The Sowing

I recognize the footage in an instant. Chaotic shots of us running through the canyon on Infiernos, accompanied by sound bites of panting breaths and shouted warnings. Snippets of Recruit uniforms. The memory of my last Recruit training exercise hits me hard. My chest contracts at the sight of Gideon, Ophelia, and Cypress sprinting for their lives, trying to reach the transport. More shots of Digory and me, the camera zeroing in on our silver ID tags, freeze-framing and enhancing the images until our names are clearly displayed.

The image fades.

Straton signals to the Flesher to retreat and takes another step closer. “Once we had you in custody, it only took a few moments for the subject recognition software to cross-check your appearances with the data in our reconnaissance archives.”

I nudge my head in the direction of the Fleshers. “Nice. Your monsters keep a record every time they chase their next meal?”

My words finally succeed in wiping the smug grins off their faces. In fact, they seem mortified, as if I’ve hurt their feelings.

Cassius grabs my arm. “Lucky, it’s not what you think—”

I wrench away. “I think that footage speaks for itself. Besides, are you forgetting the little attack we just went through on Infiernos, that one that kind of wiped out all your friends?” I glance at Straton. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Straton holds up a hand and shakes his head. “It’s all right, Brother Cassius. The young man is ignorant of the truth.”

I shake my head. “All I know is that your lot seems awfully comfortable hanging around nine-foot-tall monsters that hunt and eat people, and that doesn’t exactly inspire too much confidence on this end. After all, I’m sure they didn’t earn the name ‘Fleshers’ for nothing.”

The redheaded male, who up to now has remained silent like the rest of the holographic participants, clears his throat and addresses Straton. “Perhaps we should be the ones to explain, Sir.”

“Of course. It’s only fitting that it should come from you.” Straton steps aside.

Red turns back to me and his expression is grave. “When we first came here, from that hell above that you call home, we were as young and ignorant as you are and we thought the same as you do now. But the Fleshers are the perfect synthesis of humanity and technology, achieving the perfection the Begetter intended.”

I hold his gaze. “So you basically experimented on hapless victims to create a race of slave drones to serve you.”

The blonde woman indicates the thing next to her. “They’re not our slaves. We coexist. They’re our brothers and sisters. Individuals suffering from terminal illnesses, physical and mental challenges. We gave them a chance to live their lives to their

fullest.”

The brunette nods. “They’re more like our guardians and protectors.”

My eyes bulge and my brain connects the dots. “You were my age, you said, when you came here from where I used to live. You’re…”

The brown-haired man smiles. “Yes. We’re the remainder of what you refer to as the Fallen Five.”

THIRTY-ONE

I’m still reeling from the shock of learning the identities of the four holographic visitors. Before I can press them for more specifics, Straton whisks me, Cassius, Digory, and our Flesher escort aboard a rectangular glider transport for a tour. At Cassius’s request, the still-unconscious Prime Minister Talon is placed in stasis in a medpod and transported to a nearby hospital.

We glide through the city streets, the transport much more fluid than the steam-powered hovercrafts back home. As we wind through marketplaces, outdoor schools, and what appears to be a business district, I can’t concentrate due to the logjam of questions in my throat. Finally I lean forward and speak.

“The Fallen Five are a legend,” I say. “When those Recruits disappeared more than ten years ago, it was the only time the Trials were ever cancelled since their inception. We need to go back. I have to talk to them.”

I leave out the part about needing to ask them what the hell happened to the fifth Recruit, Orestes Goslin, that turned him into a crazed cannibal surviving in the wilderness until his gruesome murder.

“Don’t worry,” Cassius says. “You’ll get the opportunity to speak to them.”

I ignore him. “Why did those Recruits never go back home?” I ask Straton. “Did they choose to stay here by their own free will or are you keeping them here?”

Straton shakes his head. “Did they look like they are under any duress to you?”

I slump back into my seat in lieu of giving the obvious response. No. They looked to be in excellent health, and happy. Too happy. I can’t help but remember the disheveled condition of Orestes Goslin—Cypress’s brother—when we encountered him right before that harrowing escape from the Fleshers.