The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) (26 page)

thirty-four

Sirens blare as Digory and I race through the winding corridors of the hive. Overhead, emergency beacons spiral, creating a dizzying strobing effect that wreaks havoc on any sense of direction I have left. My lungs churn overtime trying to compensate for each ragged breath I manage to take, competing with the throbbing in my chest and ears. Several times we overrun a turn and have to double back to dart down a passage, only to dash in the opposite direction as sinister silhouettes appear just ahead, closing in on us.

By now the entire processing plant must know we’re here, and they’re probably trying to initiate some kind of lockdown. They can’t afford for us to escape and get back to the Parish with everything we know.

Somehow we manage to make it back up to the level we came in on. Up ahead, a sliver of light tantalizes us with the hope of escape.

No. Even if we make it out of here and manage to fight our way to one of the elevators to the surface, that still leaves the problem of transportation. With no ride back to the Parish, we’ll be recaptured before we can get a gulp of putrid surface air.

My hand locks onto Digory’s arm. “We have to find one of the ships they’re gonna use to get to the Parish and get the hell out of here.”

Dark shapes appear in the corridors on either side of us.

Without looking back, we race down the hallway ahead to where a lone Flesher stands barring the way.

Digory doesn’t even pause an instant. He just leaps and crashes into the thing, pummeling it with his fists. The Flesher’s mechanisms squeal and whir as it tries to dislodge him. In seconds, flailing, stabbing instruments whip from its exoskeleton, trying to skewer its attacker.

As valiant a fight as Digory’s putting up, he won’t be able to hold the Flesher off too much longer. I can already hear the clatter of approaching feet behind us. Pouncing, I grab one of the Flesher’s appendages—some type of snapping pincer—and jam it against one of the power cables lining the wall. I let go just as the instrument clips the cable with a loud snap. Sparks bursts, raining mini-fire on my exposed skin. The Flesher bucks and jerks as if it’s having convulsions.

There’s a part of me that squirms at the idea that this thing, having a seizure in front of my eyes, was a vital human being before Cassius, Straton, and Sanctum genetically altered it in their miserable quest to play the role of gods.

Digory shoves the pitiful thing away from us. Then he grabs me in his other arm and pulls me across a threshold.

My fist slams a panel on the wall just as our pursuers reach us. A steel door crashes closed behind us, cutting them off.

I lean against it, my body vibrating from the heavy thudding coming from the other side. “It’s not going to take them long to get through to us,” I manage to say through heavy breaths.

Digory’s not paying attention to me. His eyes are riveted on something beyond us, and I turn to follow his gaze.

My breath is torn away.

“Looks like we found a ship,” I barely whisper.

The entire room is a huge hangar bay, filled with row after row of V-shaped craft. But it’s not just the magnitude of the ships that’s shocking. It’s the ships themselves. Like the Fleshers, each craft is a combination of metal, steel, and organic matter, all fused together in an obscene marriage of biology and machine. Gleaming exhaust ports grow out of slimy, pulsating skins, engines whir even as cockpit doors tear apart with the squish of organic matter in an obscene synthesis. Fuel lines throb like giant umbilical cords, pumping who knows what into each vehicle.

And scurrying around the crafts are legions of Fleshers, thousands upon thousands, some clanking along like living forklifts, others zipping around on wheels, while even others clatter along on all fours like giant insects, their skins splitting open and sprouting vast arrays of gleaming silver instruments as they dart about, servicing their ships.

I almost want to cover my ears to shield them from all the buzzing, clomping, and snapping that vibrates through the air. Air that smells like a mixture of fuel and the barely perceptible stench of meat that’s just starting to go bad.

Then it occurs to me. These are more than just scouts on a diplomatic mission.

It’s an army.

A huge screen dominates the far side of the hangar bay. On it is an aerial view of the Parish. It seems that Sanctum has the Parish under close surveillance. They must have spies on the inside, spies within the innermost workings of the Establishment.

I have to warn Cage and the rebels. I grab my transceiver. If they get this message and broadcast it to the entire Parish, there might be a chance to deal a significant blow to the Establishment, Cassius, and Sanctum all at once.

Digory’s face is brimming with different emotions. It’s as though the footage of our home has unleashed deep feelings inside him, feelings he’d prefer to keep buried forever rather than have to relive the horrors that caused him to block them all out in the first place.

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.

As we’re marched along, I can’t stop staring at him, wishing we’d never left that park we landed in. It was the only time since we’ve met that we were truly free and happy, if only for a short while.

We reach a flight of steps leading up to a triangular platform. In its center, a transparent, bubblelike container is suspended by translucent cables pulsating with glowing light and leading into a bank of flashing, oblong instruments. The bubble descends and splits open like a blooming flower, its interior large enough to encase a body.

My heart forgets to beat.

I feel like a cornered animal. My fight-or-flight instinct is triggered in a mad rush of panic and adrenaline, as if I were back competing in the Trials.

But Digory’s face is calm, resolute. He stares back at me with weary eyes, the hint of a reassuring smile on his lips.

The Fleshers prod us closer to the bubble. Cassius and Straton are already waiting there, the flickering light from the cables alternately bathing them in eerie iridescence, which gives their eyes an almost glowing effect, and shadows, which carve their features into hard edges.

I take a step toward Cassius. “Please. Don’t do this. He’s been through enough. Take
me
instead.”

My words break Digory’s calm façade. He grunts and pushes forward, trying to shield me with his body.

“
L-Lucky
.” His deep voice echoes through the chamber.

The sound of my name from his lips freezes me in place. It’s been forever since I’ve heard it. And all at once I’m flooded with joy and grief.

I press my body against Digory’s. He pulls me close and our lips press together; we relish our warmth in the coldness of this place. In this one kiss, there’s a lifetime of regret—for all that was lost and for what will never be. Hot tears sting my eyes, mingling with his. There’s so much I want to say, but the words don’t come …

The four Fleshers move in closer to us. I catch the gleam of their pincers poised to strike, and this time it’s me who covers Digory with my body.

“Digory, listen to me,” I whisper in his ear. “There are too many of them. They’ll kill us both if we try anything.”

His chest heaves and his muscles tense. Slowly, his body relaxes again.

“I’m a-afraid, Lucian,” he says, the words coming with great effort.

“Why?”

“Things they’ve done … to me … made
me
do … not the same person … ”

I can tell that speaking is a monumental effort for him, but he’s determined to get the words out.

Reaching out, I wipe a tear from his eye and he clutches my hand to his face.

“Begin the final phase of the Ultra Imposer Program on Tycho.” Cassius’s voice is low, emotionless. He may as well be one of the Fleshers himself.

Two of the Fleshers grip Digory while the other two clutch me.

And then we’re torn apart.

“Don’t let them make you forget,” I call to him. “
Never give up
.”

This time he smiles. “Never forget
you
.”

Then he’s dragged into the bubble, his body shackled into a spread-eagled position. All of his muscles tense as the bubble seals shut, trapping him inside.

Cassius and Straton bark orders, but they’re nothing but muffled sounds in my ears as I watch the glowing nanotech fluid fill the sphere—crawling up Digory’s calves, slithering up the mounds of his thighs, tightening around his waist before swarming over his heaving chest and neck and engulfing his head.

Our eyes meet one last time—a look of longing and pain—before his face is immersed in the fluid.

I can’t breathe. I’ve never felt so helpless. All I can do is watch as his body writhes in the swirling mass of protoplasmic goo.

The minutes stretch into an unbearable blur as his body finally begins to still.

And then it ceases to move completely.

Straton studies the readouts. “He’s quite a strong specimen, but it appears his body isn’t rejecting the nanotech cells.” He looks up from the monitor, his face glowing in the reddish haze. “Assimilation has begun.”

The words strike me like a bullet. At first I’m dizzy with emptiness. But that’s quickly filled with rage. This time I won’t hesitate to kill Cassius.

Cassius nods. “Transfer Tycho’s body to a cryogenic tube and prepare it for transport, along with Talon’s medpod. It’s time for me to get back to the Parish.”

I catch one last glimpse of Digory as the Sanctum techs descend on the bubble to carry out Cassius’s orders. Within
minutes, the fluid is drained from the sphere and Digory’s body is transferred into its new prison, a cryo capsule that’s
loaded onto a glider transport and carried away, taking what’s left of my soul with it.

Straton glances at me, then back to Cassius. “What about
this
one? When can we begin the hippocampus stimulation phase?”

“
This
one,” Cassius says, “is
not
to be touched until I give authorization, as per our agreement. Understood?”

Straton can barely hide his anger. “Understood.”

I shoot a look at Straton and then Cassius. “Hippocampus is part of the brain, isn’t it? Why the hell are you interested in my memories? Does this have something to do with that Sowing Protocol?”

Cassius grips my shoulder. “You’ll be safe here until I return. I promise.”

Then he’s gone, too.

Straton signals the Sanctum personnel, who grab hold of me and lead me out of the chamber.

All I’m thinking about is how little time I have—to break out of these restraints and go after Cassius and Digory—when we round the corner and the four Fleshers attack.

But they don’t attack me. They attack the Sanctum guards, skewering them with their weapons until the guards’ bodies are nothing but lifeless clumps of bloody pulp.

The numbness I’ve been feeling is replaced by a surge of adrenaline. The lead Flesher approaches me with one of the sharp cutting blades, raises it—

And cuts through my manacles.

“Which way to the hangar?” I ask.

Then I’m racing after them through the dark maze, burning with the one emotion I’d never thought I’d ever feel again.

Hope.