below, I could only imagine the chaos unfolding at the auditorium where thousands of spectators were watching this for the first time. What were my parents—sitting pretty in their Presidential Viewing Room—thinking? Had they already deployed officers to catch Remy and whoever else might’ve helped her? What excuse would the Sector come up with to smooth this one over?

A firm hand on my shoulder startled me from my shock. The vidscreen shut off and the guard hustled me back to my room, locking the door behind me in a matter of seconds.

Now, in the airship on the way to Windy Pines, a factory town on the western edge of the Sector, I watch my father pace. He must have seen me on the footage, Evander’s boot pressing into my throat, right before Remy tackled him, but he hasn’t said a word about it. With an unreadable glance my way, he turns on his heel, strides into the cockpit, and slaps the palmer behind him. The door slides shut with a whisper, and finally the oppressive weight of his footfalls is gone.

The guard opposite me shifts uncomfortably under General Aulion’s scrutiny. An ordinary, if high-ranking, Sector Defense Forces captain, he hasn’t been through the same intense emotional training as the two black ops at my side, who have barely blinked in the two hours since we boarded the airship. My father’s restless pacing and abrupt departure has set everyone on edge. But most of us are wise enough not to show it.

Still maintaining the illusion among the guards that I am “a danger to myself,” my parents ordered that I be accompanied by at least two guards at all times. I am scheduled to speak after my father today, in an attempt to reassure the citizens of the Sector that I am still one of them. Aulion has taken it upon himself to head up my personal entourage of guards. When he volunteered, my mother approved with what I can only describe as barely contained enthusiasm; my father has been too distracted to notice what I suspect to be some sort of unstated understanding between Aulion and my mother. The General’s eyes haven’t once left me since we lifted off, and the hairs on my neck are standing at attention as authoritatively as the guard across from me.

“It’s hard to tell what’s going on in the inner network of the C-Links, now that I’ve separated myself from them,” Demeter says in my ear. “But I believe Evander is going to make a speech in response to Remy’s broadcast. The networks are being prepared. Camera drones have been dispatched to the OAC building. Jon Spironiv, the ONN spokesman, has entered Corine’s office. Inside her office, I’m afraid, I am blind. I’m still trying to figure out a way into her security system, but so far, no luck. ”

Demeter has essentially gone renegade since she was forced to cordon herself off from the C-Link network after my mother fed her false information. She can’t access the same wealth of data she could while she was my authorized personal assistant, but what she can do now is almost more helpful: monitor all movements on the general Okarian network, including drone, airship, PODS, and any humans linked into them, all without herself being monitored. She also has access to everything in the public information network, which includes the Personhood database, some parts of the Dieticians’ database, and anything accessible through the Okarian library system. She might not be able to guide me through top-secret files like she once could, but in a way, this is better. She’s free from the constraints of her identity as my assistant; she can do whatever she pleases. And that means she can take initiative, investigate ideas and people without instructions or commands, use back doors to embed herself in various parts of the network the C-Link system doesn’t monitor. She has become, as some old sage predicted, a ghost in the machine.

“My sense is that Evander will speak to the nation right after your speech at Windy Pines.”

Perfect timing.

I can feel the airship begin to descend, the gentle weight being lifted from my shoulders as the ship floats down toward the ground. The heavy tripods extend with a whirr, and a moment later we settle onto an airfield landing pad. The peace of flight is disrupted. Everyone is in motion. My father emerges from the cabin. He gestures for me to follow him, and I stand to obey. The guards follow at a careful distance. They must not appear to be coercing me. Corine will have drilled that into them.

I watch my father as we step out of the airship, the cockeyed smile that always comforted me now set on his face as if it had been carved in stone. Although my mother appears firm in her conviction that their chosen path is the right one, my father seems to be fraying at the edges. Whether through fatigue or self-doubt, it’s hard to say, but either way, he’s lost some of the confidence he had just a few months ago.

“Dad?” I say quietly, and he jerks his head around to look at me. “Are you okay?”

He stares at me for a few seconds, and then says, simply, “You haven’t called me that in a long time.”

Unsure how to respond with Aulion and the guards mere meters behind us, I hold his gaze. Another quiet moment passes, and then he turns back and palms the door. The stairway unfolds to a walkway lined with thick grass sparkling with dew in the bright morning sun. As he steps out, head down, away from the cameras, he mutters so softly I can barely hear him: “What have we done?”

I keep my composure—I’ve had a lot of practice recently—but my heart lurches to a stop as though it’s been slammed against a wall. Maybe there’s hope, I say to myself. At least for him.

Outside, the air is warm and humid, and smells of chemical dye. There are additional SDF forces lining the perimeter of the landing pad and a few camera drones floating around, but they are both outnumbered by the Windy Pines Town Council members. They’ll accompany us to one of the factories for a tour and then to the town square where my father and I will speak. I haven’t been on many tours of the factory towns, but normally, the people are enthusiastic, warm, and welcoming. No such thing today. We are surrounded by frowns, dark expressions, furrowed brows. My father flashes a tight, practiced smile and waves, ignoring the lack of enthusiasm. I do not follow suit.

“Daryl, Evan, Clarisse,” Philip says, shaking hands, kissing cheeks. His strength has always been his warmth and charisma, that easy smile, the genuinely kind way he speaks to people. Today he’s trying, but there is a stilted quality to every word, every movement. “Lyle, Kara. Hello, my friends. It’s been too long.”

“Indeed,” one of the men says, almost as straight-backed and formal as I am. “We’re glad to have you here, Chancellor, and honored to be the first stop on your tour.” But he doesn’t look glad or honored. His eyes skitter around, between me and Philip, taking in my guards, and then over to the other council members, who are waiting, quiet and tense. “Captain Orleán, the people of the Sector are glad to have you back safe and sound, though I understand it was a long and arduous process of healing.”

The honorific Captain surprises me. Apparently I’ve been promoted, I think wryly. I wish someone would keep me up to date with all the stories my parents are telling. “I am well now,” I respond neutrally. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Come,” Clarisse says, turning with a sweeping gesture.

We follow her and the other councilmembers to a platform where a tram has been cordoned off for us. As the doors slide open and we step inside, I think back to the briefing with my mother yesterday as she informed me I was accompanying my father on a speaking tour of the factory towns.

“Windy Pines specializes in textiles. You should remember this from your lessons, Vale,” my mother said. I did remember, but I allowed her to continue without interruption. “There are shipping lines from Pines to Sakari, Lesedi, and North Port, all of which have been experiencing, shall we say, interference from unidentified bands of fugitives looking to use the shipping infrastructure for their own purposes.” I fought the urge to laugh, remembering the Resistance plan to hijack shipping lines to distribute seeds and unmodified food throughout the Sector, and how I was present at the meeting where that plan was born. “Windy Pines isn’t the only town experiencing such disruptions, and we suspect that the outlaws are getting help from one or more people on the inside. We’re sending you and the chancellor on this trip to reassure the residents and workers that everything is under control.”

We’re sending you and the chancellor? Who is the “we”? I wondered. The Board of Directors? But since when did the Board “send” the chancellor anywhere? Shouldn’t the chancellor decide when and where he visited?

She laid a hand on my shoulder, then touched my cheek, as if I was still a child. “You know what to do.”

The tram sets off at a gentle glide. I take in the sights and sounds of the town as it rolls past. Once we arrive at the factory, we are given a brief tour, and I marvel at the enormous looms, nanofiber laser spinners, vats of dye, workers monitoring robotic equipment doing who knows what. In one vast, open floor, I can see stretchers the size of houses laid out to weave the sails Okarians use for sky surfers and sailboats on Lake Okaria.

After our tour, we board the tram again. My father waves me toward a seat next to him and waits as the local council members assemble around him.

“I know we have a formal meeting after my speech, but I’d like to hear from you now, before I face the crowd. What’s the situation in Windy Pines?” Philip leans forward, his hands clasped. The picture of the engaged politician. Clarisse clears her throat.

“Missing cargo and assorted equipment, citizens not showing up for work, a few disappearing entirely.” My father nods, and I follow suit, doing my best to look attentive rather than desperate for information. I wonder why my father is allowing me to hear this. I can feel the watchfulness emanating from Aulion, telling me he’s none too happy, that he doesn’t trust me for one second.

“We understand there are similar troubles at the Farms,” Lyle speaks up, looking me dead in the eye. “And after that video footage last night, people are wondering—”

“That footage was staged,” my father interrupts. “Surely even you could tell from the video quality. Set up like a bad monster movie meant to scare little children in their beds at night. None of you were taken in, were you?” He surveys the group’s faces. Several council members shift uncomfortably.

“Clarisse, how many Windy Pines workers have left?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one?” I can tell my father is surprised, though he tries not to show it.

“And more have walked off the job, or tried to walk off, but were caught.”

“Where are they being detained?” Philip says.

Detained? That’s illegal. I recall the line from the Code of Citizenship: No citizen is bound to the Sector, nor can any citizen be prosecuted or punished for abandoning the Sector.

“They’re not.” Clarissa’s gaze flits across the faces of the other council members. She meets Lyle’s gaze and then turns back to my father. “It’s against the Code.”

My father draws in a breath. “You know as well as I do the Code was modified after the SRI massacre and after certain board members began disappearing.”

I keep my face neutral, but inside I’m reeling. Modified? How? Why wasn’t there a public announcement? Why wasn’t I ever told? No one mentioned it, even during my officer’s training.

“In truth, detention was proposed,” Lyle says. “I vetoed the proposition.”

My father turns toward him. “I issued an executive order regarding detention of suspected Outsider or Resistance sympathizers, did I not?” His voice is tight. I can hear his teeth grind.

“Yes,” Clarisse says. “But by the governing laws of Windy Pines, and indeed all Sector towns as you well know, we were required to accept Lyle’s veto. Such a drastic step, even in the wake of an executive order, must be adopted by unanimous approval of each town council.”

There’s a moment of deep and uncomfortable silence. My father stands, and I follow suit. Aulion doesn’t budge. “Then you defied a direct order from my desk,” my father says finally. He looks at Lyle who blanches in the face of the chancellor’s withering stare. “Your directive as council members is to do everything in your power to work against the Resistance and their Outsider agitators, and yet you have chosen to do exactly the opposite. This is not simply a matter of arresting a shoplifter. This is a matter of state security. By allowing these people to walk away from their jobs, to walk away from Windy Pines, you are allowing them to walk directly into the waiting arms of those seeking to undermine the Sector.” My father takes a step toward Lyle. The guards, sensing what’s about to happen, place their hands on their weapons. “By my Executive Order”—he almost spits the words—“ you are summarily dismissed from your position as councilman.” He turns to Aulion. “Arrest him.”

The other council members are on their feet, a tumult of voices protesting all at once.

“On what charge?” Lyle says, his eyes wide.

“Aiding and abetting the enemy.”

General Aulion only has to nod once, before two of the guards who joined us at the landing pad sweep over to Lyle’s side, pull his hands behind his back, and slap a pair of magnetic cuffs around his wrists.

“What the hell?” He tries to twist away.

“Chancellor—” Clarisse starts.

“This is ridiculous!” another council member interrupts, trying to push in between the guards and Lyle. “This isn’t proper procedure. You can’t arrest him for vetoing an illegal proposition, you—”

“I am perfectly within my bounds,” my father says, without raising his voice. “The charge stands, and I can assure you that he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.” He slaps the red button labeled Emergency Stop and we all tip slightly off balance as the tram comes to an abrupt stop. “Get him out of my sight.”

At a nod from Aulion, the guards pull Lyle off the tram where he loses his balance and falls to his knees. They yank him to his feet, although he’s no longer putting up a fight. The doors slide closed behind them, and the tram starts moving again. I turn back to look at the shell-shocked expressions on the other politicians’ faces.

“Now, let’s make this clear,” Philip says, sitting down again and leaning back. “Anyone who assists the cause of the Resistance will face the immediate wrath of Sector leadership.”

Everyone nods vigorously and no one says another word. I sink down into the seat beside my father. We must not have been far from our destination, because the tram slows. The doors open, and I follow my father and Aulion up some stairs into the town hall. All three of my guards are right on my heels.

“The citizens are assembled in the town square,” Clarisse says, her voice shaky, as she steps ahead to lead us through the building. “We’ll go out front where we’ve set up a stage on the steps.”

“Excellent,” my father says, all trace of his anger gone.

Clarisse continues. “We asked every able-bodied citizen not working today to attend, so you should have quite a crowd.”

My father turns to me. “Vale, are you ready for your big appearance?”

I nod. What do you want me to say, Dad?

“Good. I’ll open with a few words and turn it over to you. They’re going to love you, Vale.”

He’s the golden boy. Eli’s words to Soren. Our ace in the hole. I’d overheard them talking as Eli made the case for trusting me, for allowing me to be a part of their plans. I have to stop myself from smiling when I remember Soren’s response. More like asshole. Seems like an age ago, even though it’s only been a few months. I grit my teeth and wish the words I have to speak today were my own, instead of the lies my parents have written for me.

I follow my father and Clarisse through a broad set of double doors, out into the blinding sunlight under a cloudless sky. We’re on a small stage surrounded by several thousand citizens, all with their eyes trained on us. I wait for my own eyes to adjust, and then squint out at the crowd. Curious, but neutral faces. Careful faces. Not the adoring crowds my father is used to addressing.

“Citizens of Windy Pines!” my father says, waving his arms in a welcoming gesture as if he’d just invited everyone over to the chancellor’s house for a picnic. A roar rolls through the crowd in response, mostly shouts of approval and applause, but there are a few stoic faces, set jaws, crossed arms. “Thank you so much for coming out today. I know many of you are giving up precious free time to be here, and my heart is gladdened by your presence.”

I catch a flash of red in motion in the crowd, and I startle, trying to follow its movement without being obvious.

“Today, I come to speak of dark and dangerous times ahead. You know about the threats that lurk at our borders, the terrorists and the Outsiders who oppose our way of life, who would steal our food, our wealth, our freedom, right out from under our noses. Since our founding mothers and fathers dedicated themselves to the Okarian Sector, our citizens have worked hard to be free from fear, free from want, free from war. But, as you know, the terrorists have proven themselves capable of taking the very things we hold most dear.” He turns, opens his arm to me, and I step forward right on cue. “They took my own son from me,” he says with a heaviness in his voice.

This time the crowd’s reaction is louder and fists pump the air along with shouts of “Destroy the Resistance!” and “Traitors!” from the true believers standing right down front. I take it all in and then catch another flash of red, this time in a different part of the crowd, further back, to the right. What is that?

“Valerian,” Demeter whispers in my ear. “Listen, I’ve got Eli …”

“Though we have made significant progress in destroying Resistance bases and shutting down their networks, there is still work to be done before this cancer is eliminated. Members of the Resistance are dangerous, not because they are not like us, but precisely because they are, in so many ways, just like us. They were once our friends and colleagues, but now they have subverted the very principles upon which our small nation was founded. Principles that have kept us safe and secure in troubled times. Now, we are at a turning point in our efforts to crush them once and for all. My fellow citizens, the Resistance is desperate.”

“Vale? Vale, are you there?” In my ear, I hear the unmistakable voice of Elijah Tawfiq. All the practice in stoicism I’ve had in captivity can’t prevent me from sucking in a breath, from letting my eyes go wide, letting the excitement show on my face. Always at my side, I feel Aulion’s gaze burning through me like a laser. I exhale, force myself to relax, and focus on my father.

“He’s tuned in, Eli,” Demeter says. “He can’t respond, but you can speak all you want. Go ahead.”

“And in their desperation,” my father goes on, “they are taking risks, making mistakes that make them vulnerable to detection. That is why we are here today. To ask you to join the fight.”

“Vale, listen to me,” Eli says. “Demeter’s filled me in about your situation. Here’s what you need to know. We’re not producing as many seeds as we hoped, and distribution has been a bear—ha! Bear, get it?—anyway, we’ve got some good news. We’ve stolen another 3D printer and we’ve figured out how to print actual food. We’ve got one printer on seeds and one on food. Rhinehouse is working twenty-four-seven and is one grumpy son of a bitch, but what’s new? Production isn’t ideal, we can’t do it in high volume, and it’s no substitute for growing from scratch, but we don’t have time to cultivate the printed seeds en masse. We’re printing as much food as we can and shipping it out as fast as we can. Bear is our point man on the Farms. He’s working with Zeke’s team to infiltrate existing supply routes between factory towns and Farms. It’s slow going, but it’s progress. ”

Philip steps forward to the edge of the stage. “To ask you, my friends, to watch for infiltrators within our communities. Infiltrators like Jeremiah Sayyid who kidnapped my son. It is up to each one of us to be vigilant against traitors in our very midst. We must not let a few disillusioned radicals undermine the Okarian Sector.”

“I’ve got more good news,” Eli says, his words tumbling out in near-breathless excitement. “Our little Bear has been busy. Hell, he’s a fucking grizzly. He’s got teams assembled on all the Farms and between him and Zeke, shit is getting real. People disappearing, walking off the job, civil disobedience … I mean, that boy is a talker. And every time he opens his mouth, somebody falls in love with him. Who knew, right?”

“My friends, I am here today to tell you that we are in the final stretch, that we are close to victory. My son, Valerian Orleán”—my father turns toward me with a proud look on his face—“who heroically escaped captivity to return to us, is preparing to lead an all-out assault on the last remnants of this terrorist network.”

Lead an all-out assault? The words ring in my head as I see another flash of red. And another. I catch glimpses, out of the corner of my eye, of fabric leaping from palm to palm, as crimson and bright as fresh-spilled blood.

Red in the morning, sailors take warning …

“Vale, now that we know how to communicate through Demeter, we’ll keep you—”

“Eli, who are you talking—” a voice shouts in the background. Zoe?

“For fuck’s sake, give me a minute!” Eli yells.

“Citizens, it is time to strike the final blow—” Philip says, even as his eyes grow wide and his shoulders tense. He takes a hesitant step backward and glances at me, then at Aulion. Before us, the crowd is swimming in red.

Eli’s voice again. “And did you see Remy’s video? Was that fucking brilliant or what? And by the way, I’m perfectly fine now. Rhinehouse replicated Corine’s vaccine, thanks to Demeter, and I’m feeling fine and dandy, thanks for asking.”

I try to stand still, to look impassive as I listen to Eli rattle on, watch my father, and process what’s unfolding in front of us.

“Eli.” It’s Demeter’s voice now. “Vale is in Windy Pines with his father. Something is going on. Stand by.”

A hundred, no, maybe two, three hundred hands are in the air, defiant fists above the crowd, wrapped in red, organized to form a pattern, a sign, but what is it? More hands join in. More red. Visible only from above, from the raised platform my father and I stand on, the symbol becomes clear. A slow smile spreads across my face. At my side, Aulion growls and signals for the nearby soldiers to head into the crowd.

“Arrest anyone with a scrap of red on them.” He turns to the SDF soldier behind me. “Get me drone footage from every angle possible. I want access to every open network in this quadrant. Pull up Personhood and activate the facial recognition program. I want names.” He points at one of the black ops now hovering uncomfortably close to me. “Notify Madam Orleán.” He turns toward me with a look so sharp it could flay the flesh off my bones. “She’ll want to see exactly what’s going on.”

“I had to disconnect you, Vale,” Demeter says. “Sector security probes are looking into this connection. Eli’s gone now.”

All I can see is red. The letter R.

Resistance.