The Sowing

I scan the room, my eyes darting from one control panel to the next. “There must be a terminal—some kind of control panel with a database,” I tell Digory, my tone breathless with the possibilities.

Digory takes my cue. Between the two of us, we comb the lab until minutes later he’s ushering me over to a keyboard inlaid in an alcove in the far corner.

I scroll through the entries. A list of names I don’t recognize at first. But as I near the end of the chronological list, the entries become more familiar to me. Residents of the Parish. Old friends and neighbors. People who served as Incentives for those who were selected in Recruitments just prior to my own.

On a hunch, I search for Cassius’s name on the roster. But all details of his own Recruitment are missing.

Did he wipe the information from the system? If so, why?

What’s he hiding?

By this time the keys are slick with my sweat as I toggle through the names and come across the Incentives of Arrah, Rodrigo, Leander, and Dahlia. I select the names by Arrah—

Her parents. But only one of them is lit in green—her mother, the Incentive who survived the Trials when Arrah was a Recruit.

My heart is at full throttle while I scroll to the option labeled Begin Interactive Simulation and press the enter key. A low hum fills the room and an image appears on the computer screen. I see the resemblance immediately. Arrah’s mother is staring down at me with a smile on her face. It looks like a real-time video. She’s outside somewhere; it’s a beautiful summer day with a lake glistening in the background.

I turn to whisper to Digory. “She’s supposed to be at Haven, the Incentive compound somewhere.”

“Why, of course I’m at Haven. Where else would I be?” she asks, startling me with her cheerfulness.

“You can hear me?” I ask.

She nods. “Yes, I can hear you.”

It’s uncanny. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear we’d actually established a live feed with her. My mind’s racing. What if we have, somehow? If I could track the location of Haven—

Digory tugs my arm and point at a list of other options.

Age Progression. Time of Day. Location. Health variables.

A rapid clatter fills the room as I select one option after another, watching as Arrah’s mother ages—a few years. Ten. Twenty. At the tap of a key, the simulated figure changes location. Outdoor lakes become indoor fireplaces. Day becomes night. Eyes swell as if with a minor cold, then look more sickly, and then look the picture of health.

“Are you Arrah’s mother?” I finally ask.

She nods. “Of course I am. Have you seen my daughter? I miss her very much.”

On the computer, information scrolls by. Line after line of data, information on Arrah and her mother down to the most minute details. All the information one would need to replicate a perfect copy capable of interacting with their loved ones.

All this time, Arrah and the others held on to the belief that those they loved were safe.

But it’s a lie.

All this time, the Incentives haven’t been safe in Haven. They’ve been here, in Sanctum.

Which means that there are those in the Establishment who are in collusion with Sanctum and what’s going on here.

I look around at the capsules crowded in the chamber.

They may as well be tombs.

THIRTY-THREE

I sag against Digory as if I’ve been struck. He’s taken over the keyboard from me, scrolling through the names of prisoners with the designation Incompatible Specimen by their names. As he pulls up their data, my eyes grow wide.

The bodies of those that reject the bio-mechanical synth are broken down for food processing.

Those crackers, passed around and consumed during their religious rites…

Consume the flesh of the Begetter and become one…

I brace myself against the terminal. Bile rises in my throat and I fight the urge to retch. Terror engulfs me. This is even worse than all the horrors I’ve seen combined.

Digory reaches out to me, but I push him out of the way and type a name in the search field.

Lucian Spark.

Instantly, all the data associated with my Recruitment appears onscreen, along with entries for Mrs. Bledsoe.

And Cole.

Beside Mrs. Bledsoe’s name, there’s a notation in red:

Subject Shelved. Interactive Simulation inactive.

I select the entry anyway and her face appears onscreen. The lump in my throat makes it nearly impossible to smile. She’s smiling at me like Arrah’s mother was, and looking the picture of health, so unlike that ghastly apparition I saw deep in the tunnels of the Skein when I was a Recruit.

“Mrs. Bledsoe,” I whisper.

Her eyes light up. “Oh, Lucky! It’s so good to see you, boy!” Even through my tears, I can see how she’s beaming with pride. “You’ve grown into quite the young man. I always knew you would.”