Steven dos Santos - The Sowing

“We haven’t got all day, traitor,” he snarls.

The next thing I know, he shoves me forward. I slam into the porcelain wall, banging the side of my face against a broken tile.

Water jets from the nozzle above, piercing the numbness as every single one of my nerves is shocked. This is even colder than the showers in the trainee barracks were.

Leander’s hulking body leans in close. The stream of water glistens on the muscles of his arms and chest as one of his hands flexes into a fist and punches his other palm. “That’s nothing compared to what we’re gonna do to you, Lucy ,” he snickers. “You’re a dead man.”

I turn away. Even though I’m shivering, I welcome the jets of ice. Grabbing the bar of lye soap embedded in the wall, I scrub my skin with vigor, trying to rid myself of the remnants of that probe’s touch, the memory of those festering prisoners, the anger in Leander’s face. I let the water reinvigorate my sore body.

“I understand why you thought you had to do what you did, Lucian,” a voice whispers to my right.

Arrah.

I open my eyes.

She’s just standing there shivering under the shower, her brown eyes staring at me, unflinching beneath the deluge of water pelting her. She looks so sad and vulnerable, like a little girl lost in a thunderstorm, wondering how, and if, she’s ever going to find her way home again.

“Arrah. I swear I didn’t mean to betray you or the others. I had no choice. I didn’t know Cole was going to be there. I couldn’t just let him die. Surely you can understand that?”

She nods, water dripping down the bridge of her nose. “I do understand.” She purses her lips. “I know what it’s like to love someone, to feel you have to do anything possible to protect them from danger. Unfortunately, you didn’t think things through. What do you think is going to happen to your brother now that you’ve been arrested? You really think you saved him? At least if he’d died on that podium, he would have died for the greater good.” She shakes her head, spraying droplets to and fro. “Now his death will be meaningless. As will all of ours.” She steps away from the shower. “At least you won’t have to live with the guilt for too long.”

She walks away. The showers shut off. And this time I can’t control the shakes that wrack my body.

“Get dressed,” one of the officers barks.

As I step away from the shower, I notice that everything we were wearing is gone. In its place is a pile of tattered clothing, much like the rags that the prisoners in those mass pens were wearing.

I join the others in sifting through the stack of clothes, covering my nakedness with a pair of ragged pants that barely run from my hips to my knee caps, and a sleeveless shirt that’s missing most of its buttons and fits more like a vest. There aren’t even any shoes to protect our feet from the cold, hard floor.

“Time to eat!” the Imposer that frisked me shouts.

They jostle us into an adjacent chamber with the noses of their weapons. The steel and chrome fixtures remind me of the commissary back at the Citadel only a lot more threadbare, with just a few tables and no variety in menu items.

The Imposer smirks. “Grab it while it’s hot,” he snickers to his companions.

One by one, we take steaming bowls of grayish clumps. There aren’t even any utensils. I’m the last one at the gruel station. The rest are already seated, divided between two tables. My former squad stares at me with looks that smolder more than the glop in their bowls, and Leander kicks the remaining chair at their table away. Tristin and the rest of the family members, at the other table, barely look up as they scoop the goo into their mouths. I decide to take my chances and sit with the latter group. At least they don’t look like they want to kill me as much.

Tristin gives me a tentative smile as I set my bowl beside hers. Then I stoop and right the chair Leander kicked, scooching in close to the table.

“Hello,” I mutter as I tilt the bowl to my lips, letting the noxious gunk seep past my tongue and throat. I churn it past my gums as quickly as garbage through the sewer treatment plants. I need the nourishment, not the taste. At least it’s hot.

“What’s he doing here, Jorgen?” It’s the pale, gaunt, middle-aged woman with stringy brown hair I saw prodded by the Imp earlier. She’s sitting across from me, loudly whispering into the ear of the tanned young man seated beside her.

Jorgen’s dark eyes are as cool as the stew is hot. “Mrs. Grimstone, I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

Tristin pushes her three-quarters-full bowl away from her. “Everyone, this is Lucian Spark.” You’d think we were at a social affair. She half-smiles at me and I’m reminded of Cage’s infectious grin.

The balding man seated on the other side of Tristin slams his bowl down, rattling the table. “We know who he is!”

Mrs. Grimstone and Jorgen nod their heads.

Corin glares at me and spits a wad of food in my direction. “He’s the snake that got us into this mess.”

I expected hostility from these people, so it doesn’t surprise me. Scanning their eyes now, I wonder whether they distrust me simply because I’m a former Recruit or because they, like their recruited loved ones, are part of the rebellion and know that they’re here because I betrayed the cause.

As if reading my thoughts, Jorgen clears his throat and stares me down. “You’re not welcome here. Why don’t you go sit with your little friends over there?” He nods his head in the direction of my squad, who, with the exception of Arrah, are staring at our table with amused smirks on their faces.

“Because even they won’t have him,” Baldy grunts through another swig of the slop.

“True, Mr. Ryland,” Tristin says to him. “But we’re not like Imposers, even those in training, are we?”

“They wouldn’t show any pity on us,” Jorgen growls.

Tristin grabs my arm to prevent me from leaving. “That’s exactly my point,” she continues. “What would the Deity ask us to do?”

The others drop their gazes.

I think of this poor girl at the mercy of slime like Prior Delvecchio and his minions. “You actually attend services at the Priory?”

She shakes her head. “Our family can’t afford the tithing. And Cage thinks I’m crazy. But I still believe on my own.”

There’s something so profoundly innocent and tender in her demeanor and tone that I squirm in my chair. Lately, I haven’t been the most compassionate person in the world, and my motives haven’t been the purest. I’ve done what I’ve had to do. I’m not even certain if there is or there isn’t some mystical Deity, whether everything we do is based on free will or some sort of divine determinism. The only thing I’m sure of is that we can’t just sit around on our asses and wait for things to happen.

Mrs. Grimstone’s cold fingers touch my hand. “Please. I remember when you were recruited. You’ve been through this before. Is my daughter… my Preshea… is she safe now? Are they torturing her? I need to know…”

The fear and worry on her face wrench my gut. I pat her hand. “Your daughter’s fine right now.” I turn to the others. “All of your loved ones are. They keep the Recruits strong and healthy so they can compete in the Trials. Just like they’ll keep us alive.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, trying to stop the streams leaking down her cheeks.

All the edge seeps from Jorgen’s face. Suddenly, he looks like a child. “But we’ll never see them again, will we?”

I feel the weight of all their stares bearing down on me—Jorgen, Mrs. Grimstone, Mr. Ryland, Corin, and Tristin. Any anger and contempt they felt at my presence is gone, replaced by fear and the embryonic glow of hope. I gulp down my last mouthful of steaming gruel. “Yes. You will see them again.” It’s not really a lie. To say more would shred whatever comfort they can wring from my words, and I can’t do that. There are plenty of things you can rip away from a person—their dignity, self-respect; hell, even a limb or two—and they can somehow find a way through it. People are strong like that. They’ve had to be. Even organs are replaceable with synthetic replicas if you have the cash.