The Seed Of Hope

Megan suppressed a shudder when Randall took hold of her hand. His grip was strong, and warm, even through the tactical gloves. Neither of them spoke as they made their way through the woods: their minds were too busy drifting back in time.

Their first years had been fairly easy; even that early, their bond had felt perfectly natural, like a red thread that singled them out among the many children living in the state sponsored Rearing Facility. There were games, and there was learning, there were naps, and much of it they did together. As they grew up, they grew closer. As time went by, it got harder.

By the onset of their teenage years, both had begun their specialized training: Randall was put through boot camp, where his body and mind were prepared to take on the rigors that come with defending society and its ways. Weaponry, survival techniques, and above all, unfailing loyalty and discipline, all of this and more was taught, instilled, drilled in.

Megan, for her part, was kept with her nose to the screen and the nanoscope, her hands busy with vials, scanners, vivisection tools. Many of the alien species captured in the ongoing wars came through her operating table: there was much for her and her peers to learn, that they may lead the discoveries of tomorrow.

Stringent rules kept them apart, at least most of the time. Meals and the daily Oath were precious occasions for quick communication. A furtive look here, a walk-by whisper there, every second they were close was loaded with meaning.

The intense awakening of adolescence emboldened both their spirits. The times they managed to briefly evade the watchful eyes around them could be counted in one hand: times of kissing, of touching, of pressing and fondling. Going beyond that was too risky, the punishment too severe. Such were their days until his eighteenth birthday, when he was sent away. It would take half a decade for their paths to cross again.

The End of Days Protocol had been activated, and Research Station 41 was brimming with activity. The pods were being prepared for their impending activation, and moved to their remote locations. The Seedlings had been selected and brought together; Megan was among them. Randall's regiment arrived a few days later, to serve as escorts. Their hearts leapt as their eyes met.

They both remembered, and they both longed, but life kept getting in the way. As one of the scientists chosen for preservation, Megan spent most of her waking hours under hypnosis, so that the vast amounts of knowledge entrusted to her would be well rooted in her brain. Randall, on the other hand, was only a meat shield and, therefore, his stay at Research Station 41 was just another boot camp. The mission ahead of him and his fellow troopers was simple: See their assigned Seedling safely to the pod, activate the pod, then rally at their extraction point. No lengthy briefings were required.

On the eve of the departure, Randall was at his post, alone. Without warning, a shadow closed in on him, and a body pressed his against a wall. Familiar lips locked on his with a yearning matching his own. Soon, his heart was racing as fast as hers was.

She took his hand and led him through the complex. It was a maze, a maze she knew by heart. With him in tow, she dove into an empty lab. The lock clicked into place. There was darkness, heavy breathing, urgent whispers, a shared release years in the making.

He was summoned early the next morning. She was there too. Both kept their eyes averted. Both were waiting for the worst: discovery of their deed, and severe punishment. Then their hearts rose to the heavens as they heard the news: he had been assigned as her escort.

Their All-Terrain was half full when they arrived. A total of twelve pairs came aboard, twelve Seedlings and their escorts. The door hissed shut and, with a jolt, the transport started forward. Nobody spoke, nobody even coughed, for the ticking doomsday clock weighed heavily on every mind.

Their stop was among the last, an empty riverbed. When the AT was out of sight, he took hold of her hand, and she suppressed a shudder. A high-powered rifle hung loose from his shoulder. No threats were expected on the way, but she and the other Seedlings were just too valuable.

Hard to believe that their fate could have been so different. If only their respective parents had not chosen to participate in state sponsored breeding, they would have been free to choose their home and their career paths, free to carve a life together. Now, all they had left was less than a klick of forest.

The ground was uneven, and she nearly slipped more than once. Every time this happened, his grip tightened and held her steady. She looked at him at times, and her view was always the same: faithful to his training, committed to his mission, he was facing forward. His hand on hers spoke for him, however: warm, firm, shifting ever so slightly, a fond caress in its own way.

No matter how much they dragged their feet, it was inevitable: eventually, they found themselves standing before the pod. Their fingers interlocked, their foreheads touched, ardent words were whispered, and their lips met for the last time. Iron discipline and all, Randall was trembling as he slowly drew away; a tear was running down Megan's cheek.

Their hands lingered together for a spell after he helped her inside, and their gazes found each other through the window after he closed the door. Randall stood silent for a moment, breathing heavily, before slamming his fist into the pod's switch. The contraption whirred awake, sealed itself shut and swiftly began to dig itself into the earth. It went down one meter, then one hundred, as it started the stasis process to preserve its valued tenant for the next five centuries.

Megan set her hand on her navel as her consciousness began to float away. She wouldn't know for a while if Randall's seed had taken.

She could only hope.