The Sowing

I feel sick. I knew they must have found it, but I’d hoped that somehow they’d bury it in some storage locker where I might one day get it back before they realized what it meant to me.

Valerian activates the recording, and Digory’s face appears between her and me.

“I’m leaving for the Recruitment Ceremony now,” Digory says. “I’m confident that before this day is over, I’ll be able to gather intel as to Lucian Spark’s true allegiances. I think I can get him to trust me…”

Again, that uneasy feeling grips me like a stranglehold. Why was I so important to Digory and the rebellion? No. I don’t want to know. All I want is to rip the holocam from Valerian’s hand before it can continue. But I’m paralyzed.

“I promise I won’t fail you,” Digory says, and for a crazy moment I think he’s talking to me. I wish he were.

The recording bleeps and a small window opens in the lower right corner of the screen, with the words Incoming Transmission flashing inside it.

Then it hits me. This whole time, I’d assumed Digory was chronicling his private thoughts, when in fact he was communicating with someone else. Probably Jeptha or another one of the rebel leaders, maybe even his husband, Rafé—

There’s a burst of static in the new transmission window, coalescing into the image of the mysterious second party.

The Trials may not have killed me, but at this moment, the image of Digory’s superior does.

It’s Cassius.

All the hurt, all the pain, the sorrow, the grief—all of it blends together in a molten avalanche.

It’s all been a lie.

“Excellent work, Tycho,” Cassius says. “I eagerly anticipate the filing of your next report. Your efforts to quell this insurrection from the inside will be duly rewarded.”

Digory nods and smiles. “It’s an honor, Prefect Thorn, Sir.”

The image freezes on Digory’s face, then begins to pixelate, obliterating any semblance of familiarity. But it’s still seared into my brain.

Valerian shuts off the holocam. I half-expect her to be gloating over the pain she’s inflicted. But she appears stern, like a parent who’s just administered a harsh lesson to their unruly child. She holds up the holo and the ID tags. “Maybe I can get them to let you keep these in your cell.”

I shake my head. “They’re garbage. Possessions of a dead man. Toss ’em.”

As she shoves the items back into the duffel bag, the two Imps shackle my hands together, shove the butt of their neurostim weapons into my lower back, and prod me out of the room.

At least I’m not shackled to false memories anymore. Digory Tycho is truly dead.

FOURTEEN

I follow Valerian through the bulkhead into the corridor. “Where are we going?”

“You’re an Incentive now,” she says without looking back. “Time to find out just who will be championing you this time.”

Considering that I’ve betrayed every single one of the Recruits, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already made a pact that whoever I’m paired with will lose the first round of the Trials deliberately, just so they can all watch me die as soon as possible.

That is, unless my former trainee companions—now fellow Incentives—don’t take me out first.

“Let’s go,” Valerian grunts.

After having been confined to that cramped berth for days, my limbs ache as I hurry to keep pace with her, the guards’ neurostims digging into my back every time I start to fall behind. We head forward, down the narrow passageway, until we reach the hatch leading to the nerve center of the entire craft: the Control and Attack Center. I pause for a moment just outside the CAC hatchway before following Valerian through.

The chamber is much wider than the corridor, running the full width of the Eel. A myriad of screens and equipment banks blink and flash with activity as crew members seated at the consoles monitor screens and gauges.

To my right, several Imps stand watch over a disheveled group of five people who are shackled just like I am. They must be the family members of the rebel Recruits. The only one I recognize is Corin. The poor kid. The fear on their faces sends ice caps bobbing through my blood. That look is engraved in my brain. I saw the same look on Gideon’s parents, the Warricks, and even on Ophelia’s mother, Mrs. Juniper. It’s the look of people who know they’re going to die and are just waiting, wondering which second it will strike.

To my left, Arrah, Dahlia, Leander, and Rodrigo stand shackled as well. They look exhausted, their eyes bloodshot, shoulders sagging. But the moment our eyes connect it’s like a wave of electricity courses through them, making them stand erect. It fills their eyes with crackling fire that burns right through me.

I look away.

Dead center, Sergeant Slade stands on a raised platform that houses the periscope, the eyes of the Eel. She sneers at the sight of me. “Good. Now that everyone’s here, it’s time to find out what the Incentive pairs will be.” She pauses. “Of course, all the selections have been made randomly.”

Her smirk says otherwise.