The last beekeeper, p.1
The Last Beekeeper, page 1
Dedication
To my children, and all the world’s children—I hope we leave you a planet that shows we did our part, even, at times, in spite of ourselves
Epigraph
Beyond a doubt truth bears the same relation to falsehood as light to darkness.
—LEONARDO DA VINCI
The environment is where we all meet, where we all have a mutual interest; it is the one thing all of us share.
—LADY BIRD JOHNSON
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1: The Undoing
Chapter 2: The Exchange
Chapter 3: The Choice
Chapter 4: VOz
Chapter 5: The Promise
Chapter 6: Cause and Effect
Chapter 7: Shadows and Memories
Chapter 8: Nature Calls
Chapter 9: FN
Chapter 10: Las Últimas Apicultoras
Chapter 11: The Fog of Memory
Chapter 12: The Comfort of Words
Chapter 13: In the Time Before
Chapter 14: Liquid Gold
Chapter 15: Wash Away
Chapter 16: The Last Polar Bear
Chapter 17: Connectivity Surge
Chapter 18: Execute
Chapter 19: System Override
Chapter 20: Eyes in the Dark
Chapter 21: Memory Recall
Chapter 22: Aftermath
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
The Undoing
Most people come to Silo without noticing the carved marks on the lower section of its largest tower. Except me. I always look for the scratches on the cylindrical steel structure whenever we come to town. Nothing seems to take them away—not the tormentas that sweep through the Valley in the winter. Or the blistering calor that burns metal on the hottest days. Not the storms of polvo and lluvia and hail that come sporadic and brutal across the Valley. Nothing seems to remove them from my sight line—like they refuse to be fully forgotten. A reminder. A memory I want to forget but can’t. I wish there was a way to make them disappear. To erase them forever.
Every time I see the marks, I see how little is left of the world I once had. A time when Mamá y Papá were with me. When fresas looked like actual strawberries instead of white marbles. I was little. Only six.
Six years later and I still can’t wipe out the memory. I’m like one of those newer-generation V-probes. Smarter. Faster. But still carrying around some physical reminders of an older model. That’s funny. I hadn’t thought about myself that way before.
“Come on,” Cami says, walking through the Town Welcome Center.
The last time my sister and I came to Silo, we barely had enough of a harvest to sell one full crate of strawberries. Now we have more, but they look worse than ever before. Our rows of fields grow only tiny, pale fruit bulbs. The drones just don’t pollinate like they’re supposed to, but that’s probably because we haven’t gotten upgrades in over two years. That’s like an eternity.
The closed metallic garage gates buzz while our V-probes are scanned. On top of the gate there are two large solar panels. They’re linked to smaller ones excavated over the years and reassembled along the walls that make up Silo—the most connected and technologically advanced town in the Valley.
The largest of the panels—a giant solar dish—powers the three silos that keep the Valley online. The reflected sunlight creates pulses of light that transmit signals to the photoelectric cells that give energy to miles of fiber-optic cables coiled inside the silo towers. They’re the only towers in operation. There are a few older silos scattered across the Valley like lifeless monuments. Useless relics of failed connectivity.
The only ones that work are the ones beaming from Silo. The sun blasts on the panels all day. Even in the cold. There’s no way we’ll ever run out of power again. We won’t ever have to be offline.
Right before sunset, the glare from the steel towers can be seen for hundreds of miles. Mayor Blackburn says it’s a beacon. A reminder that the town of Silo is always there when the night falls and the cold sets in across the Valley. When hungry nightcats scavenge the countryside. When people stay inside.
Five motion cameras mounted across the garage gate blink and send a signal to our devices. Both of our V-probes ring. I look at my screen and see the Silo welcome penguin greeting us as we wait to be let into town. Silo’s online System is big on extinct-animal avatars. It assigned me a panda with my username. I’m not big on pandas. Any animals really. They smell and they’re dangerous and unpredictable. I can’t change it though. The System’s fire wall won’t let me.
My V-probe earpiece vibrates, and Silo’s overly cheery concierge waddles on my screen and hums in my ear.
Camila Cicerón and Yolanda Cicerón of Lot 2506. ¡Hola! Proceed to your stand, and have a productive day in Silo!
The little penguin’s eyes flash green, signaling the garage gates to open. My sister and I walk under the massive Town Welcome Sign.
“¿Qué haces?” she asks.
I look up from my V-probe and see Cami staring at my screen.
“Just browsing TIE classes,” I answer, really looking forward to my Advanced Neurolink class.
“Yoly,” Cami says like she’s annoyed. “Maybe you should take a break from school this quarter. I could use your help around la finca.”
“What are you talking about?” I shoot back. “I’ve been waiting to take this class for over a year, Cami.”
My sister tries to get my attention, but I’m still scanning for my neurolink class.
“I know, but we could put a pause on classes for a couple of months. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. We’ll sell some fresas, then get you logged back into the tech institution education—”
“Technologically Intuitive Education, Cami,” I interrupt. “If you can’t remember the name, just call it TIE like everyone else.”
My sister nods and I shake my head. She’s so behind on upgraded technology. Cami is twelve years older than me, but she acts like she’s fifty years older sometimes. Fifty years ago, nobody was online. There was no power anywhere. A whole generation born into darkness.
When I was born, the System had already been online for ten years. Now it’s growing, with more and more applications and mods popping up every day. Mayor Blackburn says my generation will usher in the next technological revolution in human history, and I’ve got to make sure I’m a part of it. I look back at the TIE application and am just about to click on it, but Cami always has to get the last word.
“Life’s not all tech and upgrades, Yoly. There are other things to think about as well.”
I swear she turns on her Cami-es-Mamá mode all the time. Why can’t she just be my sister for once? I’m not a child anymore.
Cami moves into town, shaking her head. I don’t know what her problem is. She’s been in such a bad mood lately.
I look back at the Welcome Sign, then at the three towers lining up like giant metal guards outside town. The System literally brought us back from the age of darkness. My sister should be more grateful.
“Just put the device down and help me set up our stand,” she says without turning around.
I watch as Cami unloads the crate onto a long metal table. I’m about to put my V-probe away to go help her when it buzzes.
ARE122107: ¡Oye! ¿Qué pasa calabaza?
Cami huffs and shuffles her feet, then gives me a look. I know she’s about to tell me to pick up a crate or something, but I can’t ignore my best friend when she’s pinging me!
Arelis always calls me “pumpkin” or some other kind of food that people used to eat when she messages me. Her birth month is December, so she has the number twelve after her name. My birth month is January, so my number starts with a zero and a one.
We’ve been friends ever since we started classes six years ago. She lost her parents a couple of years before mine, and we bonded over having annoying older siblings who act like our parents. She and her brother, Cornelius, live in a small house in the Outer Valley near the High Mountains. Way too far to walk, and SDVs are expensive.
I ping her back:
YOLA012108: ¿Qué pasa, amiga? Did you register for Advanced Neurolink yet?
ARE122107: No. Having trouble logging in. ¿Tú?
YOLA012108: Not yet. The System keeps sending me reminders, but Cami keeps telling me to wait. Ugh! She’s sooooo pesada sometimes.
Arelis sends an image of a hippopotamus spitting water while it laughs uncontrollably. Nobody’s seen a hippo in like sixty years. Not that I would want to see one even if I could. They’re kind of gross. And I read they were really mean and aggressive. Cami slams a crate in front of me and stares. I look at her, then back at Arelis’s hippo image, and burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Cami asks.
“You look like a hippo with the face you just made,” I tell her, still laughing.
“You’re hilarious,” she says dryly. “Can you please put that thing down and help me?”
Arelis pings back:
ARE122107: You heading to Silo?
YOLA012108: Here now. We’re setting up our stand at the market. Let’s see if we actually *sell* any strawberries this time.
ARE122107: I wish I got to spend time with my brother selling stuff. He’s always rushing around. Never lets me go anywhere with hi m. At least he’s letting me help him with this one thing.
YOLA012108: What is it?
Arelis takes a minute to respond. I look at my V-probe’s stats to see if I’ve lost connection, but I’m not surprised to see that everything’s normal. Silo is the only place in the Valley with full connectivity. It must be coming from Arelis’s end.
ARE122107: Hey, sorry about that. Anyway, it’s cool you and Cami farm together.
YOLA012108: Farming is the worst! Like a bleh to the max. I would love to work in tech all day. Nature is def not my thing.
My sister interrupts my conversation again by putting a little box of pale strawberries in my face. I shove it away and stare.
“Yoly, please put the device away. Now.”
My face must show how I feel because when I look up again, Cami is staring at me with that irritating look she gives when she’s losing her patience.
“Please chill with the eye roll, okay?” she says, watching me. “Or I’ll log you off the System.”
“Yeah right,” I snap. “You don’t have the authority. Besides, the System doesn’t care whether we sell some dumb strawberries or not.”
Just because she’s my “guardian” doesn’t mean she can just boss me around and tell me what to do whenever she wants. Sorry con excuse me, but nah. No way.
YOLA012108: Ugh. Cami’s acting like she’s my mom again. Chat later. Lemme know your class sched the second you register!
ARE122107: ¡Bueno! Hasta luego, caramelo.
Arelis’s polar bear avatar blows a giant kiss, which is kind of cute. Kind of.
I’m about to put my V-probe back in my pocket when my screen buzzes and I see my school emblem flashing. It’s like it knew Arelis and I were waiting to register!
“Yoly,” my sister suddenly blurts out. “¡No has ayudado con nada! You’ve literally been staring at your screen all day like a mindless drone.”
My V-probe flashes, and I see the school door open on my screen, telling me it’s time to pick my class for the semester.
“Well, this mindless drone is going to be a certified neurolink surgeon someday and make some real money,” I snap back. “I just need to take one more class, and then I’ll qualify for an apprenticeship. Bye-bye, fresas, forever.”
I wave at a sad little strawberry, then scroll and click along the virtual school halls. I find Advanced Neurolink and add it to my cart. I click on the bag icon and start the checkout process. Arelis must be logging in this very second. I want to see our avatars pop up in class at the exact same time. I swipe the icon to pay and see a huge sign shooting across my screen:
REGISTRATION DENIED—INSUFFICIENT FUNDS
“Cami, it’s denying access! I think something went wrong with the credit transfer to the System.”
Cami’s face changes. Like the stress of the whole world is landing on the dark circles around her eyes. I press her for answers.
“You didn’t transfer the money, did you?”
I pace around the small space in our stand, waiting for my sister to explain. Finally, I slam my hand down and demand she answer me.
“Cami, say something! You know how important this is to me. Why aren’t you helping me?!”
“¡Basta!” Cami yells out. I look around and notice a few people staring. The cameras posted on the lamps along Main Street train on our stand. Cami yelled so loudly, it made the System pay attention. “All you’ve done is stare at your V-probe all morning. You haven’t helped unload una fresa. ¡Ni una! And now you’re telling me I am not helping you? If you would spend a little time off your screen and more on what needs to be done in order to pay for your screen time, then maybe we would be in a better position to afford things like your TIE classes.”
I don’t say anything. Cami doesn’t usually go off on me like that. Like, she nags me to do stuff all the time, but she rarely ever yells. This isn’t some simple credit-transfer error with the Exchange. Something is wrong.
I log off of the school site and put my V-probe in my pants pocket. People go about their business again. The cameras adjust back to monitoring Main Street, and I’m left in the quiet wake of my sister’s outburst.
“Are we okay with money?” I ask, softening my tone.
“No.” Cami sighs, then tries her best to organize the pinkest-looking strawberries in the front for display. There aren’t many. She digs into her jacket and pulls out a protein bar, taking a bite, then gulping a sip of water from her lapel.
She found the jacket at her Retreat, seven years ago. It has more functions than any wearable tech around. Tiny nanocams that can be activated to make the jacket look invisible. Deep inside pockets to hide stuff. It even makes its own water.
I keep looking at the coat. It’s the most advanced tech we own. Maybe she can sell her jacket? We’d probably get a lot for it. We could use some of the profits to pay for school if there’s any left over. As if reading my thoughts, Cami jumps in and crushes the idea.
“Hundreds of these jackets are brought to the repurposing labs every week,” she says. “They get disassembled, and the microchips and tech are used for other things. And then the jackets get burned.”
She points to a building down Main Street with a large chimney blowing smoke from the roof.
“There’s no use for the fabric,” she says. “Only the tech and metal pieces.”
“Then how come you got to keep the jacket?”
“It’s a reminder.”
“Of what?”
Cami watches me for a moment, then moves to the front table to wait for customers. Silence fills our stand as the noise from the street picks up with more people visiting the market.
I remember seeing my sister—dusty jacket, hair in tangles, boots muddy and worn—walking up the front porch steps. Her left hand was shiny and spindly—an augmented prosthesis I noticed immediately. I hardly had time to ask her about it because she marched in and told me the worst news any kid could ever hear.
“Mamá y Papá are gone. Exiled,” my sister said, moving into our house. “They’re not coming back.”
Nobody can survive outside the Valley. There’s no power out there. Nothing to keep you from freezing to death within days. Exile is the worst punishment anyone can receive.
The rest of that day is hazy. Scattered memories. My sister gave no further explanations. Never shared what my parents could have possibly done to receive such a punishment. All she told me was to not be late to log in to school.
“They kick you out if you don’t log in on time,” she said, then disappeared into her room.
That was the last time Cami talked about our parents. For six years, all she’s told me to do is go to school, help around the house, and don’t talk about what happened. I know it’s because Cami finds the past too difficult to remember, but sometimes I can’t help but think there’s something more. Another reason why she doesn’t like talking about our parents.
I look at my sister. She’s busy lining up the little white-and-pink strawberries for display. She hands me an empty crate. I take it and stare at it for a moment. Technology is used to help us. We program it. We control what it does. Not like nature, which produces whenever it wants. Once I finish my last TIE class and an apprenticeship, I’ll be able to get my neurolink medical certificate. Then I can rely on my training to make a living, enough for both Cami and me. No more counting on nature to produce some crops so we can live. Advanced Neurolink is my way out of farm life. I have to find a way to pay for school.
Chapter 2
The Exchange
A lady with a gigantic pheasant on her head stops by our booth. I’ve never seen anyone wearing an extinct animal as a hat before.
“Customer,” Cami says, getting my attention.
“Where did you get the bird hat?” I ask the lady, who is looking across the street and ignoring our stand, even though she’s standing right next to us.
“Yes, I see it,” the lady says, still ignoring me. “I’m making reservations with the place now. Hola, sí, cuatro sillas afuera esta noche, por favor. I asked for a table outside. Yes, they’re doing outdoor seating now! I know! It just keeps getting better and better. Just sent my data preferences over. I know. I just found an early twenty-first-century tea set. So rare! Do you see it? Look at the rounded glass. And this little thing that pushes down. They really did make magnificent things back then.”
