by Allen Steele
The lonely farmer stopped singing. He gazed first at the dog, who’d come down off the porch and was now running across the field, then turned to look at Parson. He didn’t straighten up, though, nor did he drop his hoe. He regarded his visitor for a moment with what seemed to be only passing curiosity, then he turned around and resumed his work. As the dog stopped at his master’s side, once again Parson heard the farmer’s voice:
I know dark clouds will gather round me,
I know my way is steep and rough,
But beauteous fields lie just beyond me,
Where souls redeemed their vigil keep.
Parson ventured closer. “That’s a nice song,” he said. “Did you…I mean, is that your own?”
“You could say that.” Standing erect, the farmer rested his hands upon the handle of his hoe, but otherwise kept his back turned to him. “If you’re asking if I wrote it…no, I didn’t. I don’t think anyone knows that anymore. It just belongs to anyone who sings it.” He paused. “If you’ve got a reason for being here, tell me. Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave. We don’t like trespassers.”
Parson stopped. “Sorry. I didn’t know this was private property.”
A queer buzzing sound, like static from a mistuned radio. “No, it’s not private property. But it’s my home, and I don’t encourage visitors.” He glanced down at the dog. “Oscar…”
The mutt growled deep in his throat, his ears flattening against his head as his mouth pulled back to reveal sharp teeth. “No need for that,” Parson said, remaining as still as he could. “I’m just looking for someone. A friend of mine told me I might find him up here. His name’s Manuel Castro…Manny Castro. Maybe he’s a neighbor, or someone you know.”
The farmer said nothing for a moment, yet his head turned ever so slightly within his cowl. “Depends. Who’s your friend?”
“Dana Monroe. She owns a place in Leeport, a bar called—”
“The Captain’s Lady. Yes, I know her. And you say she told you to find me?”
“You’re Manny Castro?” No answer. “Look, I don’t wish to bother you, but Dana told me that you might be able to help me. Or rather, she…”
The farmer turned around, and now Parson clearly saw his face. Within the shadows of the cowl was a metal skull, its plating like tarnished silver, with a grill where his mouth should be. A black patch covered his left eye; the right was a glass orb that caught the sunlight and reflected it with a multifaceted red hue.
Parson gaped at him. “Oh, hell,” he whispered, “you’re a Savant.” Then he swung his rifle up. “Stay where you are, or…”
“Or you’re going to do what?” Castro dropped his hoe, then opened his threadbare robe, revealing a mechanical body pitted with dozens of small dents. “I’ve been shot before, by better marksmen than you.”
Oscar growled again, but now his tail was between his legs; he obviously knew what a rifle was, and despite his willingness to protect his master he was clearly frightened. “Easy, boy,” the Savant murmured, and his right hand stole down to pat the mutt on the head. “Shoot him,” he added, “and I swear my next chore will be digging a grave for you.”
Parson weighed the situation. He had no desire to kill the dog; he was simply being loyal. And despite the fact that Manuel Castro was a savant, he was also the person whom Dana had sent him to find. Not only that, but Castro was right; this was his land, and Parson was a trespasser.
“Perhaps we ought to start all over again,” he said.
“Perhaps we should.” Castro pointed to his gun. “If you put that down, Oscar will understand. And I might be inclined to invite you in for a cup of coffee.”
Parson didn’t know which was more surprising; that Manuel Castro would be willing to forgive him, or that a savant would have coffee. “You’d do that?”
“Certainly.” Again, the electronic buzz that Parson now recognized as a simulation of laugher. “If Dana has reason to send you my way, then perhaps you’re a person I should meet.”
Parson hesitated, then he bent down and carefully laid his rifle on the ground. He didn’t take his eyes from the Savant, but Castro made no motion other than to reassure his dog with a gentle pat on the head. Oscar stopped growling, and his tail wagged a few times as he cautiously stepped out from behind his master.
“Very good,” Castro said. “Now let’s see about coffee, and you can tell me why you’re here.”
The cabin hadn’t been built with human habitation in mind. Only one main room, with a small storeroom in the back; although it had a potbellied stove, there was no kitchen, only a small metal sink with water hand-pumped from an artesian well. A couple of coarse rugs on the floor, and two chairs and a table, but no bed save for a small mat where Oscar could curl up next to the stove. Four windows, one for each wall, and a few cabinets and shelves containing Castro’s belongings: hand tools, some utensils, a handful of books and some writing materials, an old datapad attached to a solar recharger. No privy, although Manny told him he could use the compost heap out back if he needed to relieve himself.
“Every now and then I find myself receiving guests.” Castro poured water he’d boiled in an old kettle through a paper sieve filled with ground coffee into a chipped ceramic cup. “That’s why I have this stuff. But the only food I keep is the kibble I make for Oscar…sort of a mush of ground corn and soybeans.”
“Never knew a dog that was vegetarian.” Parson looked over at Oscar. Having tentatively accepted him as a visitor, the mutt had finally calmed down, yet Oscar still studied him warily from his nest beside the stove. “Where did you get him?”
“Took him in trade from the loggers for a couple of pounds of coffee beans…this is some of what I grow, by the way. He was the runt of the litter, and they weren’t paying much attention to him.” Castro brought over the coffee, set it down on the table in front of Parson. “A dog’ll eat anything so long as you show him some kindness and respect. So he keeps me company, and we look out for each other. I think I got the better end of the deal.”
“So that’s what you do? Grow food for your dog and loggers?”
“Only for Oscar. Now that the loggers have moved on, I don’t see much of them anymore. But I find use for what he doesn’t eat.” He watched as Parson took a sip. “How’s that? Not too weak, I hope.”
“It’s fine.” Truth was, the coffee was stronger than he usually liked, but Parson figured that Castro had long forgotten what it’d been like to taste anything. Savants were once human themselves, of course, but they’d had their minds downloaded into the quantum comps deep within their mechanical bodies. If he’d come here aboard one of the Union ships, it had probably been at least—what, seventy years? eighty? even more?—since the last time he had savored a good cup of coffee. “But if you’re only feeding the dog, why—?”
“Because I like to.” Castro continued to study him through his one good eye. “Dana didn’t tell you I was a posthuman, did she? You reacted rather violently when you saw me.”
The abrupt change of subject caught him off guard. “Sorry. I apologize for that. It just took me by surprise. Yeah, Dana kept that bit of information from me. She just told me your name, and told me that if I followed the old logging road to Mt. Shapiro I might be able to find you.” He hesitated. “She said we had a lot in common.”
“I sincerely doubt that. On the other hand, Dana is a good judge of character, so perhaps I should reserve my own judgment. Last month, I saw a starship arrive in orbit. My guess is that you’re from it.”
Parson hesitated, then nodded. “The EASS Columbus.” He suddenly realized that he hadn’t yet told Castro his name. “I’m Jonathan Parson. Former second officer.”
“Well, well…now there’s a tale in itself. But first things first. The registry of your ship…I take it that it’s from the European Alliance?” Parson nodded, and once again Castro emitted that strange laughter-buzz. “Makes sense. The Savant Council estimated that it was only a matter of time before the E
A would be able to construct its own starships.”
Parson looked away. “Probably the last thing the Council was ever right about,” he muttered under his breath.
“Explain your remark, please? No need to repeat it. My hearing is quite good. In fact, I heard you coming long before you saw me. I simply chose to ignore you. But, please, tell me more about the Savant Council.”
“You’ve been out of touch, haven’t you?” He was unable to keep the edge from his voice. “Oh, I forgot…a half century or so since you left Earth, plus another twenty-odd years. And meanwhile, you’ve been up here, growing corn and—”
“Mr. Parson, you’re beginning to wear out your welcome.” Manny took a step closer. Hearing the change in his master’s voice, Oscar raised his head, a growl rumbling deep within his throat. Parson had left his rifle out in the field, but nonetheless he refused to be intimidated; he remained in his seat, staring back at the Savant.
“Very well,” he said. “Back in 2270, the Council of Savants completed a long-range assessment of Earth’s condition. After taking everything into consideration…environmental factors, remaining natural resources, census projections, so on and so forth…they reached the conclusion that, within the next century, Earth would not be able to support its current population of eight billion inhabitants.”
“I’m not surprised. The Council was studying this even before I—”
Parson held up a hand. “Let me finish. The Council made several recommendations, one of which was that humankind had to develop interstellar resources…namely, this world. That part was made public, and that’s why the Union sent ships here.” He paused. “But they also reached another conclusion, one which they kept to themselves. In order to stabilize the global environment and use its remaining resources for as long as possible, Earth’s population had to be reduced. Quite drastically, in fact…by as much as one-third.”
Castro said nothing for a moment. “And how did they propose to do that?”
“Oh, they proposed nothing. Or at least not to us baseline humans.” Parson stared at Castro. “The plan called for the eventual extermination of three billion people.”
“No. This couldn’t…they couldn’t have—”
“Oh, yes. It was very precise, very logical. One out of every three persons on Earth were secretly marked for death, by whatever means necessary. Starvation of the poor and indigent, introduction of deadly diseases within major population areas, termination of life support for the critically ill, random shutdowns of vital energy systems leading in turn to—”
“I didn’t know. I wasn’t…” Although he was incapable of displaying facial emotion, Castro was visibly shaken. Turning away from Parson, he walked to the open door of his cabin, resting a hand against the frame as if to steady himself. “Did they succeed?”
“Fortunately, no.” Parson picked up his mug, found that the coffee had gone cold and put it down again. “When people started dying in large numbers, a few individuals found out why, and they managed to put a stop to it. It’s a long story, believe me.” He paused. “But over thirty-five thousand people perished before the savants were stopped.”
“I see.” Castro continued to gaze out the door. “And the Savant Council…”
“Dissolved by emergency act of the Union Proletariat, its members rounded up and arrested. In the end the Proletariat decided that the savants…all savants, in fact…were too dangerous to be allowed to exist. The ones they managed to capture were…well, terminated, to put it in formal terms.”
“Executed.” Castro’s head bowed slowly. “One form of genocide in exchange for another.” A metallic rasp that might have been a sigh. “I suppose it was justified on grounds that posthuman life posed an imminent threat to baseline humans.”
“Not all were terminated. A few managed to escape by stealing a Union Astronautica freighter and taking off for the outer solar system. Last I’d heard, they hadn’t yet been captured.” Parson hesitated. “So how many savants are here? On Coyote, I mean?”
“I’m the last.” The Savant didn’t look at him. “The rest returned aboard the Union ships. They’re still on their way back to Earth. I expect they’ll be…terminated…upon arrival.”
“That’s a likely assumption.” Parson was quiet for a moment. “You weren’t part of that, though. It happened after your time. You can’t be held accountable.”
“I rather doubt your kind will see it that way.” Castro didn’t look at him. “On the other hand, it may take a while for them to find me, so I suppose I’m safe, at least for the time being.”
“Uh-huh.” Parson said nothing for a moment. “So why are you here, anyway?”
“As you say, it’s a long story. To make it short, after the others of my kind left, I didn’t feel very comfortable among baseline humans.” Castro turned away from the door. “I lived in Clarksburg for a few months, but eventually I got tired of being regarded with suspicion, so I packed up what little I needed and moved up here. I told Dana how to find me, just in case I might be needed, but other than a few loggers whom I’ve encountered now and then—”
“I’m the only one who knows.”
“Yes.” He looked back at Parson. “You’re the first person Dana has sent here. I assume she must have had good reason for doing so.”
“Maybe there is.” He slowly let out his breath. “Truth is, I jumped ship. It was something I intended to do before I left Earth…even before I put in for this mission, in fact. I figured there had to be a better world somewhere out there, and if there was, it was worth trying to get there.”
The Savant studied him for a long moment. “Is it? Is Coyote a better place than Earth?”
Parson didn’t answer at once. “I think so,” he said at last. “At least it has the potential. I don’t know how much longer that’s going to last, though. They’ve invented something called the starbridge…a means of opening a stable wormhole between here and Earth. Columbus has the equipment necessary to build one end of the tunnel. Once it’s completed—”
“More ships, and more people.” Castro picked up Parson’s mug, peered inside. “I’m afraid my coffee wasn’t very good. You’ve hardly touched it.”
“It was a bit strong for my taste, to be honest.”
“I appreciate honesty.” The Savant carried the mug over to the sink and poured it out. “You may stay.”
“Pardon me?”
“You may stay for as long as you wish.” The Savant pumped some water into the sink, used it to rinse out the mug. “This house isn’t big enough for both of us, of course, but we have enough time left in the summer for us to build a dwelling of your own. The crops I raise are more than sufficient to feed both you and Oscar, and still have enough left for…well, my own purposes, shall we say.”
“I wasn’t asking for—”
“No, you didn’t. I’m offering it to you anyway. Believe me, you won’t survive out here without my help. Winters on this world are quite long, and up here in the mountains they’re particularly brutal. Even the loggers return to Clarksburg once the snow comes. If you tried to make do on your own, you’d almost certainly perish. And since I imagine that your captain is probably irate with you, if you went back into town it would only be a matter of time before you were arrested for desertion. Am I correct?”
“Well…”
“I thought so.” Castro turned away from the sink. “Let me finish. In exchange for room and board, I expect you to help me with the chores. Most of it involves tending to the crops, but we also need to keep the cabin in good repair, and once we build another for you, twice as much effort will be required. It’s hard work, and it keeps me occupied for most of the day, but with another person here this will give me more time to devote to my studies.”
“What are you studying?”
“You’ll find out eventually. Let’s just say that it’s something I’ve been doing on my own for the last three years. In time, I may decide to reveal my findings to others, but until then it’s imp
erative that I conduct my research in secrecy.” He paused. “Can you agree to those conditions?”
Parson considered the question for a few moments. When he left Clarksburg, his plan had been to find a place where he could live on his own. Even if he hadn’t found Manny Castro, he would have eventually built his own homestead somewhere in the Black Mountains. Yet his first night alone had taught him that he didn’t know nearly as much about living in the wild as he thought he did, and he had no desire to face starvation or freeze to death in the depths of a long, cold winter.
He had little reason to trust a member of a subspecies that had once plotted the annihilation of one-third of Earth’s population. Nonetheless, the Savant had been open and honest with him; there was also little reason for Castro to murder him in his sleep. And he could do worse for companionship, if only none at all.
“Sure. I can live with that.”
“I rather hoped you would.” Castro gestured toward the field. “Perhaps you’d better fetch your rifle. It’ll be dark soon, and it might disappear.”
“I know. I lost my tarp last night.”
“Really? Was it stolen from your campsite?”
Puzzled by this sudden insight, Parson nodded, and again Castro emitted his strange approximation of a laugh. “Then maybe I can get it back for you.”
The sun had gone down, and once again Bear was beginning to rise to the east. With the coming of the night, grasshoarders cried softly as they settled in for the evening; a gentle breeze drifted in from over the mountains, cooling the sunbaked field and causing the cornstalks to sway gently back and forth.
“How much longer?” Sitting in a chair he’d carried out onto the porch, Parson peered into the darkness.
“Not long.” Castro’s voice came to him as a thin whisper. He stood next to Parson, a motionless black figure nearly invisible within the shadows of the porch. “Be quiet. They won’t come out if they think they’re being observed.”