The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) by Steven dos Santos Page B

systems.”
    “What about you?”
    “No worries, mate.” He smiled. “It was purely a precautionary measure for us. We’ll be outside the pulse radius. We don’t need them. Why waste these pills on us? Besides, what my dad and the others don’t know won’t hurt them.” He shrugged. “I bet your oldies are overprotective, too.”
    “My parents are dead.”
    His smile disappeared. “Sorry. Any other rellies?”
    “Just my brother, Cole. Look. I can’t take your stash of the antidote. What if something goes wrong?”
    He laughed. “With the Torch Keeper at the helm of the ship, what could possibly go wrong?”
    Instead of easing my mind, his words filled me with dread. I tried to give him the pills again, but he was already backing away.
    “Micajah! I can’t accept this. It’s too much of a risk,” I whispered.
    “It’s Cage .”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Call me Cage . Everyone does, except for my dad.”
    “Look, Cage—”
    “Get your sleep, mate. Big day tomorrow.” He tipped his fingers to his forehead in salute.
    “Why would you do this? You barely know me.”
    He paused and shrugged. “Like I said. I’ve been following your brief but impressive career. I like what I see so far. Maybe you’re more than a show pony after all.” His eyes fixed on me. “Besides, Digory Tycho and I were cobbers. He spoke very highly of you before he was recruited.”
    I tried to swallow but it froze in my throat. “Digory … was a very special guy.”
    “His blood’s worth bottling, I thought.” Cage paused then, eyes narrowing, lips pursing, before reaching into his pocket and taking out one more item: a small, circular holodisc. “Take a squizz at this.”
    Taking it, I couldn’t help noticing the scratches marring its shiny surface. “What’s on it?”
    “Tycho kept a journal. After his recruitment, I found it hidden among his personal effects. The final portion’s been damaged. Been working on restoring the bloody thing, but no luck so far. That’s what’s kept me from showing it to anyone else—I need to be sure.” His eyes burrowed into mine. “Maybe you can make sense of it, mate.”
    Then he turned and disappeared into the veil of snow.

    And now, after hours of tossing and turning, I remove the holodisc from where I’ve hidden it under my bunk. I jam it into my holocam, pop in an oval earpiece so none of the sleeping trainees can hear it, and slide under the sheets. My trembling finger hesitates before hitting the play button.
    There’s a burst of three-dimensional static as the image begins to glow, and I take a quick peek from under the covers to make sure everyone else is still asleep. Then I turn on my side and position the holo off the edge of my bunk, which is right next to the corner of the room. For a second, there’s just eddies of electronic artifacts, and I worry that the disc has been damaged beyond repair.
    But then it begins to morph, and I inhale sharply as Digory’s face appears.
    His bright blue eyes are so full of excitement, so full of life. Unlike the last time I saw them, wrapped in that sickly caul. I shove that memory aside. His tawny hair hangs wildly about his handsome face and he’s dressed in the same tattered coat he was wearing the first time we connected in that dingy alley.
    As Digory’s hand reaches out to adjust his recorder’s lens, I can almost imagine he’s extending it to me, and I catch myself before reaching out to touch the image.
    “Not much time left before the Recruitment Ceremony,” he says.
    The sound of his voice reignites so many emotions I’ve forced myself to let freeze over. I’d never thought I’d ever hear him again.
    “I can’t risk this recording falling into the wrong hands, which is why I’ll destroy it after the ceremony,” he continues. “I’ve just made contact with Lucian Spark. I opened up to him about the rebellion—tried to convince him to join.” He shakes his head and a slight grin appears on his face. “But