Reaping (12 page)

“Remy,” Bear whispers in my ear, “is that Vale?”

7 - VALE

Winter 35, Sector Annum 106, 18h30

Gregorian Calendar: January 24

I pull my too-thin jacket more tightly around me, wishing for anything that I had the furs the wayfarer does, or the apparent immunity to the cold she feels. The temperature’s been plummeting, and at this point it’s well below zero. Heavy wet snow with flakes big as thumb prints cling to every surface. Winter is always like this—one day you don’t need a jacket and the next your breath forms frozen stalactites with every exhale. It’s slow going, moving against the wind, trudging through the snow, but the wayfarer seems to have tapped into a boundless energy source, and she plows down the path, clears it for the rest of us. Snow’s piling around our ankles, Kenzie and Jahnu are wrapped around each other for warmth, and the wayfarer finally takes pity on Firestone and tosses him one of her thermals. “Only a few more kilometers!” she shouts above the banshee wind. “It’s not far now!”

“A few more kilometers might as well be a goddamned marathon,” Kenzie shouts back savagely.

When it becomes clear Firestone might pass out if we don’t at least stop for a brief rest and a drink, we huddle beneath the boughs of a large pine and pass around our waterskins. Mine, tied to the outside of my pack, has frozen solid. It’s late, past midnight, and the going has been slow for the past few hours. Tension in our little group has skyrocketed, and if we don’t find Normandy tonight, we might not make it at all. The creeping prospect of freezing to death after all I’ve been through is slowly dawning on me. This isn’t how I’d have chosen to go out.

“You sure you haven’t heard about any raids?” I ask the wayfarer. She’s checking Firestone’s shoulder and dressing his burn. “On Normandy, I mean. What if it’s been destroyed like Waterloo? What happens then?”

“Normandy’s fine, Vale,” she says reassuringly, but when she turns away, I catch her checking her astrolabe again, just to be sure. She turns back to Firestone, and touches him on the arm. “Think warm bed and smooth whiskey.” Firestone just growls before we put our heads down and trudge on down the path again.

Just when I’m sure we’re going to freeze and our lifeless icy corpses will be nothing but food for the wolves, the wayfarer pulls up short.

“We’re here,” she says. Even the limitless enthusiasm she had an hour ago seems to be flagging. She ushers us through a clump of undergrowth, drops to her knees and starts scrambling at the ground. For one paranoid, exhausted moment, I wonder if she’s gone insane. But as she digs frantically at the snow, now up to my shins, and the dull rusted metal of an old manhole cover comes into view. I kneel beside her to help, pushing the snow off in great sweeping armfuls.

The wayfarer pulls out an adjustable metal tool from her pack that she locks into a hook position, sticking the hooked end into the hole and using it as a lever to pull the cover up. I slide it open to reveal what looks to be a five meters drop to the tunnel below where a dim yellow light casts a dull pall over the floor and a ladder is affixed to the wall.

She turns to us, speaking quickly.

“It’s almost two in the morning, but they usually have someone manning the comm center 24/7.” I’m tempted to ask her how she knows that, but I bite my tongue. “There’s probably a security camera.” She looks up at me with that sly grin that once again reminds me of Demeter—even though, of course, my C-Link couldn’t smile at me. “If you want my advice, I’d send your friends down first so you don’t get shot.”

When she starts to turn away, I reach out a gloved hand to grab her shoulder. It occurs to me that she’s not much shorter than I am, and her storm-hued eyes stand out in the dim biolight.

“Wait, aren’t you coming? At least for the night? To get some food? Sleep in a warm bed?”

She barks a laugh. “Not likely. The only reason I helped you and your friends at all is the pendant around your neck. You can use it again, anytime, though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go calling me willy-nilly. I expect I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes gleam as she smiles at me.

“I mean, Vale, that I think you and your friends will be calling on the Outsiders again in the near future.”

“Are we gonna chat all night?” Kenzie says with impatience.

I turn to her. “Yeah, sorry. I was trying to convince the wayfarer to come in with us. You and Jahnu better go first. I’ll help Firestone down and pull the hatch behind us.”

Kenzie nods, her teeth chattering as she starts down the ladder.

Before dropping down myself after helping Firestone, I turn to the wayfarer, opening my mouth to say a final thank you. But she’s gone. I stare around into the empty trees, the cloudy shadows cast by the storm’s haze and luminescent snow.

“Hello?” I call. But I know better than to expect a response.

I look down at the ground. Her footprints lead back into the deep woods. If she wanted to join us, she would have. She’ll do what she wants.

“Thank you,” I say out loud, an offering, wondering if the wind will carry the words to her. “We owe you,” I finish, under my breath.

Turning back to the manhole, I climb down, trying to get my numb fingers to grip the ladder as I descend. Just being out of the wind is a relief, and I shiver pleasantly as my body adjusts. I pull the cover closed, and then slide down to the bottom where Kenzie is punching a numerical passcode into a device against the wall to our right. I hear a clicking noise overhead, and see a camera taking photos of us from above. I cringe. Whatever automated systems they’ve set up won’t let us in if the facial recognition software identifies me, I’m sure of it.

Just as I predicted, a few seconds later an alarm starts blaring. “Intruder at the perimeter. Entry is denied without prior approval,” a harsh, mechanical voice blares at us. “Intruder at the perimeter. Entry is denied without—”

“Dammit,” Kenzie growls. “My fingers are so cold I can't get the code in right.” She starts punching at the keypad as if she wants to destroy it, and Jahnu reaches out and places his hand over hers.

But then there’s a crackle of static and the voice changes; suddenly it’s not mechanical at all, but very human.

“Firestone! Is that—hey, stoppit—”

“—prior approval—” the mechanical voice grates again.

“Turn that damn thing off, give me that—” I grin. Eli.

“You can’t override without—”

“—them in! That’s my team, they’re with us, they—” Eli’s voice is angry now, and all at once there’s a loud buzzing of static and the intercom goes dead.

“What the hell?” Kenzie asks, after several seconds of silence.

Jahnu looks up at the camera and says to me, “Not quite the same as all the journalists following you around back in the Sector, huh?”

“That’s something I don’t miss.”

Suddenly the intercom blazes to life again.

“Hey, sorry about that.” Eli’s voice sounds hollow in the cramped cement tunnel—dangerously calm, too, like he might have just shot someone or blown something up in order to hijack the intercom system. “We’ve encountered a little problem here in the comm room. They didn’t have authorization to let you in because Vale’s name is on the ID system. But I’ve taken care of that. Just hang on one second and I’ll figure out how to open the door.”

“He prolly decked somebody.” Firestone says.

I can’t help but think that this isn’t going to help my case for popularity much, if Eli had to beat someone up just to get us in the door.

“They need a drastic overhaul of the controls here,” Eli comments over the speakers. “None of these buttons seem to do anything meaningful.”

“Damnit … just let me ... stop that—” A girl’s voice. Sounds like she’s going toe-to-toe with Eli.

But a few moments later, just as I think my teeth are going to break from rattling in my jaw, the enormous metal door rolls open, and we’re hit with a blast of dry, warm air. We spill inside, eager to get out of the cold. There’s a guard inside who greets us with a raised Bolt and an anxious look, but Kenzie puts her hand on the muzzle and brushes it aside carelessly, striding through the corridor as if she’s been there a million times. In the distance, a group of two older men and two women round the corner. The one leading the pack is a short woman with silvery grey hair wearing an oversized sweater. She looks like she just got out of bed. She also looks vaguely familiar. Then I recognize one of them as the man who interrogated me when I first arrived at the Resistance. Dr. James Rhinehouse.

Kenzie comes to an abrupt halt as they approach.

“Rhinehouse, you … and Eli’s team? Everyone is—”

“Thank goodness you’re all okay,” the woman says, cutting Kenzie off. She looks us up and down. At my side, Kenzie and Jahnu straighten unconsciously, as though preparing to salute a superior. Who is this woman? I notice Firestone doesn’t bother looking officious.

“How did you find us in this storm?” she asks. “The markers must be covered by the snow.” Kenzie, Jahnu, and Firestone all shoot a glance at me, but I shake my head minutely. We can tell them about the Outsider later.

“It’s a long story,” Kenzie offers. “When did you get here? Do you have any word on my parents?”

“They’re safe,” Rhinehouse says. “Anxious about you, of course.”

Kenzie smiles and reaches out for Jahnu’s hand.

“I imagine you’ll want to get warm and get fed,” Rhinestone says, “But we’ll want to hear your long story later.” Just then, Eli comes sprinting around the corner. He pulls up short behind the other group, looking at us in disbelief, and then shoulders past them all.

“What took you so long?” He throws his arms around Firestone.

“Burnt-ass shoulder here, Eli!” Firestone exclaims, shrinking back and batting Eli’s arm away.

Eli pulls back, looking apologetic. But Firestone can’t keep the glare on his face for long, and it quickly slides off, replaced by a sheepish look.

“Hell, Firestone, you’ve looked better after fending off a pack of wolves,” Eli says.

“Wolves in sheep’s clothing, in this case,” Firestone responds darkly.

“Soldiers?” the grey-haired lady asks quickly.

Firestone nods.

“Can’t wait to hear that one,” Eli says. He wraps Kenzie in a bear hug and kisses her smack on the lips and then does the same to Jahnu. In a moment, the tension is gone, and everyone’s laughing—everyone except the short woman, whose eyes are fixed on me. I dodge her curious stare. Then Eli turns and sticks his hand out to shake mine. “Glad you’re still with us,” he says. I clasp his hand, grateful for the gesture.

“Eli,” the woman in front interrupts, rather stiffly. “What did you do in the comm center?”

“Nothing that can’t be undone,” he responds happily. “Didn’t hurt anyone, though Zoe needs to loosen up a bit.”

The woman sighs, and Rhinehouse pipes up with his gravelly voice:

“Elijah, take your team to the mess.” His one eye takes our bearings. When he finally settles on me, his coldness makes me shiver as surely as the howling storm outside. “Leftovers are in the ice box. Once they’re fed, get Firestone to the infirmary. Hodges will want to take a look at him.”

Eli nods dutifully, the smile still plastered on his face as he turns, and we all start after him.

“Valerian,” Rhinehouse says, and suddenly all eyes shift to me. “You come with us.”

My stomach growls loudly and my insides twist into a knot. Great. Another interrogation. I had hoped for a warm meal and a bed, or at the very least, a pillow and some blankets, but I suppose that will have to wait.

Eli’s smile fades, but he gestures to the rest of the group to follow him. Kenzie smiles at me tentatively as she passes me, and Jahnu clasps my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. I follow Rhinehouse as he and the others turn down the hall.

When we arrive at a door, the shorter woman pushes it open. The room inside is claustrophobic, furnished only by a few tables and chairs. She gestures me in, giving me a smile at once reassuring and worried. My stomach sinks. Something’s wrong.

Once we’re all settled inside, an uncomfortable silence descends. The woman clears her throat.

“Valerian,” she says, in a voice that is clear and strong. “Dr. Rhinehouse has told us about your unexpected change of heart regarding the Sector. I trust you meant it in earnest?”

“Yes,” I respond, as evenly as I can, wondering when the anvil is going to drop. I’m still trying to place her face. I start to ask who she is, but she plows ahead.

“Two nights ago, your father made a formal statement regarding your disappearance. Your parents...” she pauses, clears her throat again. Rhinehouse’s one good eye is fixed on me, unblinking, narrowed. “Your parents claim you’ve been kidnapped by Resistance forces. That Jeremiah Sayyid was a sleeper operative working for the ‘rebel outcasts’ and that he betrayed you, your parents, and the Sector. We believe that, whether or not he is personally being hunted as we speak, he’s being used as an excuse to continue the Sector’s quest to destroy the Resistance. Indeed, your disappearance has given them the opportunity to go public with the effort and rally the citizens of Okaria behind them. If you have any doubts about which side you're on, now is the time to address them because the Sector has essentially declared war on us.”

I can’t quite breathe. Miah betray me? Miah a traitor? He's the most loyal person in the whole damned world. The entire thing would be laughable if it weren't so fucking sick. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then stand and grip the back of my chair, more to keep myself from picking it up and smashing it into the wall than anything else.

“It might be a good idea for you to sleep in the infirmary tonight,” an unfamiliar man speaks up. “So you can be there when Jeremiah wakes up.”

“Wait. Why's he in the infirmary?” The thought of Miah sick or dying after I dragged him out here….

“He picked up dysentery traveling through the woods. He’s through the worst of it, but he’s also going through severe withdrawal symptoms from Sector MealPaks and that apparently exacerbated the situation.”