Reaping (21 page)

What is clear from reconnoitering around Farms 12 and 11 is that something’s going on that has the Sector worried. Jahnu’s take on the situation is intriguing, though.

“What if Brinn and Gabriel’s work around the Farms was really beginning to have an effect? We know they worked primarily around Farms 9, 11, and 12, those on the Sector’s southernmost flank. What if people are being punished for asking questions? Or for taking action? Like Bear’s friend, Sam?”

“It’s certainly something to consider,” Eli adds. “And it’s possible that the little food Brinn and Gabriel did give them made a difference.”

“It could be that changing a person’s diet just slightly makes you less susceptible to the Dietician’s influence,” Kenzie says.

“We need to talk to Rhinehouse and the Director. All of us just went cold turkey, and we all had various levels of withdrawal symptoms. I walked around in a fog for a month.”

“And look at Miah,” Soren says. “He had a bad case of withdrawal symptoms.”

“The dysentery didn’t help!” Miah calls out from the cockpit. “But I’m clean as a whistle inside now.”

“Yeah, I’ve been listening to that whistle blow all afternoon.” Firestone laughs.

A smile brightens Soren’s face for just a moment, but then he looks over at me and it vanishes as if it was never there. “Miah had it bad, but somehow you seemed to have escaped. Why do you think that is?”

“I have no idea. Believe me. I’m as baffled as you are.”

I’m more than baffled actually. I’ve analyzed every minor ache and pain, every little twinge of a headache or tired muscle and I don’t think I’ve experienced anything like the others describe. It’s almost as if I was immune to the effects of the change in diet. I never felt foggy or confused. My cognitive abilities haven’t changed—at least I don’t think they have. I was never overly tired. My stamina and muscle strength remains the same—if not better from all the training and hiking we’ve done. I can’t figure it out.

“Strange,” Eli says, looking me up and down as if I’m a lab specimen. “Maybe Rhinehouse should do a blood sample, compare Miah and you. You both went off your MealPaks at the same time. Of course we don’t have a before and after profile—unless we could somehow hack into the Dietician’s database and get your files—but still, might be interesting to see what he’d find. You have any objections to that?” His look is challenging, as if he suspects I’m hiding something.

“No objections, but I don’t know what he’d find.”

“Won’t hurt to look, though, would it?” Soren says, and his look is definitely challenging.

Kenzie brings us back to the topic at hand. “The crucial thing is whether gradually replacing the food used by the Dieticians can slowly change people so they’ll be less and less under the Sector’s influence without anyone ever suspecting a thing. Instead of thinking we have to move fast to replace the foods available for inclusion in the MealPaks, we’d have more time. It would make our plan to take over the supply chain safer and give us the time we need to ramp up seed production after we steal that printer.”

“We’ll know more tomorrow,” Eli says. “Firestone’s gonna set us down deep in the woods, power down the systems so we’ve got everything on cloaking and let us get some rest. We can’t see anything in the dark anyway. We’ll hit Farms 9 and 10 and get a read on what their security situation is like. The Director’s gonna want us back soon, but we’re not going back without Remy, right?”

We all nod. At least there’s one thing on which we all agree.

14 - REMY

                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Spring 7, Sector Annum 106, 1h16

Gregorian Calendar: March 26

A flash of a mirror, then another two in quick succession. Rose’s signal.

It’s time.

A flush of adrenalin courses through me with its glinting, knife-edge sharpness. The readiness to run, to shoot, to be 
free
 is exhilarating. I push myself into a sprint, and the chill air against my face is exhilarating.

Behind me, I can hear Bear flip the capacitor on his Bolt to charge, and the sound almost breaks my heart. I hope he won’t have to shoot anyone today. It’s too early for him to become a killer.

Coming out from the gully where we’d taken cover, Bear and I cover the distance between our hiding spot and our target in the span of a few minutes. By the time I hit the brick wall, I’ve put fifteen paces on him. I turn to look behind us, to make sure we haven’t been spotted. My infrared contacts indicate nothing on the horizon.

Safe.

For now.

Bear hits the wall beside me, panting hard, trying to quiet his breathing.

“Ready?” I ask.

Without responding, he turns away from me, pivoting like a soldier. I cinch my belt tighter and swing my own Bolt into my hands. I don’t think I’ll need it, but I need to be prepared, in case any on-duty guards come along and ruin our evening.

Bear turns and glances back at me for a second, his eyes unblinking in the hollow shadows. I take a deep breath as he turns the corner, to keep a watch on the side of the building nearest the Enforcers’ compound. I haven’t a clue if this is the smartest thing I’ve ever come up with, or the stupidest. I’m not even positive it will work, but I studied Farm operations and talked to Kenzie about her mom’s work as a Dietician before Bear and I left Normandy for Round Barn. So, after tonight, we’ll just have to wait and see.

Earlier today, I went back into the Farm under the guise of “Anna from the Wilds” and chatted Joral up some more. He asked me where I’d gotten paper to send that message to Rose.

“Why do you ask?” I hedged.

“My son’s birthday is coming up. He has a chance to qualify for the Academy’s Art and Design program, but I think he needs more practice on paper. It’s hard to get out here, so only the kids already in Okaria will have much experience using that medium. It’s an unfair advantage, don’t you think? He’s excellent on his plasma, but I think some extra practice, and some additions to his portfolio, will give him a competitive edge. He’s really talented.”

Turns out Joral is a blabbermouth. Either that, or his job is damn boring. He didn’t seem to do much in the hour that I hung around except try to look imposing.

“Tell me more about your son,” I said. And so I learned more about Joral Jr. than I ever needed to know, although, in truth, he does sound like a good kid and Joral even pulled out his pocket plasma and showed me some of his son’s work. So I kept the proud papa talking. When I pushed, he yielded. I asked him about his wife, his job, his love of chocolate, and, finally, I told him I did have some paper to spare for his son, if he would meet me outside the Farm near midnight.

“Because it’s illegal to have unauthorized paper inside the Sector, and I don’t want you to get caught by the other Bosses, when you’ve been so kind to me.” His brows furrowed at the thought, but I didn’t give him a chance to protest. “I’m going to go see Rose now. It was nice to talk with you, and I’ll meet you tonight. Okay?”

To be honest, Joral seems harmless. But just because he is friendly and loves his family with a fervor that made me ache for my own, doesn’t mean he isn’t complicit in the mistreatment of the Farm workers, that he isn’t an active supporter of the Sector’s policies, or that he might be even vaguely sympathetic to the Resistance’s efforts. I tried to my remind myself every second that, as an Enforcer, he deserves neither my pity nor my help. But, I also tell myself that a mildly sympathetic Enforcer willing to bend the rules a bit is a whole lot better than an emphatically unsympathetic one who is not.

So I rolled up a few pieces of paper up into a scroll, tied it with a piece of twine, and stuck it in my pack to give to Joral—once he’s lying unconscious at my feet.

I turn a hard left around to the back of the building, toward the little side-door that has only a palm scanner, not a retinal piece as well.

There, Joral and Rose are waiting for me—though Joral, lying on his back and gazing up at the stars, looks nothing like he did when I spoke to him earlier.

“I need to,” he says slowly, “see Annnnnnaaaaa. She’s from the wiiiiiilds.”

Nice work, Rose,
I think. I bite back a laugh. He definitely enjoyed the chocolate she was to give him earlier tonight. The chocolate Bear and I laced with dreamweed, a potent psychotropic drug, one of Rhinehouse’s creations. Eli says Rhinehouse manipulated the genes in 
salvia divinorum
, a hallucinogen, to create dream
weed
, used mostly for medicinal purposes to help ease chronic pain, anxiety, and bipolar disorder. “I don’t think he expected it to grow so well,” Eli said then. “Now, it grows all over the Wilds. Hence dreamweed.” It’s also a powerful amnesiac, if taken in the right dosage. I’m hoping we gave Joral the right dosage.

Bear and I dried a few of the leaves and ground them to a fine powder, mashing them in with some melted chocolate before allowing it to solidify. Neither of us were certain the plant would have the same effect when dried, but Joral is clearly feeling the effects.

“Il est fini,”
 Rose says. Rose is by herself tonight. She’d said Luis was expected at some sort of meeting and couldn’t help tonight, and it was very courageous of her to agree to help us by herself.

“Thank you,” Bear says. She gives us a quick nod and disappears around the corner of the building to keep watch.

“Joral!” I whisper, as loudly as I dare, crouching down to his side. He rolls his head and grins at me.

“‘Ey, Anna,” he says, too loudly, the sounds slow, drawn-out. I even see a little bit of drool pooling by his lips. “Why’re you here?”

“I got your paper, Joral,” I whisper, fighting the urge to slap a hand over his mouth. “But I need your help, okay?”

My adrenaline rising, I check my surroundings. But there’s nothing. Unless they’re wearing heat-cloaking gear—which is very possible—there’s no one else here.

“You brought me paper? For my son?”

“Yes, for your son—and for you. Now, I need you to do something for me. Okay?”

“Okaaaay. Yeah. You help me, I help you. Riiiiight?” He’s not even looking at me. His eyes are wide but unfocused, staring through the spotted darkness of the sky.

“Joral, I need you to scan me into this building, okay?”

“Okaaaaay,” he says.

He doesn’t move.

Glancing around, aware of the fact that drones or other Enforcers could show up at any moment, I grab Joral’s hands and try to pull him to his feet. Finally, he stands, a weird, loopy smile on his face, and looks down at me.

“You’ve got stars in your eyes,” he says, staring up at my face as I drag him closer to the door.

“I’m sure I do. Can you please put your hand to the palm scanner, Joral?” He nods at me, still smiling, and this time, wobbles to the scanner and puts his hand up to it.

“Liquid,” he says, muttering. “Gooey.”

“What are you saying?”

“The ground … it’s moving.” He’s squinting at the scanner, which has just beeped in recognition and flashed green. I dart to his side and punch in the code. 
Another gift from Rose
.

3-1-4-7-Z-H-U-C-F.

The door swings open.

I whisper a silent 
thank you
 and whistle three times, the signal to Bear and Rose that the door’s open. In a matter of seconds, they’re at my side. With Bear propping the door open, I pull the scroll of paper out of my backpack and place it in Joral’s hand. His fingers wrap around it lightly, perhaps sensing the fragility of the gift.

I help Rose get Joral to start walking back to his cabin. With luck, he’ll wake up in the morning a little nauseated, but otherwise totally fine and with no memory of anything that happened while he was high.

“Look! The sky is full of eyes and they’re all winking at me!” he exclaims. Rose shoots us a pointed look, as if to say, 
I never thought I’d see him like this, 
and they disappear into the darkness.

Inside, Bear pulls the heavy door shut behind us, enveloping us in pitch black. He takes a step forward and the lights around us come on, illuminating the interior of this section of the building. I thank our lucky stars there are no windows.

“Now what?” Bear whispers.

I stare at the hundreds of glass vials, plasma monitors, hologram displays, microscopes, and pieces of equipment I can’t begin to name. The task before us is daunting.

“We begin the revolution.” I drop my pack, and Bear does the same. I pull out our waterskins, now full of a sugar solution Bear and I spent all day yesterday concocting using stolen sugar and honey from the food stores. We were only able to make five liters, but from what I learned from Kenzie about the Dieticians and how a lab operates, that should be plenty to start.

Bear wanders over to one of the stacks of shelves, piled high with dusty old equipment, plasma screens now years out of date, empty glass jars, and broken security equipment while I carry the waterskins over to one of the polished metal tables in the center of the room, Bear starts reaching up to pull something off the shelf.

“Don’t,” I say abruptly. He jerks his hand back, as though hit by a low-charge Bolt blast. “We don’t want to touch anything we don’t need to.”

Although I know it’s nearly impossible not to leave any identifiers behind, we can still try. There’s a reason my springy hair is tucked under a black hood, both Bear and I are wearing thin gloves I’d stolen from Hodges, the nurse at Normandy, and covered nearly head to toe so as not to leave behind dead skin cells. They’ll figure out we were here eventually, I’m sure, but the longer we can delay that, the better.

“
Vraiment,
 Remy, what is this stuff?”

“It’s a lot of different things. See that, there?” I point to a large microscope in the corner. “That’s used to look at things that are very, very small, like cells. Or even smaller, like molecules, proteins, fats, and amino acids.”