My hands curl into fists. I want to grab that glowing collar and shake the answers out of the little man, but fold my arms across my chest. I’m trapped in a room with two or more Amstraadi soldiers. Even more Amstraadi soldiers are within reach of my family. I’m in no position to make demands.
“Alright,” I say.
“Once they have secured the area, my people will escort your family to the Amstraad Embassy, where your mother, your father, and your twin brothers will remain in comfort and safety until the coronation of Prince Kevon.”
“And then what?” I ask.
The ambassador makes a dry chuckle that sends disgust rippling across my skin. “As soon as the new king disbands Queen Damascena’s royal court, she will be powerless to act against your family.”
Mouse steps forward, holding a computer tablet. “See for yourself.”
My throat dries as I stare at the tablet’s screen. Two dots—one white, and the other red—appear on a map of Phangloria in the location that was once Memphis, Tennessee. He taps again, and the map expands into the Harvester Region. Then with another tap, Rugosa, and another brings up the long stretch of land between the cornfields and Rugosa’s residential area.
“That white dot is my house?” I croak.
Mouse’s finger hovers over the red dot, which races across the screen toward the white. “As you can see, the assassins are close.”
My insides quiver with anxiety, and I clap a hand over my mouth, trying not to hurl half-digested lobster soup over the computer tablet. I wish I wasn’t trapped in this room with two men whose motives I barely trust, wish I could call Mom and Dad to check that they’re alright, but I can’t. I can’t afford to gamble the lives of those I love.
I clear my throat. “You haven’t told me what you want in exchange.”
“The opportunity to grow crops in the Amstraad Republic,” the older man replies.
My gaze lifts from the computer screen, and I meet the ambassador’s watery eyes. “That’s it?”
His lips form a tight smile. “That is all. Agree to do your utmost to convince Prince Kevon to allow us to extract viable seeds from the produce we import, and I will save your parents.”
I nod. “Alright.”
His brows rise, and he twists his thin lips into an amused smile. “How can I trust you will carry out your promise when you ask for so little?”
The red dots separate, implying that there are two vehicles. Each stops in front of the white dot. Mouse taps the tablet, bringing up a screen split into four images. Footage of my house’s exterior, footage of a small car and a large van, the kitchen, and the view from the top of the stairs.
On the top-left quarter, dark figures step out of a black car, each holding guns that glint in the moonlight.
A dagger of white panic sears through my heart. “Please, save them.”
“Do you know what the Amstraad republic sends to Phangloria in exchange for crops?” asks the ambassador.
The figures move toward my house, and I glance at the screen on the top-right. This footage has to be live because the distant cornfields only glow this brightly during full moons.
A pair of guards appear from the direction of the house next door and approach the assassins. From the height difference, it’s obvious that they’re men and the assassins are women. The women raise their guns and shoot. Both guards fall to the ground.
I stifle a cry.
“Fifty percent of the Amstraad Republic’s medical staff work in the Oasis,” says the ambassador in the calm voice he used in the garden party. “They serve Phangloria in juvenation hospitals that help Nobles to add decades to their lives. Do you know what that means?”
I shake my head, barely listening to his words. The women stand back-to-back, looking out for more guards to arrive.
Ambassador Pascale’s illuminated head glides toward me like a specter. “They use our nanotechnology, take the organs of healthy donors to transplant into their aging bodies, transfuse their blood, undergo cosmetic procedures, all to live an undeservedly long life.”
The horror in his words barely registers, even though a voice in the back of my mind screams at me to pay attention. I can’t. Not when assassins step into the house, holding their guns aloft.
“I…” My voice breaks. “I already agreed to ask Prince Kevon to let you grow crops. Please, don’t let my family die.”
A large hand squeezes my shoulder. It could only belong to Mouse, but I can’t tear my gaze from that terrible screen. On the bottom-left, the assassins walk through the hallway and reach the bottom rung of the stairs.
“Now, we want to know what you want from us in exchange,” says Mouse.
“What?” I whisper.
“Within three years of receiving untainted crops from Phangloria, we aim to make the Amstraad Republic self-sufficient,” says the ambassador.
My mouth drops open. “I said yes. Yes. I’ll do it.”
“A country that no longer needs to import food also no longer needs to export its medically trained staff or its technology.” The ambassador’s voice trails off.
Realization soaks through my skull. Phangloria probably kept the Amstraad Republic dependent on them because it needed this advanced technology. Advanced technology I know nothing about. I rub my dry throat. This isn’t a decision I can make on behalf of a country, but I’ll do or say anything to keep my family alive.
The assassins turn around. One of them races to the front door and flings it open, while the other pauses halfway up the stairs.
My heart thunders. My mind races. My mouth opens and closes with rapid breaths. Ambassador Pascale wouldn’t have approached me if he didn’t need a specific answer. What did he say to me when we spoke at the garden party?
Wiping my brow, I clench my teeth to stop them from chattering. Ambassador Pascale said his country would never waste its people on menial work that could be replaced by machines. And the Amstraadi girls used their dates
