The Sowing

“I know you think I’m a monster,” Cassius says, shattering the moment. “But maybe you’ll understand once you’ve seen for yourself.”

I’m finally able to dredge up enough spit to coat my parched throat. “I think I’ve already seen enough.” I barely recognize my own voice.

The elevator begins to slow and the blur outside the doors becomes discernible.

And I can’t believe what it is that I’m seeing. Surely it’s got to be the hallucinogenic after-effects of whatever poison they pumped into my system.

The clear tube has descended from the darkness into a vast open area that stretches as far as the eye can see, in every direction. Patches of cottony mist obscure the view as the car plunges through it.

Clouds.

It’s the sky. Or more like four different skies, to be exact. It’s like looking at an entire day, all at once, that’s been carved into four separate pieces. In one direction, the sky’s bright with sunshine, rippling with heat as if it’s the middle of a hot summer day. Directly opposite, it’s almost pitch black, the night sky glistening with thousands of stars that sparkle like gems in perfect synchronicity.

In contrast, the two opposing regions are made up of dawn and dusk respectively, awash in pink, purple, and orange.

I turn to Cassius. “This can’t be real. We’re indoors. Underground. But I’ve never seen holograms on such a massive scale before.”

And interspersed among these fragments are huge, mushroom-shaped pods—buildings with windows and balconies. An entire city growing within the entrails of the dead New York.

But unlike the Lady’s graveyard, this city is very much alive.

And the most shocking part of all is that it’s not just populated with Fleshers. The entire place is teeming with human life.

All throughout this subterranean metropolis people bustle about, strolling down immaculate promenades, cultivating fields using sleek hovercrafts and laser tech, darting in and out of what appears to be a recycling plant. They’re all dressed the same, in stark white jumpsuits with some type of dark band around the arm. I even spot what appears to be a power plant and silos in the distance.

It’s too much to take in. A whole society thriving underneath such ruin, hidden from all of us, even the Establishment. If they knew about this place, they’d have plundered it eons ago and claimed its resources.

But obviously, it’s not a secret from everyone.

I turn to Cassius. “What is this place? And how long have you known about it?”

He nods. “I’m sure you have many questions, Lucky. Be patient. They’ll all be answered soon.”

The elevator finally eases to a stop and the doors part.

Standing several feet in front of us is a small group of the white-clad inhabitants. The one who appears to be the leader is a tall, silver-haired man with piercing gray eyes, probably in his early fifties but possessing the energy and vitality of someone half his age.

His four companions are actually holograms. They look to be mid-to-late twenties, all very trim and fit. Two of them are men—one olive complected like me, the other with short-cropped fiery hair. Both women are pale skinned—one with hair so blonde it almost looks white, the other with hair as dark as a moonless night.

And they’re all smiling at us, which, as unnerving as it is, isn’t half as disturbing as their ease in the company of the Fleshers flanking them, which are equally as grotesque and impassive as the ones holding us hostage.

The leader steps forward. “Welcome to Sanctum. My name is Straton. Dr. Sebastos Straton. My four companions here are taking care of matters at another part of the station and are joining us via uplink.” He extends a perfectly manicured hand to Cassius. “Brother Cassius, so good to see you again.”

Cassius clasps his hand. “It’s great to be back, my friend.” He turns and gestures to Digory and me. “These are my… companions,” he finally says after a prolonged beat.

Straton smiles. “Ah, yes. Lucian Spark and Digory Tycho.”

Surprised, I glance at Digory, who stands stoic, eyes scanning our surroundings as if he’s assessing weak points, escape strategies. But he squeezes my hand firmly, as if he’s sensing what I’m feeling without even seeing my face.

I turn back to Straton, ignoring the grin still plastered on his face. “How do you know who we are?”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve encountered us.” He gestures to the Flesher on his right. The thing’s gears and motors hum to life as it moves forward. The band around its head where its eyes should be comes to life, igniting with blue like the pilot light on a gas burner. Then a three-dimensional image is projected from it, into the center of our group.