The Harvest (26 page)

23 - REMY

Summer 5, SA 106, 3h50

Gregorian Calendar:
June 25

A new moon renders the night pitch black. Save for one pale green biolight, carried by Bear and bobbing to the rhythm of his footsteps, we walk in darkness. In my pocket, wrapped in sheepskin, is Osprey's astrolabe, which will enable me to find my teammates throughout the day. Vale is already in Okaria at the chancellor's mansion, trying, with little hope, to talk Corine out of her plan. Chan-Yu went into the city with Vale and Moriana to deliver the peyote to his sister, Soo-Sun, who it turns out, has been working as a housekeeper right under Corine and Philip's nose. She was the one who delivered my note and who helped Bunqu return Demeter to Vale. Of course Moriana doesn't know about Chan-Yu's mission or Soo-Sun's role. Or about the five thousand men and women who will march on Assembly Hall today.

It's almost four in the morning, and we've marched nearly ten kilometers. Clothes rustle as bodies move against each other, gently collide, and move away. Eli grabs my hand and squeezes. I press against his side for comfort more than warmth, though the air is clear and cool.

We will enter the city from many directions, forcing the Sector to spread their troops across the capital. Everyone who was able came into Okaria via commuter train over the last few days on the pretense of visiting family or going to the Solstice celebration a few nights ago. The rest of us are coming by train, by airship, and some even by boat. The Resistance mobilized every airship we have, coordinating load and drop points outside the city, flying in loops for hours, to get as many people to the city as want to come. The faint breathing and footsteps of these hundreds of humans fill the air, just as I am filled with a swelling sense of anticipation.

Above us, the starry sky feels like a blank canvas onto which I paint my hope for this day—and for all the tomorrows that may come. In the darkness I feel myself shedding old skins I've worn. Hundreds of old Remys leave me like ghosts with each step forward. It is time, after all, to let them go. I imagine these ghosts floating up like smoke into the starry night, drifting slowly but inexorably toward the moon, while here, my feet firmly on the ground, I walk toward my destiny.

I take solace in our thousands upon thousands of footsteps. If nothing else, we will have walked together upon this soft earth. For the first time since I joined the Resistance, I blend into the crowd. The Sector would be hard pressed to locate Remy Alexander in this sea of people in a sea of darkness. We walk together, not as individuals with our own agendas but as a collective organism fighting for justice. We've all got a stake in this now. It's no longer about avenging Tai's death or my mom's death. It's about fighting for our lives. The coming rains might wash away the impressions of our bodies on the earth, but our ghosts will remain. We will have marched. We will have tried. We will have fought.

Darkness inspires, perhaps even necessitates, morbid thoughts. I shiver as I comprehend the very real possibilities of the day we walk toward. I might die when morning comes. The black ops could rain death down on our march just like at Round Barn, just like at Thermopylae. I'm scared, but ignoring that fear would be foolish. Instead, I embrace it. I feel its sharp corners and inhale its cold, pungent scent. I outline its contours in a constellation above me. To understand it is the only way. When I comprehend my fear, I can say: I see you. I
know
you. Fear doesn't like being called out, being recognized, being brought to light. It shrinks back when it is seen, leaving only knowledge and power behind. This is our greatest weapon against it.

So I tell my fear: No. Not today. Today, we march.

Bear's light suddenly stops and sways at his knees. We have arrived at a copse of trees at the bottom of a hill. About three meters to our right, the rails of the maglev tracks glisten in the moonlight. We line up along the tracks, no more than three deep. A moment of silence precedes the distant yet unmistakable hum of the coming train.
We'll have seven minutes when the train stops. Doors'll open and we'll all climb in quick and quiet. We'll be joining our friends from Sakari and Lesedi there. In forty-three minutes exact, we'll be at our stop just outside the capital.
Bear's words from our earlier meeting ring in my ears as my anxiety rises and falls like waves on a shore.

We're a little ways outside the limits of Siman, the closest factory town to Okaria. On a normal run, the train would be programmed to zip past us on its way to a depot where cargo would be offloaded and delivered to various locations around the Sector. Bear and Zeke's team hacked the whole transport system and programmed this train to stop at various drop points to pick up freeloading passengers. Though it's a cargo train, we're able to squeeze our bodies into position around the cargo and the other marchers, who greet us quietly. When the doors close, we are once again enveloped in complete darkness.

Last night, Miah loaded all the weaponry we have into the Sarus, along with Eli, Soren, Osprey, and me. Miah flew us to Siman, where Bear was organizing a swath of the march into Okaria. He was by turns giddy with excitement and solemn with the implications of the journey upon which we were about to embark. Nothing like this had ever happened in the entire history of the Okarian Sector—not since Jubilation Day. And here was a sixteen-year-old boy from Round Barn leading the way. With help, of course, from Zeke, Reika, Rose, and Louis, still recovering at Resistance headquarters, and other Resistance activists and thousands of sympathizers from the factory towns and Farms. But to not give Bear credit for his organizing efforts would be doing him a disservice.

“People are coming in from all different directions,” Bear said, going over the final plans. “Those from the factory town will take commuter trains, sayin' they're celebrating the Solstice. Some in for vacations. Farm workers have to walk or we'll have to transport them. With Zeke's help--and the Director's--we'll get them in by airship, train, or supply truck.”

“Any sign that the Sector has noticed a spike in ticket sales and is investigating?” I asked, looking at Vale and Bear.

“Demeter hasn't picked up on anything. She says commuter tickets are only up moderately from last year's Solstice celebration.”

“The Director kindly loaned us all her airships, an' over the day or so before the march, every pilot in the Resistance will be flyin' marchers out of their Farms and towns, and to the city.”

“What happens when the march starts?” Osprey asked.

“At dawn every one of the marchers who's made it to the city will meet at the Bridge of Remembrance an' start down Rue Jubilation.”

“What's phase two?” Saara leaned forward. She'd volunteered to go in with Zeke.

“With the map Shia gave us, we were able to chart the restaurants, smoke dens, and bars with UMIT-enabled bulletin boards with external displays. The Director has given us an ample supply of seedcoins, so we're going to upload information about the march on each one we pass. With groups coming in from every quadrant of the city, by the time we get downtown, there should be information displayed all over the Sector. Then we gather on Rue Jubilation and simply march to Reunion Park and end up at the steps of Assembly Hall.”

“It's not going to be ‘simple' with Watchmen, SDF, OAC Black Ops, and paranoid citizens all around,” Vale muttered.

Bear shrugged. “I know. But this won't be a repeat of Round Barn. They won't be able to hide this or claim it's doctored video and that all the dead are Resistance actors.” His mouth turned down in a sour scowl. “They can't massacre their own citizens right in the capital, especially not five thousand of their ‘honored' Farm workers. And we won't be defenseless this time. Or hungry and confused. Everyone marching knows the stakes.”

“What's the end goal, Bear?” Osprey twirled a short lock of hair around her finger over and over again though it just kept slipping out. I'd never seen her nervous, but her curled-up, bent-over posture and endless fidgeting betrayed her anxiety. “I understand you'll send a message to the Sector and the Orleán administration, but what are you actually going to accomplish by the end of the day?”

Bear was quiet for a moment. Finally he looked up and held Osprey's gaze. “The goal is to show ourselves. To show the privileged citizens in the capital that we exist, that we are real people, not just props in Sector news stories about the wonders of Farm life. We may not be educated and smart like them, but our voices and our lives are important, too.”

The train starts to slow. We must be getting close. When the lights turn on, I lock eyes with Eli.

“And may the flowers bloom tomorrow, too.” He nods at me. A prayer for tomorrows.

We adjust the hoods of our Firex fireproof jackets, and I rub my thumb along the trigger of my Bolt. Against my calves and inside my boots, my knives provide cold comfort, and I've equipped my waist pack with as many smoke grenades as I could find. Eli and I are prepared to defend ourselves and others. It is our duty to protect the marchers from whatever comes.

“You ready, Little Bird?” He looks down at me.

“Ready.” I take his hand. “Tai would be so proud of you.”

He holds out his arms and draws me to him. “Today is for her. For Brinn. For my parents.”

“For all of them,” I whisper.

He flashes me a look that reveals the crazy, exuberant—and dangerous—Eli I know and love as much as any blood brother. “So we'd better fucking be ready.”

A surge of energy floods my body, and I know he feels it, too: the air between us, all around us, is electrified, static, almost as if every movement is playing out in slow motion. With our disguise makeup and a few more pairs of Kenzie's retinal scramblers, the drones won't recognize us right away. Osprey and Soren are similarly geared, but they'll be taking up the rear. The makeup won't last all day, though, so we've got kerchiefs to wear if we get sweaty and the makeup starts to fade. We're counting on the Watchers to respond first and hoping they won't escalate as long as we stay peaceful.

The train comes to a complete stop and the cargo doors slide open. Eli looks at me and winks. “Go time.”

Bolts drawn, Eli and I are the first on the dock. Behind us, marchers pour off the train and, with Bear at the lead, stream into the warehouse. A worker turns, his eyes widening in disbelief. Eli flashes him a smile:
Hey, calm down, brother, we're just here to have fun.

But the worker doesn't seem to take Eli's smile the way it was intended. He lifts his wrist communicator to his mouth and shouts, “Security breach! Red alert!”

I pull up my Bolt and fire. He drops to the ground, stunned, but not for long. Another man appears from behind a roof-high stack of crates, and he's down before I can react. Over my shoulder, Eli recharges his Bolt.

We charge forward toward the front of the depot and out onto Rue Descartes. And so the symphony begins. Bear, at the head of the line, lifts his bright red flag high into the air, leading us the short distance down Rue Descartes toward the Bridge of Remembrance.

We walk silently, as calm as the protests at Round Barn were chaotic, a few protesters peeling off now and again to drop seedcoins into the external UMIT displays. The sky is purple and pink, and dawn is just breaking behind us. This early in the morning, there aren't many people out and about, but a few early risers stop and stare, watching us approach with shock evident on their faces. Some open their plasmas, calling family or friends or the local Watchers' station. Although most marchers carry weapons of some sort, they are hidden in pockets and pant legs, jackets and boots. We want to inspire, not intimidate.

As we turn onto Rue Jubilation, Bear begins to chant, using an old-fashioned handheld speaker Eli rigged up. Behind us, I feel our ranks swelling. Murmured whispers tell us more and more people are arriving. I am amazed by how many children there are, walking hand in hand with their parents or perched on an adult's shoulders. A thousand voices fill the morning air as we echo our responses.

To the sowing,

When we plant the seeds of freedom

To the reaping,

When we prune the rot of power

To the harvest,

When we gather the fruits of justice

We are the Sector

We are the Resistance

We are the People

Stand up, stand up,

Join the revolution

Rise up, rise up,

For the revolution!

We barely finish the first round of chanting before I hear the telltale buzz of drones, and they appear from every direction like a swarm, fanning out and taking position up and down the line no more than thirty meters above our heads. I'd almost expected them sooner. They hover overhead, moving along at our pace, not firing just yet. Soon we are facing a blockade, a row of Watchers mostly in hovercars blocking the street and sidewalks.

“No violence! Be calm, push through or go around!” Bear's voice rings out strong and clear, repeating the instructions drilled into us before we set out. “We are here to raise our voices for justice, not our hands in hate.”

Today, the traits the Sector has bred us for come in handy, and many of the Farm workers tower over the Watchers, intimidating them with their immense size and strength. Born into a culture dedicated to hard work, it doesn't matter that they haven't been off their MealPaks for weeks. After Bear spread the word about what we'd learned from Moriana about Corine's plans, anger and resentment among the workers grew to a fever pitch. Those who showed up for the march are determined, dedicated, and willing to risk life and limb in the hope they won't be permanently programmed as slaves of production for the Sector elite.