The Sowing

It was all so much easier when I shut off my emotions and became Lucian Spark, Imposer trainee, the number one terrorist on the Establishment’s Most Wanted list. But I was a fool to think I could hide behind that persona for too long. No matter how hard you try, how much you delude yourself, you can never escape who you truly are.

The thing is, I’m not sure just who I am anymore.

The briefing I received before I left the rebel cell tonight replays in my head, over and over again.

Jeptha held up a small gold pin, a perfect replica of the Fifth Tier trainee insignia that’s pinned to the breast of my uniform. “Even if they sweep for weapons before the ceremony,” he told me, “you’ll be able to get this through without being detected.” He handed it to me.

I turned it over and over in my fingers, examining every inch of the gleaming pin. “What is it, really?” I asked.

He took it back, pointing to a tiny groove in the base that would only appear as a miniscule imperfection to anyone who’d actually taken the time to scrutinize it. “It’s a BMP.”

“A Bio-Magnetic Pulse? I’ve heard rumors about those.”

Jeptha nodded. “The biological equivalent of an EMP, except this one sends out a microwave signal designed to compromise heart, lung, and brain functions.”

“Compromise? You mean terminate. As in instant death, don’t you?”

He pursed his lips. “Yes. It’s quite lethal. The perfect way to kill your enemy while not creating collateral damage or subjecting the environment to the after-effects of messy biological warfare. Just another of the Establishment’s insidious creations that we are using against them.”

I shook my head. “These are supposed to be in the planning stages, just experimental at this time. How did the rebellion come by them?”

Jeptha hesitated. I sensed he was uncomfortable.

That’s when Micajah stepped forward. “That explosion at the munitions factory. The one the Torch Keeper—you—set off.”

“What about it?”

“During the chaos, the prototypes were stolen and sold on the black market. We managed to get ahold of a few.”

I buried my face in my hands. “So basically, who-knows-what weapons might be out there and in whose hands, for sale to the highest bidder. All because of me.”

Jeptha gripped me by the shoulders then. “And tomorrow, things will change for the greater good, all because of you.”

My eyes remained fixed on the pin. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

Micajah handed Jeptha a large roll of paper, which the older man unfurled on a round stone table. Arrah, Drusilla, Boaz, Crowley, Preshea, Corin, and I all gathered around to take a look.

A set of schematics. From the looks of it, detailed blueprints of the Citadel of Truth, highlighting the dais in the Town Square below the Prefect’s balcony. I didn’t need to see those floor plans and layouts. The entire area was ingrained in my mind the day I was recruited.

Jeptha jabbed at an area on the plans, indicating the dais with his index finger. “If the Establishment follows standard protocol for an Ascension Ceremony, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t, the five trainees will be gathered here, just in front of the stage. Once the ceremony begins, they will each be called, one by one, to come up to the podium, where they will be greeted by the Prime Minister and the Prefect and have their rank pins exchanged for ones corresponding to their next level of training.” He then looked directly at me. “As the Fifth Tier, you will be the last one called up to the dais.”

I nodded, understanding exactly how things were going to play out from there. “Once I walk up and receive my congratulations from the Prime Minister, I’m to hand Cassius—Prefect Thorn—my old pin, while he pins the new rank on me. Only I won’t really be handing him my pin, but the BMP device.”

“Exactly,” Jeptha responded. “Quite simple.”

I shook my head. “But how does the BMP get activated?”

Micajah cleared his throat and leaned over the blueprints, brushing against me. “A small group of us, composed of Crowley, Preshea, Boaz, Drusilla, and myself, will be positioned right here”—he traced an area on the diagram—“by the fountain with the statue of Queran Embers, the Establishment’s founding father.” He winked at me. “I think it’s appropriate that the monster who started it all should witness its destruction firsthand.” He turned back to the diagram. “We’ll activate the BMP with a remote transmitter.” He held up a small black box.

I shook my head. “So the whole square will just drop dead?” I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

Micajah’s warm hand moved to blanket mine. “Relax, mate. We measured the circumference of the dais. The BMP has been calibrated to affect only that particular radius. No one in the crowd will be harmed.”