by Grant Pies
CHAPTER 7
2050
BUFORD, WY
A few days later, he refused to even get out of bed. His chest protruded out and his stomach sunk in towards his spine. He coughed up blood, and his once sturdy hands shook as he brought a cup of water to his cracked lips. His hair fell from his scalp in clumps, and thin hairs clung to his pillow. He didn’t fight his illness. It was not that he wanted to die; just that he didn’t mind it.
“Why are you sick, dad? What is wrong?” I asked him one day.
“I have told you before, I just am. There is no need to explain it.” He waved me away.
“Maybe I can go into town and get medicine for you.” I asked, but I knew I would get the same answer as I always did.
“There is no medicine for what I have, son. And even if there was, it is too dangerous for you to go on your own. I am going to die,” he told me, in a definitive tone. He said it in a way to prepare me for what I should do immediately after he died.
Until this time, he spoke only in short whispers in between shallow gasps for air. It was as if he saved all of his energy for the moment immediately before his death. He spoke with authority and precision as he gave me exact instructions to follow after his death.
“There is a small town in Idaho called Ashton,” he said. “It is just east of the St. Anthony Sand Dunes.” I looked my father in the eyes and nodded with each point, making sure to memorize every word he said.
“There should be an orphanage there,” he continued. “They will take you in. I don’t know exactly who will be around by now, but last I was there, they were good people. Ashton was almost deserted when I was there; abandoned, not too different from Buford. But I imagine it will be different now.”
“When I die, bury me near the old church. Next to your mom. You know the spot, right?” I nodded my head. “Collect as many supplies as you can carry, and then burn the trading post to the ground.” He looked around our home. He looked more upset at the thought of burning down our home than he did about my burying his body.
“Head north from here, to Cody, Wyoming, but stay out of the city, then follow Federated Highway fourteen through Yellowstone National Conservation Zone.” He pointed in the general direction like we could see through the kilometers of forest between us and the conservation zone.
My father winced with each breath as he lay down on his bed. “Travel through the night, if you can. Don’t stop for any length of time until you reach the orphanage in Ashton.”
He told me all of this with his final breaths. It was as if he had saved his energy over the last several months just so he could stress the importance of his instructions. If he told me too early, he knew I would have panicked and gone for help. If he waited too long, he would not have been able to tell me anything at all. His timing was impeccable, leaving me with no choice but to follow his orders.
After he explained what to do when he died, he told me that he loved me. He said that he wished that he could have spent more time with me, and that he would give anything to spend another day with his son. He said that one day I would understand why we had to live the way we did. Why my parents fled Denver and why they came to Buford. Why I could speak to no one on my way to Ashton. He said that one day I would understand why I was never given a name.
CHAPTER 8
2050
BUFORD, WY
Once outside of Buford, the landscape changed from a hilly forest to a grassy plateau that continued on for eternity. The wind funneled through the nearby mountain ranges and whipped through the tall grass, hitting me with a paralyzing chill that penetrated my bones and ripped the breath from my lungs. At night, the stars hovered far above me, like random jacks that God threw out millennia ago.
As I set out on the first day of my journey, my body was already sore from burying my dad. Moving him was hard enough, and digging the hole was nearly impossible. My forearms burned and ached, my back was cramped, and my hands were crusted with dirt.
At night, I stamped down an area of the tall grass and built a fire. The remnants of my nightly fires traced a line back to Buford; a trail of ember piles mixed with the bones of the animals I trapped for my food. The hard ground poked and jutted into my back and legs, and I always awoke before the sun rose. Dirt was pressed into my ears; my hair was greasy and matted into a tangled mess; and my skin was singed by the sun’s rays. I made it to Cody in ten days. I hid in the outskirts of the town, and watched from a distance as groups of people scurried about the city. They weren’t fighting each other, or stealing from one another. They were simply living.
I passed Cody, and the vibrant town shrunk in the distance with each step I made. Once I made it to the expansive Yellowstone National Conservation Zone, my mind wandered, and I travelled at a more leisurely pace. I was almost unguarded enough to let myself whistle or sing out loud; almost. Whenever I was lucky enough to stumble upon them, I spent hours bathing and relaxing in the hot springs. I sat on the outskirts of the expansive meadows to watch the bison graze on the tall blue grass.
The forests in Yellowstone whispered and hummed a constant white noise. The creaking of the white bark pine trees blended with staccato tapping of the woodpeckers, and the clicking chirp of the cicadas. Nature’s orchestra played in a constant loop over the backdrop of the rustling leaves and pine needles that fell on the forest floor. Sometimes I almost forgot that I was alone in this world, and other times I took great comfort in the sense of loneliness I felt.
I thought that I could stay there forever. I thought I could stop now and avoid contact with all humans for the rest of my days. I thought I was much safer there than I would be in Ashton. I thought that I was the only human for thousands of square kilometers. I thought.
CHAPTER 9
2050
YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL
CONSERVATION ZONE
One day, in the early morning, I stumbled upon a pile of embers in the forest. A pile that looked similar to the ones that I left behind on my journey, but this was not mine. I stared at the pile of ashes; smoke still crept upwards and spiraled into the air.
After that, each time a bush rustled in the wind my muscles clenched and tensed. At night, I lay still in the cold night air, listening for nearby footsteps and squinting into the endless black in front of me.
It was my seventh day in Yellowstone, and the second day after I learned I was not alone in the forest. It was dusk and the wildlife was settling in for the night. The wind was still, almost as if I was in a vacuum. When I heard a footstep directly behind me, I didn’t know if I should have been surprised or indifferent. Regardless, I froze.
After an eternity of contemplation, I spun around and clenched my fists so tight that it was like I was trying to puncture my fingers through the palms of my hands. I stood to face my follower, but saw nothing but blackness. Another footstep fell to my right. I turned. Nothing but black night air in front of me. Then I heard another step to my left. I spun again. Fists still clenched.
This time, all I saw were two yellow lights pointed directly at my stomach. The lights were the shade of moonlight, and moved towards me at a slow steady pace. Another set of lights appeared to the left of the first, only they were slightly behind the first set. Soon the lights were close enough that I finally saw that the lights were not lights at all. The moonlight reflected off of the eyes of a pack of gray wolves. I counted four sets of eyes; the wolf closest to me was now in full view.
Its head was large and looked heavy on the wolf’s body. It hung low and fell below its broad shoulders. The wolf snarled and bared his large jagged teeth. The pack approached me at a steady pace, placing one paw methodically in front of the other. I could see the definition of the wolves’ tensed muscles even under the thick coarse ash gray fur covering their bodies.
The leader of the wolf pack stopped abruptly. He looked as if he was taking inventory of the parts of my body, butchering me with his eyes, claiming what parts of me he would take for himself, and what he would
leave for the pack. His head was lowered and his weight centered over his front shoulders. Then his weight shifted to his hind legs. His front paws curled into the earth underneath him. His eyes widened, and he licked his jowls once more before he pounced.
He flew through the air towards my body; mouth open and teeth bared. The time between when the wolf’s first paw left the ground and when his first tooth made contact with the skin around my throat was an immeasurable unit of time. Even the most precise timepiece, calibrated to the strictest of specifications, could not measure the brief moment that the wolf was in the air heading towards me. But somehow, in that briefest of moments, a man managed to drive a wooden spear through the wolf’s neck just before its teeth punctured my skin. The wolf’s momentum knocked me over and it landed on my chest.
Its body rose up and down with each heavy and rushed breath I took. In that next nanosecond of time, life deserted the wolf as it lay on top of me and slowly clicked its teeth together. The last bit of survival instinct oozed out of the holes on each side of its neck. The man threw one more spear into a second wolf as it fled into the empty darkness; the other two were already gone.
The man grabbed the dull end of his spear, and placed one foot on the wolf’s body. In a swift motion the man pulled the wooden spear from the pack leader and pushed the wolf off of me. The man was rawboned and towered over me as I lay on the ground. His emerald green eyes were slightly sunken in, and deep creases traced over his face. He wore a faded and tattered brown jumpsuit with a string of letters and numbers over his left chest pocket.
His sleeves were rolled up to reveal thin but muscular forearms. His skin was so taught on his arms that I saw the lines and sinews of his muscles. His skin was copper colored from a lifetime of working outside. He stood over me tossing his makeshift weapon from one hand to the other, staring at me just as intently as the gray wolf did moments ago. He gripped the spear with first his left, and then his right hand; contemplating his next move. Finally, he rested one end on the ground. He reached out a skeletal hand towards me and said, “You gonna sit there all slack jawed or are you gonna help me butcher this thing so we can eat tonight?”
UNIT 5987D V.
FEDERATED NORTH AMERICA
CASE NO. 2070FN99823
Counselor Powell: Do you mind if I call you Whitman?
A: No.
Q: OK, Whitman, how old are you?
A: My model was finalized in March of 2054. But I do not know how old the cellular portion of my model is.
Q: OK, I will get to the cellular portion of your model in a second. So 2054, that would make you about 16 years old?
A: Correct, however my model was uploaded with the typical knowledge and experiences of an 18-year-old male from the Federated North American Territory.
Q: What does that mean?
A: Wayfield Industries has compiled a set of standard software that incorporates the typical events a person would have experienced and typical knowledge they would have retained by the age of 18. These mainly include grade school and high school educations, driving capabilities, and basic social norms.
Q: But you are aware from the beginning that you are not an 18-year-old human?
A: Yes, I was aware of my...less than human nature from the beginning. All androids are self-aware, unless their owner alters the android’s base operating system.
Q: How do you gain knowledge beyond your standard factory issued software?
A: It is up to the owner to purchase more specific informational packages from Wayfield to upload to their android. Even if the information is not immediately uploaded, an android can learn on its own. Androids are capable of acquiring and retaining information at a faster and more efficient pace than humans. So our knowledge base can grow quickly if the android is permitted to learn, and they have the desire.
Q: So have you decided to continue to expand your knowledge base?
A: Yes. I became most intrigued by the humans’ biological processes as well as the history of the Federated North American Government.
Q: You were not prohibited from doing so by your owner?
A: No. Pierson was supportive of my learning, and saw my learning as a way to further expand his own knowledge of the world. He also supported my desire to learn more about myself. He and I spent much of our time together trading knowledge and life experiences. I taught him about a subject that he had previously been confounded by. In exchange, he told me stories of his many personal excursions around the globe.
It is hard for an android to create memories of his own, especially because a large portion of our lives are standardized due to the software uploads we are all given once our creation is finalized. If an android is sold to become a worker, as most are, they have little time to create their own experiences, especially experiences of global travels. Our experiences are all very much the same. Pierson told me of his travels to the island territories south of Georgia, and he told me of his time spent in the satellite deserts near the ‘technological equator.’
Q: He must have been an adventurous man?
A: Yes, he was.
Q: Earlier you said that human biology and the history of our government interest you. Why do those particular areas interest you?
A: In a way those are the two areas that involve my kind, specifically my model. I may be an android, but my model was the first to incorporate portions of human DNA and utilize the biology of humans.
Q: And the history of our government, why did that interest you?
A: I may have misspoken. Although I do find the overall history and origin of Federated North America intriguing, I specifically am interested in the regulatory system as it relates to technology.
Q: By the ‘regulatory system’ do you mean the creation of the Ministry of Science, Technology, and Future Development?
A: Yes, for the most part. I am interested in the Ministry of Science, Technology, and Future Development mainly because its regulations seem to directly affect what I can or can’t do, and more importantly what can and can’t be done to me.
Q: What regulations have the Ministry enacted that you find most directly affects your way of life?
Federated Prosecutor Klipton: Objection! Relevance!
Court: Will both Counselors approach the bench?
CHAPTER 10
2050
YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL
CONSERVATION ZONE
“Red. Just call me Red,” he said as he ran his makeshift knife around the wolf’s throat, and then down the middle of its underbelly. When he reached the bottom of the wolf’s pelvic area, he dragged the knife down each hind leg, making a line that looked like an upside down ‘Y.’ His spindly fingers retraced the knife’s path and ripped the fur away from the meat underneath at a quick pace and with great precision.
“The key is to open the chest cavity and cool it down as fast as possible. Luckily, it’s cold enough out here that we can just pry it open and let nature do the rest.” His voice was subdued and raspy. It was steady with only slight upbeats of emotion. He exhaled heavily as he dragged the knife through the wolf. Puffs of breath wafted out of his mouth and mixed with the night air, and steam billowed off the wolf’s organs as Red pulled them out of the wolf’s corpse. They glistened in the moonlight, and a strong metallic smell leaked out of them. In the distance, I heard the remaining wolves howl; perhaps in mourning for their lost leader or maybe they were just hungry.
Besides the clothes on his back, the knife, and the spear, Red had no other supplies. His clothes were dirty and ragged, torn in some places and faded in others. His shoes were split and the soles worn down. The pant legs crept up and revealed socks that used to be white, but were now deep reddish brown. For the most part, he butchered the wolf in silence. He didn’t ask me why I was there; didn’t even ask me my name.
We ate in silence. Long after the sun dipped below the horizon, I awoke to Red mumbling and shivering in his sleep. His moans sounded like the wind rushing through a cave, or a female mo
ose as she birthed a calf. In between his moans, Red spoke and uttered the same words repeatedly. Even before I understood what Red mumbled, I could tell that his cries were the cries of a dejected man, a man drifting in space propelled away from his home with no way of getting back. Soon I made out that he was repetitiously mumbling the words “I’m sorry.” Over and over again. Then he said what I could only guess was a name. It was not a word. In between his dull wails and the words “I’m sorry,” Red said “Powell.” I’m sorry Powell.
By the time I awoke, Red had already started a fire, and ate whatever meat was left over from the night before. I yawned and stretched as my eyes adjusted to the morning light.
“Where you headed?” Red asked with a mouth full of charred wolf meat, as if I had just asked him for directions. I hesitated.
“Don’t worry, kid. I don’t need specifics, but if you and I are heading in the same direction, we should at least stick together. You know, for safety.” I nodded in agreement, almost out of instinct; I’d not really talked to many folks besides my father. My mind still tried to decide on an answer to his first question. Red’s fingers were moist from handling the cooked meat. He wedged his dirt covered finger nails in between his teeth and pried out chunks of stringy wolf flesh. I told him I was headed west through the conservation zone, but nothing beyond that.
We continued west once Red buried the wolf’s innards in a shallow hole in the ground. The sun rose over the mountains in the distance, and its heat brushed against my face. After a long stretch of silence, Red turned and asked, “What year is it?” He cocked his head like he knew it could come off as a peculiar question depending on who he asked. I furrowed my brow and processed the question.