The Sowing

The figure circles once before sidling up to me, hot breath snaking up my left ear. “Raja Featherbone here, carnal caterer extraordinaire. Your pleasures are my desire.” The proprietor takes a puff of the long cigarette clutched in the other hand, smiles, and exhales a wave of concentric circles that ring my head and throat like a smoky noose. “So tell me. What does it take to make your clock chime, young man, hmmm?”

I smile back, fighting the urge to cough. “I’m looking for something… fresh tonight.” I force a wink to hide my disgust. “I hear that’s your specialty.”

A chuckle bursts from Featherbone’s throat. “Oooh! Yes indeedy! But that will cost you an extra premium. You know, supply and demand and all.”

I wave these concerns away. “Not a problem.” The computer scanner in my belt vibrates once, signaling that the hack is about one third complete. A genuine smile coats my lips this time.

“Oooh, Goody-goody!” Featherbone shoves the cigarette in place between yellowed teeth and presses a hand against the control unit’s screen. There’s a buzz as Featherbone’s fingerprints are scanned. A split second later, a green light on the device blinks.

Featherbone nudges me with a pointy elbow and a lewd glance before tapping the keys with the speed of a scavenger. “We have quite the selection tonight, oh yes we do, yes indeedy!” The music cuts off. A rising hum fills the room, tingling through my ears, rattling my teeth. Panels in the ceiling stretch open with a bone-crushing grind. With the whir of motors, transparent tubes descend, each containing a body. One by one, these capsules rotate just above me, allowing me to get a good look at their cargo.

They’re just children.

I can see the fear in their faces, particularly the younger ones, imploring me with saucered eyes. But what’s even more chilling is the jaded expression of the older ones. They’re maybe fourteen or fifteen years old at most—just a couple of years younger than me. It’s as if they’ve been through this selection process hundreds of times and are almost bored with it. All of them are wearing blinking red bands around their wrists—security restraints. If they try to escape, a remote signal will deliver instant pain and death.

I want to reach out and snap Featherbone’s scrawny neck. But that would be too easy. I’d be taken down by security quickly, and then this whole operation would have been in vain. My belt scanner vibrates twice. The security hack is halfway complete. I just have to hold this scum off a little longer.

“You certainly have a lot to choose from.” I push the words through my mouth even as I struggle to push the bile back down my throat. “I guess you’ve been doing this for quite some time.”

Featherbone’s fingers tiptoe up my back. “I’m not that old, lovie.” He squeezes the words through his cigarette-clenched teeth. “Well? Care to taste any of my treats?”

I purse my lips. “Actually, I was wondering if you had someone that looked more like this.”

Reaching into the folds of my cloak, I pull out the small, triangular holographic display cam and switch it on.

A three-dimensional figure of a little girl is projected before Featherbone’s face. A beautiful little girl of six with long, raven hair and striking green eyes.

The proprietor’s cigarette dangles from a pouty lip. “Seen a lot of pretty faces in my line of work, oh yes I have, yes siree! But there’s one I’ve never forgotten.” A smirk cracks the plaster of makeup. “That little crumpet was quite popular while she was here.” Featherbone sighs. “Pity she had to get careless and breed. Ruined a good product. Often wondered what ever happened to that one, oh yes I have.”

“Maybe I can satisfy your curiosity.” Each beat of my heart blasts my blood with molten fury. “This is what she grew up to look like.” I flick another button on the holocam. The image of the little girl disappears, replaced by that of a young woman. Even though her features look older, the hair and eyes are unmistakable. Memories flood my brain… a freighter, an island, two small children… all smothered in friendship, pain, and loss. “Her name is—was—Cypress Goslin.”

Featherbone guffaws and points the cigarette stem at the grainy image. “I recognize that wench. She was one of the five—those Recruits from the Parish that were drafted last season!”

My eyes are riveted on the image. “Yes.”

“I remember her well, yes, oh my yes! Business was slow and I bet a small fortune on missy here, hoping to recoup some losses if she beat the others during the Trials. Just look at the fire in those eyes.”

But the holographic eyes pale in comparison to my memory of the real thing branded in my brain.

I shut off the holocam and jam it in my pocket. “She was my friend.”

“Pity-pity. She had a good thing here. Indeed she did. I guess once she failed at the Trials she got sent to the mines. Serves her right.”

The scanner in my belt vibrates three times: Security hack complete. Surveillance cameras disabled.