The Sowing (17 page)

“What the hell happened?” I demand.

“When he heard the Resistance airship, he started fighting like a caged bear,” Reika explains. “I had to stun him. Handcuffs and all, he would have taken out a fair few soldiers if I hadn’t.”

“Get us up to the Huron,” I say. “And chain him up in the brig once we get there.”

I climb in as Chan-Yu pulls the hatch closed and the pilot lifts off, angling back toward the Huron, a cargo ship big enough to carry heavy equipment, including hovercars, on long distance operations. Once there, and after I get confirmation that everyone is accounted for and that Soren, who had to be stunned again, is behind bars in the brig, I head to the medical bay.

I stop in the doorway and take in the scene: one body bag rests on the floor while my driver and the two other wounded soldiers lie, unmoving, next to Remy. I force myself to move forward, to walk to her bedside. A chasm rips open inside me as I look down at her, eyes closed, lips slack, slightly parted. I did this to her. I said I wouldn’t hurt her, and I did.
This is my fault.

“How’s the prisoner?” I manage. There’s an IV in her arm, and one of the medics is in the process of giving her an injection.

“She’ll be okay. She’s bandaged up, and I’ve given her a powerful muscle relaxant because she woke up and wasn’t very happy about being here. She’s getting a transfusion of platelets and RBCs, and I’ve pulled up her old Dietician’s profile so I can give her the proper healing cocktail. She’ll be as good as new in a couple of days.”

“What about that cut on her head?”

“She definitely has a concussion, but I’ll keep her awake on the way back home and she’ll be able to rest when we get back. We’ll need to stitch her up when we get back to the Sector.”

“And our soldiers? What’s the extent of their injuries?”

“Sonic grenades and shrapnel. They were sedated in the field. Your driver’s in the most danger. The biggest worry is internal injuries, so we’ll have to keep them still and monitor them over the next few days. Right now, they need to rest.”

“And our fatality?”

“Broken neck.”

I nod as if I’ve got everything under control and head back through the cargo area to one of the private passenger rooms. I duck in and sit down. I put my head in my hands before realizing Chan-Yu is beside me. He hands me a glass of water, and I down it without stopping to wonder what could be in it. One dead and three wounded under my command. Eli escaped, Remy badly hurt, Soren unconscious.
What a disaster. 

14 - VALE

Fall 90, Sector Annum 105, 10h05
Gregorian Calendar: December 19

Like a distant drumbeat, some unrecognizable emotion thrums through my body, matching the rhythmic thud of my boots as I walk toward the room where Remy and Soren are being held.

The prisoners in our possession.

That’s how my father so excitedly put it when he heard the news. Tawfiq is important in terms of tactics, he said, but holding a Skaarsgard and an Alexander is a major strategic win. If they cooperate, it could be a huge public relations coup. “They’re your old friends and they’re both vulnerable, Vale,” he said. “Both were well-known and popular students—bringing them back into the limelight after all these years as strong supporters of our cause would be good for the Sector. Play this right, and you can make real progress in thwarting the Resistance’s recruiting efforts.”

Friends? Soren’s hated me since we started at the Academy, since my father replaced his mother as Chancellor. And as for Remy….

“You’re heart rate is escalating. Calm, Valerian, calm,” Demeter whispers in my ear.

A day and a half has passed since we returned from the mission with Remy and Soren as captives. I slept a deep, medicated sleep for twelve hours thereafter, and for the rest of the day have not been allowed to see Remy and Soren. General Aulion told me they needed to rest after the stress of the mission, but the twitch in the corner of his mouth made me suspect something else was going on. Aulion and my father were surprisingly sanguine about the turn of events. The report about the casualties made neither of them happy, but Aulion said gruffly that he expected the Resistance team to be well prepared. And my father, after he expressed his regrets about the casualties, went right back to talking eagerly about Remy and Soren.

It was my mother who was angry.

She was in the briefing room with Aulion and my father when we got back, and when I announced that Elijah had escaped, she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in the way that signals a gathering storm. If I had been a little boy, I would have run for cover. But my father managed to keep her rage at bay, and immediately after the briefing, Aulion sent me home with instructions for Chan-Yu to give me a sedative. Normally I would have balked at this command, but if it meant I could take shelter from my mother’s fury, and—for a little while—get Remy’s face out of my mind, I would readily take it.

We arrive at the holding cell and Chan-Yu turns to look at me. “Sir, your father expects a full report as soon as you’re finished.”

“I know, I know. It’s okay.” It’s pretty clear I’m the one who needs reassuring, and he watches me hesitantly. Again, behind his impassive face, I get the feeling Chan-Yu’s studying me under a microscope, like I’m some newly discovered virus that might be terribly contagious. But I can’t worry about that now. I suck in a deep breath. I’m beyond nervous. I have no idea what to expect; I barely even know where to start. The only thing I know for sure is that Aulion will be watching remotely. What fun.

Before I took the sedative, Chan-Yu said that while I rested medics would examine the prisoners and members of Aulion’s team would prepare them for my official interrogation. They’re being held at Sector Military Headquarters, a building adjacent to Assembly Hall, and once we were in the Sarus heading back to the capitol complex, I asked Demeter to pull up the report Aulion’s team filed. I scrolled down to find the medic’s notes. According to the doctors, Remy suffered a torn ligament, flesh wounds from the glass, and a concussion. They removed the remaining fragments of glass from her leg, repaired the ligament, and gave her seven stitches for her head wound. I knew then she'd be okay. I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and, again, Chan-Yu gave me a side-long look.

Then I kept reading. It appeared the prisoners were uncooperative. I wasn’t surprised. I can’t imagine Soren would have been any more cooperative for Aulion’s team than he was with me.

Chan-Yu punches in the code and the door opens. We’re in the outer chamber of the holding room where several chairs sit on one side of a long table facing a large, darkened one-way mirror. I quickly review the readouts on the glass pane—systolic blood pressure, temperature, heart rate, and, in smaller print, a complex biochemical profile of each of the prisoners. The readouts are designed to analyze the hostages’ micro-expressions over a period of time and give a preliminary psychological profile. Under the words SOREN SKAARSGARD, the blue lines read, “Subject’s Current Status: Defiant, angry, physically exhausted, likely asleep.” Remy’s reads: “Confused, angry, tense, physically exhausted.” I’ve waited three years for this moment, but now I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m not sure I’m ready to face her. There are so many questions I want to ask, but I can’t. Not while I know Aulion will be watching.

“Sir, would you like me to clear the window so you can see the hostages before you enter?”

“Yes, please.” Chan-Yu toggles a switch on the wall and the darkened window transforms from opaque to clear. I clench my fists as I take in the sight of Remy and Soren slumped on the floor, tied back-to-back to a pole in the center of the room. Soren has obviously been beaten; his face is bruised and gashed in several places. Remy appears to have been spared that treatment, but she’s hardly in peak condition. Both of them look haggard. Soren’s head is hanging limply, and I can tell from the regular rise and fall of his shoulders that he’s asleep. Remy’s head is resting against the pole, but at least she’s sitting upright, leaning against Soren’s shoulder for support.

“Chan-Yu, have they ... have they been held in this room since they were brought in?”

“Yes, sir. On General Aulion’s orders. They’ve been allowed to leave twice, once for the medical checkup and again to use the toilets.”

“Have they been given food or water?”

“They’ve been given water.” I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“Food. Have they been fed?”

“No, sir. General Aulion instructed that they were not to be given anything to eat until they cooperated.” Chan-Yu pauses. “And he said that if you were to object, I was to inform him.”

Bastard
. “Well, then, we’d better get this over with, so they can eat something. I’m not having anyone starving on my watch.”

“Yes, sir. However, General Aulion also gave orders that they are only to be fed if they provide the information we require,” Chan-Yu says. His calm, matter-of-fact tone unnerves me.

We’re not going to starve them. I don’t care what Aulion says.
But I don’t say that aloud. Not here. Everything we say in this room is recorded. And I don’t want to challenge Aulion’s authority any more than I imagine Chan-Yu—or anyone else in the Sector—does. But still, starving or torturing prisoners won’t get us anywhere, and it certainly won’t get us good information. That much I did learn from my history classes.

I see Remy wince and try to move. She’s awake and obviously in pain. Angry now, I roll up on the balls of my feet. A surge of adrenalin charges through my body, and I take advantage of that to overcome my hesitation and fear. I barge into the room, hoping that at least one of them will cooperate so I can feed them. Remy needs to heal, and to heal, she needs to eat.

Soren pulls his head up when he hears the door open. When he recognizes me, his eyes shine, and he bares his teeth in a kind of feral grin. Remy looks up at me, but I try not to meet her eyes.

“Remy Alexander and Soren Skaarsgard,” I begin, “I am authorized to inform you that you have been taken hostage and imprisoned because of your connection with and work for the so-called Resistance movement, which has perpetrated numerous attacks on government facilities and officials. You have information on the Resistance’s operations and movements that we need, and in exchange for that information, we will release you to serve sentences in a labor camp as opposed to charging you with treason, conspiracy, and murder.” The death of the soldier who fell from the roof during the raid has been added to the list of the Resistance team’s crimes.

“Valerian Orleán,” Soren says, with a smirk painted across his face. “I am authorized to inform you that you are an asshole.”

Remy’s dark amber eyes flash as I accidentally catch her glare. She’s regarding me warily, but there’s no judgment in her expression, no anger, no hate. Just exhaustion and uncertainty. I hold her gaze and let her eyes burn a hole through my brain.

I take a deep breath and continue. “Our demands are this: We want to know the location of each and every Resistance base on the North American continent. The identity of the Resistance leader you call the Director. The location of Dr. James Thatcher Rhinehouse. The location of Dr. Brinn Alexander and her husband, Gabriel Alexander. Information on Resistance goals and objectives. We want to know what your biotech and IT capabilities are, what your aviation—”

“My, my, you are a demanding bunch,” Soren cuts in, and I can’t help it, I let him interrupt me. “Here are our demands: a hot shower, an untainted meal, and a soft bed. They shouldn’t be hard for you to meet. In fact, Remy and I are willing to save space. We can share—the shower and the bed. We won’t mind, will we, darling?” He says with a charming smile directed at her.

I stiffen, and can’t stop from glancing at Remy who is staring at me with an unreadable look.

“I’m afraid your demands don’t matter much right now. If you give us the information we want, I’ll make sure you get some hot food and—”

“Why don’t you just go ahead and count me in for the ’treason, conspiracy, and murder’ stuff, and let me get back to my nap? I don’t know anything about the Resistance, or about this Director guy, or this Thatcher person. So just let me go back to sleep and then, after I get a little shut-eye, you can drop me out in the No-Go Zone of your choice, because I’d rather be dumped in the middle of an irradiated wasteland than spend any more time here in the same room with you.” He straightens up, leans back against the pole and closes his eyes.

I stare at the two of them. Remy is still looking at me, her expression as inscrutable as Chan-Yu’s.

“Look. This can be hard, or this can be easy. We’re not going to torture you, but—”

“Oh, yeah?” Soren says without opening his eyes. “This black eye and split lip just magically appeared. And I suppose you were thinking of my well-being when your goons—oh, I mean friends—decided that it was a good idea to have a boxing match with a man with his arms tied behind his back.”

What? What did they do to him?

“But you’ll either talk willingly or you’ll talk under the influence of drugs, and the only difference is that with the first option, you don’t come out with a conviction for treason.”

The room is silent. Soren ignores me. I can feel Chan-Yu at my elbow, quiet, unmoving, watching my performance.

“Vale, why are you doing this?” Remy unexpectedly croaks out. Her voice is shot to hell, and I have no idea why. The report said she’d been given appropriate medications for her injuries; maybe something they gave her affected her voice? Or was she hoarse because she’d been “uncooperative”? The medic on the Huron said she’d been tranquilized because she was “none too happy” about being held. The idea of her fighting back simultaneously pains me and, for some ridiculous reason I refuse to examine, makes me proud.

“Remy,” I start to speak, to defend myself, but the words get caught in my throat. And then I remember what we’re—what I’m—fighting for, and I think
why the hell should I have to defend myself?
They’re the ones who left. She’s the one who turned her back on me, on everything that might have been. I can’t let seeing her and Soren in this condition affect me. I can’t let them manipulate me, play on my emotions, or prevent me from doing the job I’m here to do. I stare down at her and three years of anger and disappointment wash over me.