Steven dos Santos - The Sowing

She smiles, but there doesn’t seem to be any pleasure in it. “Ah, an idealist. Not everything in life falls into neat little compartments labeled good and evil . Eventually everyone has to get their hands a little dirty to get things done.”

Before I can ask her what she means, she motions to the guards, who step inside. One of them hands her a familiar-looking duffel bag. Mine.

She begins to rummage through it. “When you were taken into custody, Spark, you certainly didn’t have that many items of interest among your personal effects. Just these.” She pulls out a set of shiny Recruit ID tags, Digory’s and mine, and lets them dangle in front of my eyes before shoving them back in the bag. “And this.” She holds out the holocam with Digory’s journal.

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.

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.

She taps a few keys on a control panel and the screen dominating the chamber flickers on. Half of it displays images of the five Recruits: Cage, Drusilla, Boaz, Crowley, and Preshea. The other half is a blur of shuffling images moving faster and faster, racing to catch up to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

The first of the Incentive images freezes, then slides into the slot next to Preshea’s image.

It’s Rodrigo.

Then Dahlia’s image appears and moves into place besides Crowley’s.

A few seconds later, Leander’s face takes it’s place besides Boaz’s.

Just two more. Arrah and me.

Faces slide across the screen, right in between Cage and Drusilla, hesitating for an instant—and then my image glides into place besides Cage, the one rebel I personally betrayed. The Recruit who I’m sure would be more determined than any of the others to make me pay for what I did.

Arrah buries her face in her hands as her image connects to Drusilla’s. I’d experienced that same feeling when Cassius informed me that my new second Incentive—replacing Mrs. Bledsoe—was Digory.

Of course, the Establishment has planned these pairings for maximum effect. We’re all just pawns in a game for their twisted amusement.

“And there you have it,” Slade hisses. Her eyes fix on me and her tongue darts across her lips. “This should make for the most intriguing Trials ever to take place.” She motions to the guards. “Make sure our Incentives here are nice and comfortable, regardless of the length of their stay.”

“C’mon! C’mon!” one of the Imps barks from behind.

A squad of Imposers herds all the Incentives single-file off the sub. From there we exit the docking bay and pass through an aircraft hangar, heading into a section of Infiernos I’ve never seen before. With the muzzles of Imps’ guns pointed at our backs the entire way, we trudge over a narrow underground gangway. We’ve been placed in alternating order—each former-trainee Incentive followed by a family-member Incentive. Cage’s other Incentive and I are at the end of the line.