The Sowing

The hangar door blows open and we barely manage to move out of the way in time. Then the Fleshers that were pursuing us swarm in like an insect colony, taking their positions all around us.

There’s nowhere left to go.

Straton and Cassius trail into the bay behind them.

Cassius notices my amazement and smiles. “This is how we’re finally going to be rid of the Establishment once and for all.”

“This is your peaceful solution? Hundreds—thousands—of innocent people slaughtered in battle? Captured and mutated into these things?” My voice is barely audible over the clamor of activity engulfing the hangar bay. I turn to Straton. “Or, consumed for the greater good?”

Straton smiles. “Tomorrow morning our regiments march on the Parish. It is time the experiment be brought to its conclusion.”

I ignore him, homing in on Cassius. “Just get it over with quickly.”

Cassius cocks his head. His eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“Our deaths,” I respond. My words simmer on their way to boiling point. “You’re obviously not going to let us go, not with everything we know. When you murder us, just do it fast, Cassius, if I ever meant anything to you at all, like you claim.”

My eyes sync with Digory’s. He nods. No trace of fear on his face. At least we can have a few more minutes together. This time we’ll die together, the way it should be.

Cassius shakes his head with something akin to pity in his eyes. “Everything with you, Lucian, is always so black and white. Just because the sky is occasionally gray doesn’t mean the rain will fall.”

My resolve turns to dread. “You’re not going to kill us?” The thought of what might now be in store for us makes me long for death. I can’t help think of this processing plant and what it stands for.

Cassius sighs. “Once again you misjudge me, Lucky.” His eyes bounce between Digory and me. “The both of you are far too valuable alive—oh, I know you’re thinking about the limited food resources here in Sanctum and the way the religious choose to bond with their enemies.” He shakes his head. “That will never happen to either you or Tycho, I promise.”

My lips purse. I shift my gaze to Straton and the Fleshers. “So you’re not going to let them eat us. I guess I should thank you, but I’m sure that you understand if I don’t.”

Now Cassius’s lips bow into a serpentine smile. “Even though I imagine the rabble would be more than pleased to behold their protector—the great Torch Keeper himself—in the flesh, you’ll stay here in Sanctum under my protection while I escort the ailing Prime Minister Talon back to the Parish for some accountability issues. Trust me, Lucian. We both want the same thing. The Establishment must be stopped.” He pauses. “As must the insurrection.”

My blood turns to ice water. “What do you mean?”

He stares directly into my eyes. “Your friends who escaped Infiernos—that Micajah and his sister, your fellow trainees—they’re being tracked by a homing beacon aboard their ship. As soon as they make contact with their fellow insurrectionists, squadrons will be sent to neutralize them.”

I’m stunned. Here I thought my friends had a chance. Now, not only they but the rest of the resistance—the very people who are the Parish’s last chance—are doomed.

But if they received the data I transmitted, they could still be safe.

I swallow hard. As far as Cassius is concerned, I’ve learned not to rule anything out as long as there’s some detail in need of clarification.

“What about Digory?” I finally dare to ask.

Cassius stares at Digory, then back at me. “It’s time to initiate the next phase of his Ultra Imposer Program.” He leans in close. “When Tycho didn’t die from that virus they injected, the decision was made to study him—to test bio-warfare on his immune system in order to genetically engineer the perfect Imposer. Tycho will undergo the nanotech procedure and become a new breed of Flesher.”

THIRTY-FIVE

The walk to nanotech lab is the longest one in my life. Leading us is a squad of armed Sanctum personnel. The four Fleshers who used to be the Fallen Five flank us. I can’t help but wonder how they feel—if they feel anything at all—as they travel the path that transformed them from frightened Recruits into the lumbering machines trundling beside us, seemingly cold and impassive. Surely there’s some remnant of their former selves inside them. The way the one shared the ID tags and let us go, I have to believe the Fallen Five aren’t completely dead. If I don’t cling to this, I’ll have to accept that Digory will be dead within minutes.

And he’ll never come back again.

We enter a sector we haven’t been to before. I’m still wearing the same jumpsuit, but Digory’s been stripped to nothing but a pair of neon white shorts, the contours of his body glistening from the antiseptic solution they dipped him in during the procedure prep.