Outland Exile: Book One of Old Men and Infidels

by W. Clark Boutwell

  “So that when I go home I will be denounced … Thank you, Captain Delarosa!” she said, her eyes laughing at him.

  Xavier laughed himself and returned a courtly bow.

  “Oh, I don’t think what I will be talking about is all that scandalous. I think you will enjoy what I have to share.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Not sure, really. I suppose because you deserve a better shake than I think you have had so far.”

  “And this isn’t some sneaky way to get me to tell you stuff?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “On my honor as a soldier, one soldier to another.”

  “Did Jesse put you up to this?”

  Delarosa laughed.

  “Hardly. I think, perhaps, this is a dose of Jesse antitoxin. He can be overwhelming at times. Dr. Johnstone seems to have done most things … twice … and has an opinion about everything else.”

  “Annoying, isn’t he?”

  Delarosa laughed again. “Depends. If I were stuck on a desert island, Jesse would be on my list for fellow castaways; but let’s not dwell on Dr. Johnstone.”

  She looked at him from over the rim of her cup. “Okay, Captain, tell me your stories.”

  Xavier smiled, and all at once his attitude changed. His face transformed, and his voiced somehow deepened.

  “Once upon a time, there was a huge empire that, with one thing and another, collected a large number of countries to rule. It lasted for about a thousand years before the Meltdown. Over that time, the countries, one by one, gained independence. America—or rather, I should say the parts of North America that are now the Unity—was one such country.”

  He ignored her rolling of eyes and continued, “But that is another story. The country my story is about was in East Africa. The people tried to rebel there as well. One rebel band, some called them the Mau Mau, had some initial success, but they failed to gain a general uprising.

  “Then, they ordered their men to attack innocent villagers, commit senseless murders, take horrible oaths, eat human flesh, deny their gods, and drink vile potions. All to compel loyalty.

  “They thought that if they could turn a man away from what was moral, sane, and honorable, compel him to take an oath so horrendous … it would change him, cut him off from his past, his family, his friends, his gods, and his image of himself. They hoped they had an army of ruthless, loyal men who had nothing to lose, as they had lost it already.”

  “Why would they do that? Soldiers follow orders anyway … at least they do in the Unity. You can’t run an army if everyone gets to pick and choose the orders they follow.”

  “Don’t forget, I am a soldier too. Yes, we all take orders, but I’m sure you know the unwritten oath: soldiers trust their lives to the officers, and the officers agree never to abuse that trust. You ask a man to die only if you think his death can make a difference. These are hard things to do: to ask and to follow. It only works if trust is there already.”

  “Jesse said that killing changes you.”

  “This was more than that, don’t you think?”

  “I think it is a revolting story. I don’t like it.”

  After a few minutes’ silence she added, “Nothing like that could happen in the Unity, you know.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because it is a democracy. Objections are dealt with before they can cause conflict.”

  “What if your neighbors voted that they did not want to live near you; would you have to move?”

  “Of course, but who would wish to live near neighbors who hate you?”

  Delarosa laughed and, turning, set his empty cup down.

  “Why indeed? We should talk about that later.”

  They never did.

  CHAPTER 44

  EDUARD AND POTEMKIN

  The snowbank in the shadow of the house waxed and waned as each snowstorm added a white layer and each brief thawing period compressed the snow into ice. By February, it glowed a glacial blue in the light of the rising winter sun. Sally tossed bread crumbs onto it and then identified for Malila the small birds drawn to the bounty: chickadees, titmice, and sparrows as well as the larger crimson cardinals, handsome jays, and eager finches. Malila watched for hours, fascinated, as the birds quarreled, intimidated, fluffed, tolerated, and stole the food from each other. The snowbank quickly became a squalid collection of discarded feathers, droppings, and overlooked crumbs.

  Eduard Billings rode a sleek chestnut stallion to the Stewert farm once the roads were passable. Moses, a gloved hand on the horse’s rein, intercepted him before he could dismount.

  Malila had a pedestrian view of equine culture. Her exposure to horses both at home and in America had been fundamentally painful. Peeking out from the drying barn, however, Malila saw a confident young man in calf-length leather boots, riding pants, and a warm shearling coat. The chestnut he rode filled the air with plumes of steam, stamping impatiently at being held. It moved her.

  Moses’s interrogation apparently yielding acceptable results, Eduard was allowed to livery his horse. As soon as he was out of sight, Malila bolted into the house. Pressured whisperings, rustlings, and hissed instructions from Sally ensued.

  “Whatever you do, honey, don’t talk about your patrons or what you call pleasure-sex or anything that goes before or after! Don’t talk about your bleeding times; men get uncomfortable about it. No talk about brothels and nothing about private parts whatever, understand?”

  Malila nodded, especially when she could see the pattern emerging.

  “And, of course, nothing about money, religion, or politics.”

  Malila was now thoroughly confused, assured that all the good topics were prohibited, but promised to make her best attempt. Small talk had never been required of her. In the DUFS, a shared mission prompted shoptalk at every meeting. A shared institutionalized backstory made reminiscences pointless.

  The expected knock at the front door came just as Malila was putting on house slippers. Sally had vetoed the boots.

  Flushed and short of breath, Malila opened the door, retreating to the kitchen as Sally, the hostess, graciously invited Master Billings in and offered him a seat.

  Leaving Moses’s high-backed rocker for its absent master, Eduard sat and began a polite inquiry after Sally’s health, Moses’s health, and then Ethan’s. Sally, with a streak of cruelty that surprised Malila, asked after Eduard’s parents, sisters, and cousins in excruciating detail before finally relenting.

  “Would you like some refreshment, Mister Billings? Malila was just brewing up a pot of tea as you came in.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. That would be welcome.”

  “Oh, Malila?”

  Malila, dressed in one of Sally’s altered gowns, a green ribbon sweeping her longer hair into a ponytail to reveal the smooth curve of her neck, made her entrance. Sally had made her practice. Carrying a tray of hot tea and cookies, Malila negotiated the narrow passageway, deposited said tray on the indicated table, breathed, and looked at her guest.

  “Since we all met at association, I guess I don’t need to introduce you two,” said Sally, indicating a seat for Malila near him.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stewert. Miss Chiu was kind enough to share a dance or two with me.”

  “I understand you are studying to enter university soon, Mr. Billings?” Sally asked, pouring out for them all.

  “Yes, ma’am. I expect to take courses during the summer semester and matriculate next September at University of Kentucky.”

  “Very commendable. What is your area of study then, Mr. Billings? I am sure Miss Chiu … Malila would be fascinated to know.”

  Turning to Malila, Eduard continued, “Right now I am taking courses that will get me into college: differential calculus, matrix algebra, and network fabricational analysis. To be frank, my high-school career was not designed t
o impress. My father says I need to show I can do the work before he’s going to waste college on me.”

  Eduard laughed. His mirth mystified Malila even after Sally laughed and she followed suit.

  “It is a great honor, no doubt, to be chosen to enter the academic guild, Mr. Billings. How do you plan to choose your new professors?” Malila asked.

  “Ah, Miss Chiu … Malila. Call me Eduard, please! It doesn’t quite work that way in America. Higher learning is not so unified. Some schools seem to be better at one thing than another. Their own faculties set most of the standards.

  “I suppose if we have a unifying concept, however, it is the Scholastic Protocol. Before starting school, students agree to return ten years after they leave, whether they graduate or not. They report back the courses, concepts, or anything that helped or hurt them in the real world.

  “But to answer you, my classes are chosen for me by the professors, depending on my deficiencies and aptitudes. I don’t get a say first year. The faculty have got some skin in the game, you see. How successful I am will be used to decide whether they, the professors, gain tenure or not. What are the schools like in the Unity, Malila? Is it very different?”

  “I never went to academic guild schools, of course, but friends of mine have. ‘Examinations, of any sort, are an artificial measure.’ Or so I am told. They spend a lot of time doing evaluations. They say it is brutal.”

  “Yes, sounds serious. What do they study?”

  Feeling a little haunted by her ignorance, Malila forged on. “Let me see: Theoretical Literary Criticism, Effective Altruism, and Universal Toleration. Those I remember. Most of their time is spent in study groups, looking at old student evaluations, so they can avoid the bad professors.”

  Eduard laughed … until he saw that Malila was not.

  “It may seem funny to you, but it works. Our universities are the best in the world,” Malila countered.

  After several seconds of silence, Eduard replied, “Ah, yes, I see. As you say, Malila.”

  Despite the flaccid response, Malila realized she had lost the exchange. The neglected conversation wandered off into discussions of the weather and the likelihood of an early spring and stayed there, unmolested by controversy.

  Malila heard a noise that might have been Ethan, popped up in relief, and moved toward the door.

  Eduard rose as well, a short second later. “I believe I must be going as well, Mrs. Stewert. I need to return the horse and start my studies before it gets dark. Miss Malila, it has been a great pleasure and very informative,” he said as he gathered up his things.

  Sally rose, turned, and said, “I’ll get Ethan, Malila. Good day to you, Eduard, and remember me to your family. Malila, honey, would you see our guest out for me?” Then she evaporated.

  Malila dangled, like a foot-shackled bird near an open window. This first assay into society had been an obvious failure. Eduard must think her stupid, feral, or desperately ignorant. With Sally gone, Malila thanked Eduard for the kindness of his visit and showed him out, in misery.

  As she was opening the door for him, an odd gust of cold wind plucked it out of her fingers. Malila made an awkward grab for the door to prevent it from banging against the house. She was startled as her hand closed on Eduard’s hand instead of the door.

  His touch was electric. She turned to look into Eduard’s open dark eyes, mere centimeters away. Malila kissed him full on the lips before she snatched her hand back and disappeared inside, letting her liquid laughter linger in the cold air to inform him he had been dismissed.

  Eduard did not stay dismissed for long. With the coming weeks and his continued visits, Malila learned a great deal about the outlands in general and about Eduard Billings in particular. In the Unity, Eduard would be an E13 and, with his learning and charm, an S21 at the very least. He would command troops, direct plays, lecture to students, or be a vital part of government. Instead, he still lived with his breeder parents. He didn’t seem submissive.

  Malila had never had a lover her own age, which was not uncommon for DUFS officers, as her immediate age group comprised her most determined competitors. Malila was on untrodden ground with Master Billings.

  Sally, for her part, was a dutiful chaperone. After weeks of good behavior and as a sign of favor, Malila had been allowed to accompany Master Billings, alone, to his horse on leaving.

  “Eduard, I have noticed something.”

  “Have you?” A kiss prevented further discussion for a time.

  “Your horse seems to be stabled farther and farther from the door each time you visit.”

  “Really? How odd.”

  They shared whispered conferences, warm kisses, and increasing intimacies. Malila found Eduard, although enthusiastic, also hesitant; it charmed her further. After months without any pleasure-sex, Malila was delighted with Eduard’s eagerness. Understanding her newly minted fertility, however, Malila was unwilling to let things proceed too far. His naïveté allowed her to maneuver the intimacies as she wished. She was, all in all, having a delightful time with Master Eduard Billings.

  “So if I get this right, the day you turn forty you retire, but your friends never see you again. You go to a retirement home?” Xavier Delarosa asked on one of his visits.

  “You make it sound so grim! They have their own villages and their own elected council. There they have their own lives. People send a few messages, but then they get interested in their new lives, and those peter out. They are old, after all. They lose touch with the world, and of course, they can’t vote on things, not really, so they have no reason to follow the news,” explained Malila.

  “But could you go to visit them?” asked Delarosa.

  “Who would want that, Captain? You have a cruel streak. The Sisi would see how bad they looked compared to … people, and the citizens would have to look at them, smell them … talk to them?”

  “Can you imagine Jesse in one of your retirement centers?” Delarosa asked after a second.

  “He is different, isn’t he? That is what Sally says.”

  “More than you can guess, but that reminds me of a story.”

  Like most of Delarosa’s random discussions, this one led to an odd destination.

  “A great empress ordered her favorite general to oversee a new country she had conquered. Rumors of corruption and abuse drifted back to her, and she went on a tour of inspection. She found neat villages with well-fed, industrious, and grateful peasants wherever the general took her.”

  “So the stories were false.”

  “Unfortunately, the stories were true enough. General Potemkin had built model villages to hide the real misery and just showed his sovereign what he wanted her to see.”

  “He betrayed her? How horrible!”

  “Yes, but I wonder. I wonder if the empress wanted to be fooled. She was a pretty sharp dealer. She should have been able to see around the corners. It was easier and more pleasant for her to declare herself satisfied and let history blame Potemkin. I wonder who the real villain was.”

  From there the conversation went on to the history of empires, the rise of democracies and their falls, and Malila’s thoughts on where Sally got her cookie recipes.

  Weeks of winter passed rapidly, despite the sameness of the cold, gray days. Clear, frigid nights tempted Malila to stand away from the lights and to watch the sky with its curtain of glittering colored gems until she was chilled and shivering. She found she was effortlessly conscious of the waxing and waning moon, silver against the dense sable screen of night. The Unity was warmer, but she seldom had seen the stars there. And the sky there was never like this.

  CHAPTER 45

  TRAVELER’S PORTION

  Friday, late in the dark of an evening, Malila heard a knock on the door of the Stewerts’ homestead. Snow swirled in as Moses opened it.

  “Greetings, neighbor. It is a cold,
harsh night, and I claim the traveler’s portion,” came a booming voice from the dark.

  Moses’s laughter followed him out the door as he went to livery Jesse’s animal.

  By the time the two returned, Sally had a plate out of the oven for the old man. The four of them sat around the kitchen table, talking as the old man neatly consumed his pot roast, sweet potatoes, and sauerkraut with unconcealed enthusiasm.

  By the time Jesse had finished off a slice of pumpkin pie, Sally, her arm around Moses, announced they were going to bed.

  Their bedroom door closed with a thump and a brief feminine shriek, leaving Malila and Jesse standing by the front door.

  “Ethan will be up soon. I ought to get some sleep.”

  “I need to get some sleep too. I’m staying in the bunkhouse … It’s in the stable.”

  “I know, Jesse. I sleep in the loft. Will you be warm enough? It is bitter out there.”

  “Oh, I think so, my friend. Not as cozy without a girl for company, ’course.”

  “Jesse! What would Sally think?” she said before lightly placing a hand on his. “I’ll bring you out a quilt.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll be fine.”

  Malila kissed him good night. It disturbed her to close the door on him.

  By next morning, she was indeed up early with Ethan’s demands. After sorting him out, the smell of fresh coffee in the darkened house drew her into the kitchen. In shirtsleeves, wool pants, and thick socks, his boots dripping on the rack near the stove, Jesse sat at the large round table, sipping from a chipped mug and reading a small book by the light of a dim lamp.

  “Good morning, my friend, want a cup?” he asked, raising the mug in salute.

  “Don’t get up; I can get my own. You are up so early.”