Steven dos Santos - The Sowing

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.

The Four lead me through a maze of tunnels that spill out into a smaller hangar bay. I can hear the low thrum of engines even before I spot the sleek lines of the Vulture-class ship prepping for takeoff. The craft is positioned on a circular hydraulic platform that will lift it up a seemingly endless shaft to the surface.

Cassius has his back to me as he gestures to two of the Sanctum escorts, who are busy loading Digory’s encapsulated body into the compartment in the ship’s underbelly, next to Talon’s medpod. I duck behind a terminal as Cassius strides up the boarding ramp, which begins to lift as soon as he disappears inside.

Taking a deep breath, I give the Four a final nod and dart for the ship. I leap and roll into the cargo hold, hoping the sound of the engines have drowned out the sounds of my body bumping the ship.

My muscles tense for a fight as I expect guards to appear in the opening of the hatch any second. But the last sliver of light coming in from the bay disappears with a loud clank as the hatch finally seals. The whine of the engines gets louder. The Vulture is vibrating almost as fast as my heart is.

Then we’re moving, and I can feel the pressure as the hydraulic platform shoots up the shaft to the surface. I take a deep breath as the Vulture lifts off from the ruined city and zooms away at full throttle, leaving Sanctum far behind us.

The cargo hold is small and rectangular. There won’t be enough room to hide once we land and the hatch is opened. But if I remember the layout of this type of ship correctly, there’s a small hatch in the corner of the ceiling that leads to the back of the passenger cabin. Bracing against the turbulence, I reach up and test it. It gives with a loud squeak and I cringe, easing it closed again.

I slide down to the floor of the hold, exhausted. Beside me, I can barely see the contours of the capsule encasing Digory. I crawl past Talon’s medpod and over to it, sidling up against the cold hard shell. Inside, Digory is perfectly still, his body floating in the pool of genetic fluid as if he were merely peacefully asleep.

I touch the glass across from his face. “I’m right here,” I whisper. Then I curl up beside the pod and close my eyes.

I’m not sure how many hours later it is when my eyes spring open. Even with all the jostling from the turbulence, I’ve managed to sleep on and off, the steady thrum of the engines creating a kind of white-noise effect that makes it easy to give in to my physical and mental fatigue. But it didn’t stop the nightmares—horrible images of Digory and Cole morphing into Fleshers. The last one was the worst. I thought I’d woken up and seen a reflection of myself in the glass of Digory’s tomb, but something was wrong with my face. The skin was bruised and peeling. When I tried to pull off a flake of dead skin, my flesh began to rip. I couldn’t stop myself from pulling and tearing, my face disappearing in bloody tatters and replaced by a biomechanical machine underneath, staring back at me with soulless eyes—

I was a Flesher.

I awoke from this dream in a clammy sweat, despite the ice-cold air that wracks my body with the shivers. It must be the altitude taking its toll. If we don’t land soon, I’ll die of hypothermia before I ever see the Parish again.

Reaching out a trembling hand, I swipe a clear space in the frosty condensation covering Digory’s capsule, which I immediately have to clear again as my breath fogs it up.

He still looks the same.

That’s when I feel the ship begin its angled descent.

Springing to my feet, I crack open the hatch just enough to look through the cabin windows. The sky is coated in the pink and orange hues of dusk. Even from the limited vantage point of my perch, I spy the billowing mushroom smog from the factories, soon replaced by the cold gray turrets and spires of the Citadel of Truth. I never thought I’d see them again, let alone be happy at the sight. Whatever else it may be, the Parish is still the only home I’ve ever known.