Reaping (28 page)

“Vale’s got a pack full, too.”

“What did you two … I’ve got a bad feeling.” Eli knits his brow and studies both of us. “Something tells me I should never allow you two to go off alone again.” He points his finger at me. “Spill it. What the hell did you do?”

“It’s a protein lab,” I say. “Giant vats full of meat being grown 
in petri
, industrial scale. Just like they used to do in the Old world, until all the bacterial outbreaks shut the labs down.”

“Gods,” Eli says, staring at me, then Vale, then back at me. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“Serious as the grave.”

“So … the harvesters are from the lab?”

“We destroyed their power supply. Took all the solar harvesters off the roof. They’ll have a hell of a time repairing that job, and hopefully it’ll take them a while to figure out that the films from the solar panels are gone.”

“It’ll take at least a week to get that many new harvester panels to Round Barn and installed,” Vale adds. “In the meantime, the meat will go bad and what will the Dieticians feed the workers and Farm staff? They won’t have anything—or not enough—and we can smuggle our supplies in.”

“But … there’s still livestock on the farm. They can slaughter them, surely, use them as substitutes in the MealPaks.”

Vale shrugs. “It strikes me that the reason they’re growing the meat instead of slaughtering it, is because they can manipulate it chemically as it’s grown in the lab more effectively than by inoculating live animals. So even if they can use the livestock as a temporary substitute, the meat won’t have the same chemical profiles, and since Remy and Bear substituted sugar water for the individualized MealPak additives, if they inject the meat as the Paks are being prepared, it still won’t matter. Sugary steak. Yum. Could be good, but it certainly won’t be as powerful chemically no matter what they’re feeding or shooting up the livestock with.”

“Plus,” I add, “They’d have to slaughter quite a few of the animals on hand to supply the MealPaks they need to produce for all the workers and the staff in the next week. That would be a major operation in and of itself.”

“So the Resistance airship is supposed to show up late tomorrow,” Eli says, “and just when the supply of MealPaks dries up, we’ll be ready to step in and hand out real food, 
good
 food. I’m sure Soren and the Director will think what you did at the protein lab is premature—okay, more like full-blown idiotic—but I get it. You were there, you saw the opportunity, you couldn’t pass it up. I’d have done the same thing. Now the show’s on. No turning back.”

“Huh,” I say with a laugh, more to myself than to anyone else. Miah, Soren, and Vale, their eyes scanning the horizon, turn to look at me.

“What?” Soren says.

“Nothing….” I shrug.

I squint into the last vestiges of the blazing sunset as they turn their heads skyward again. The four of us have hiked from the cave to a clearing near where the commandeered Normandy ship is parked waiting for the Resistance airship bearing reinforcements and food.

“It’s just funny,” I say.

They all look at me again. “What’s funny?” Miah says, his voice is tight. Ezekiel Sayyid, Miah’s dad, is leading the incoming team, and Vale told me on the hike over that Miah hadn’t had a great relationship with his dad since his parents split. He’d been at the Academy when he got the news, and his dad basically disappeared. He hasn’t seen him since.

“Look at us,” I continue. “We’re all standing here watching the sky even though we know perfectly well we won’t see the airship with the cloaking on. We’ll only know it’s here when it signals us or when we feel the air displacement. And yet, we’re all craning our necks expectantly, peering into the blue as if we can make the ship suddenly appear if we just stare hard enough. It’s giving me a headache, frankly.”

“A rare display of logic from the woman who makes a habit of breaking into laboratories and wreaking havoc in her wake.” Soren shakes his head and looks back up into the blue. Seems like with each day in the field, our relationship slowly devolves back to what it was before, back before the ill-fated raid, before we were captured, before our escape, before the incident on the boat. Before Vale showed up. After all we’ve been through together … I don’t quite know how to feel about it, but I do know it makes me sad.

When Eli decided Miah and I should greet the new team and lead them back to camp—Miah because of his dad and me because I could brief them about what we’ve accomplished so far—Miah immediately asked Soren and Vale to come along. He’s obviously a bit bugged out about seeing his dad after all these years, and I guess he wants his two bests friends with him for moral support. Soren and Vale glanced at each other with something like grudging acceptance and, of course, agreed at once. If sometimes I feel like I’m yet another chasm separating the two of them, Miah is definitely the bridge connecting them.

We resume the wait and after awhile, a chilling wind whips my hair into a swirl of curls. I tuck a few tendrils behind my ears and look up. As the airship descends below the tree line and settles in to land, the pilot deactivates the cloaking, and the vessel comes into view—a rusty, clanky old thing, typical of Resistance equipment, so old the tripods give off a high-pitched squeal as they emerge from the hull. It’s bigger than the “requisitioned” Normandy ship, closer to a transport class, but still nothing like the size of some of the Sector’s airships.

“What a piece of junk,” Miah says. I glance over at him. He’s drumming his fingers against his arm. Nerves.

“Not like he had a choice,” Soren reminds him.

“Do you know when his dad joined the Resistance?” I lean toward Vale, my voice low enough that only he can hear. “I’ve never met him.”

“I’m not sure. But I do know they hadn’t seen each other in years.”

“Pretty impressive. Ezekiel commanding a team already. The Director must like him.”

“Could have at least fixed up those tripods,” Miah huffs, gesturing at the ship. “Never seen landing pads so off-balance.”

Maybe they’re sinking into soft ground. Either way, the whole thing tilts ominously. The loading bay creaks opens, revealing the shadowed interior from which a woman in dark green emerges. She looks to be a few years older than me, probably around Eli’s age, and she’s got a Bolt slung over her shoulder. 
Good
, I think. 
I’m glad they’re prepared for battle.
 She strides toward us, a bit of an easy swagger to her walk and a broad smile on face. She’s got close-cropped blond hair and deep-set, intense eyes.

“Hey,” she says, her voice deeper than I expected. “You must be Jeremiah.”

“How’d you know?” Miah says, his eyes narrowing.

“Because you’re the spitting image of your father, that’s how,” she says. “He talks about you all the time, you know. In fact, I’m kinda tired of hearing about how great you are,” she says, a teasing twinkle in her eyes. “I’m Reika, by the way.” She offers a hand to each of us, but stops at Vale and peers closely at him.

Vale shifts his weight, uncomfortable with her close examination. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Valerian Orleán, of course,” She’s almost as tall as he is. “Never thought I’d have the privilege of meeting an Orleán up close and personal. Well, it’s 
truly
 an honor.” The sarcasm in her voice escapes no one, especially not Soren, whose smug smile makes me want to take him by the shirt collar and shout, 
You were the goddamn chancellor’s son, too!
 Soren is apparently incapable of seeing how similar he and Vale really are, how easily their positions could have been switched, if it weren’t for the scandal, the virus, that knocked Cara out of office. And Vale’s parents’ giving them a little political push out the door.

A few more people disembark, unloading their packs and stretching. And then, finally, that must be Ezekiel Sayyid—he’s got hair almost as black as Vale’s except peppered with flecks of grey, and Miah’s gentle eyes and handsome swarthy face. He’s a little slimmer, but every bit as tall, and he strides over to us with an air of command tempered by kindness. Miah stiffens, and Vale and Soren both inch closer to their friend. Both protective. Another thing they have in common.

“Jeremiah,” Ezekiel says, reaching out to clasp his son’s hand and clapping his other hand on Miah’s shoulder. His jaw clenches and his eyes shine with emotion. He starts to speak and then stops. For a moment, he just stands there looking at his son. “You have no idea how much it means to me to see you here.” His voice is tight and his accent is thick with the long vowels and slightly off-beat emphasis most Farm workers and people from the factory towns have. Firestone’s accent is similar, though much more relaxed. Maybe it’s the age difference, but Ezekiel speaks more formally than Firestone does.

Miah hesitates, then takes his father’s hand. “Been a while.”

But Ezekiel isn’t put off by his son’s reticence. He pulls Miah into a hug, holds him close for a long while and whispers into his son’s ear until Miah’s expression softens, and he returns the embrace. Soren turns away, and the hint of a melancholy smile crosses Vale’s lips. Both have essentially lost their fathers, and I wonder whether either one overheard the exchange. When Ezekiel pulls away, there’s a sort of understanding—not forgiveness or acceptance, necessarily—but full acknowledgement in Miah’s eyes.

“You three need no introductions, but I guess I do. Zeke Sayyid,” he says, extending his hand to Vale, Soren, and me in turn. “True friends,” he nods as if satisfied we’ve passed inspection. “That’s what matters.” He claps his hands and the tender moment is gone.

“What say we get to work?” He turns to Reika, who has been watching the exchange between father and son. “Let’s unload this ugly beast.”

Working in pairs, we carry the supplies to the cave. I join up with a short, wiry man named Dale, while Soren and Miah are paired up, and Vale and Reika are just behind them. As we’re about to head up the last big hill with the last of the crates, I catch sight of Eli running towards us. As he sprints, my heart rate spikes. 
What the hell?
 He stops just short of us, panting, hands on his knees.

“We’ve got company,” he says between breaths. “Kenzie’s on lookout. She spotted an OAC airship … a dragon emblazoned on the side … not even five minutes ago.”

Then the strangest thing happens. Soren and Vale meet each other’s eyes, and for perhaps the first time ever, they have the same thought at the same time.

“Evander Sun-Zi,” they say, in unison. “The Dragon.”

“What the hell’s Evander doing here?” I ask. “Does he show up every time there’s a power outage?”

“They must have already discovered that the problem with the power at the protein lab was no regular outage,” Eli says, digging his hand into his side like he’s got a cramp, still breathing heavily.

“Evander’s control over the Farms is absolute. Anything suspicious and—boom!—he’s there within hours,” Soren says.

“If they’ve figured out the solar harvesters are gone, they’re gonna treat it as an act of terrorism. They’d never believe the Farm workers could have anything to do with sabotage that sophisticated. So it’s gotta be the Outsiders or the Resistance. Either way, they’ve sent in the big guns,” Eli says.

Vale’s brow is knotted. “Evander picks administrators he trusts, but if something goes wrong and he thinks it isn’t being handled to his satisfaction, he fixes it. Immediately. My father always said Evander had a one hundred percent success rate. I’ve never had much interaction with him … it’s almost as if my parents kept him at arms length, you know? He was never invited to dinner like everyone else. Hell, even Aulion came to dinner once or twice. But never Evander.”

“Big guns,” Soren cuts in as if just realizing what Eli had said. His frown deep and his glare directed at the sky, the muscles along his jaw line clenching and unclenching. “Aulion and Evander. Fear and violence is how they fix everything.”

“Well, we can’t let him stop us,” I say, summoning all the grit and determination I can. Soren and Vale, again, surprisingly, share a glance that reads 
she should be afraid of him
. I ignore their newfound camaraderie. “So we need to stop standing out here in the open and get everything in the cave.”

Zeke turns to Reika. “You and Dale head back to the ship, re-engage maximum cloaking, and double-check that all safety and self-destruct precautions are in place. Then get back here as soon as you can. Sounds like we’ll be needing to rethink our timeline.”

“So what do we do now that Evander is here?” Kenzie asks, once we’re all sitting around the fire circle in the furthest recess of the cave.

“We continue getting untainted food in and distributed to as many workers as possible,” I say, my mind running in a million different directions at once. “Security will have been increased, but we’ve established a few well-hidden drop points so we don’t have to get into the Farm itself. If—no, 
when
—they figure out about the sugar water—”

“—Evander will know it was us, not the Outsiders,” Soren interrupts.

“And he’ll be none too happy about it,” Zeke says.

“The question he’ll want answered is how long the workers have been eating untainted food,” Eli adds.

“Evander does not have a light touch,” Zeke says. “Once he suspects sabotage, he won’t play around. Workers going through withdrawal are likely to be cranky, some may be sick, and none of them are going to like his tactics.”

“If the workers protest—” Vale says.

“—it could escalate quickly.” Soren finishes his sentence. He glances over at Bear twisting his cap in his hands, his young face creased in worry.

“Let’s step back,” Jahnu speaks up. “Evander could simply bring in emergency-prepared MealPaks from Okaria and get everyone back on regimen as soon as possible. Or maybe he’ll just dump something in the drinking water, something that will get everyone back in “the zone” before things get out of hand. The last thing they’ll risk is people asking questions, thinking for themselves. His first priority will be to tamp down the incident and then clamp down on security. After he gets the Farm under control, he’ll turn his attention to us. We might have more time than we think.”