He Without Sin

by Hyde, Ed

  “Well?” says Mark.

  “Well what?” I reply. “Sorry, I’ve been daydreaming. What’s the question?”

  “I said, do you have time to give me a hand? I’ve got to upfit that transport and could use some help. Porter here has told me to go pound sand,” he repeats with a wink to Porter.

  “Sure, as long as you don’t ambush me with a snowball in the eye.”

  “You’ll like meeting his new girlfriend. Hubba hubba,” says Porter.

  “Just be careful with your hubba hubba, Jimmy. You might get a nasty shock if you go poking around where you shouldn’t,” Mark says, laughing himself to hiccups again.

  ______

  I meet Mark later. He is already at work, and doesn’t stop when I come in. “What can I do to help?”

  “First, don’t touch anything. And then, push that cart over here…”

  “Without touching will be tricky. Say, what’s that there? I see what Porter meant.” I ask when I spot something interesting beside his test bench. It’s always something interesting with Mark.

  He sees what I am looking at, says again, “Don’t touch it. Her. You like that? She’s my golden girl.”

  “Classy!” It’s clearly a robotic ‘girl’ all shiny and new. “Is this for real? I mean does she work?”

  “Oh, she works. Mostly. I’ve been printing out parts for some time; my new little hobby. The design has been around for a long time and has been proven out, but to build her you need a shitload of tiny components with tight tolerances. You have to make special tiny tools just to assemble the darn thing.”

  “She’s a beauty, Mark. You do good work. Um… nice job on the exterior form. Where did you say you want this cart?”

  “Yep, right under here. This way. More. Perfect, right there. Thanks.” And he begins to lift and fit equipment onto the flyers. “Did you get a chance to talk to Dylan?”

  “Not really, just hi and bye. Only briefly. He says he will be around a while.”

  “He’s at it again.”

  “He is? What do you mean?”

  “Our favorite leader. He’s at it again.” Mark keeps working, after looking to see if I get it, but I don’t get it. “Can you hold this here while I attach it? Here, it’s heavy. And the holes have to line up.”

  We get the hardware in position and I hold it. “You mean David?” but I see by the ‘you must be a moron’ look that I’m wrong. “Oh, I see. Weasel. Now what’s he up to?”

  “Only what I hear from the field. I can let you know more tomorrow after I personally deliver this flyer to him.” He stops speaking and continues with the assembly. “You know he’s still running the show out there. And this is after what you and I both know he’s done.”

  “First of all, nothing he does would surprise me. Second, who wouldn’t predict more shenanigans from this guy? But what do you hear? Do not tell me he’s got his hands on the native girls again!”

  “Yes. No. Not exactly. He’s morphed a bit, according to Dylan. Back to his old self after being so sweet and friendly around camp, which nobody could miss. He knows that he’s being watched but he also knows that David’s given him a fair amount of control. Correct?”

  I don’t answer but instead look questioningly at Mark.

  “Well? You were in the meeting weren’t you? I wasn’t.”

  “Oh, from the meeting a while back.” I can’t think of any reason to hold back so I say, “Blank check.”

  “Eh?”

  “Free hand. David gave him free reign to monitor and shepherd the subjects,” I confess. “But they also talked in private; I don’t know what was said then.”

  “I see. That explains why I’ve heard the ‘I can do anything I want’ routine from Lester. Didn’t you say he pulled that on you once?”

  Mark wipes his hands a moment, brushes the hair off his forehead, then starts back again at his work while motioning me out of the way. “At least his new interest has taken some of the focus off the other business that he’s gotten me into.”

  When Mark doesn’t follow up, I ask, “What else is he up to?”

  “Oh, it’s not a big deal, relatively. Nothing to do with his other messes. I’ll tell you later maybe, over a cocktail, but not now. Thanks for the help.”

  As the native generations pass, our target population is steadily growing more or less arithmetically. Field reports show their increase and also comprise a log of the interaction with various mission members. Dylan is playing an active part, even more than before. He is still smarting over the ‘re-start,’ as it’s being called. When we talk, he is grimmer than he has been. Still the same, quiet and thoughtful, but with an added sense of resolve.

  I‘ve been thinking lately about words. Words as symbols. Words and how they work. For example, nothing changes when an object is named and yet it cannot be denied that there is a palpable feeling of power and control accompanying the act. But how does the simple act of naming—creating a symbol representing a complex object—enhance creative thought and communication? If anything, it’s just an act of substitution; long string replaced by short symbol. A long string such as: ‘a surface sufficiently elevated and stable, whose normal vector lies essentially anti parallel to local gravity, with enough area to facilitate the handy placement of other, usually smaller, objects. All that replaced by a short symbol such as, in this case, ‘table.’

  It must be that the sheer number of references in a complex sentence is sufficient to stimulate the mind to higher levels. I think about a sentence like ‘The wooden dining table is sometimes used as a work desk but primarily functions as a support for our daily meals and as such becomes a symbol of unity for us as a family.’ To write out the basic references for each word and to describe the sentence syntax and qualifiers (such as ‘sometimes’ and ‘primarily’ and ‘as such’) could, for this one sentence, take up an entire volume. That’s a lot of power in a small package.

  A dream with my hands came again, triggered no doubt by our polar adventure not too long ago. They were my hands, in thick yellow gloves. I was standing next to a snow bank digging and chopping my way into it with no tools, just the gloved hands. I had no sensation of cold. The visual scene was dominated by brilliant white. Progress into the bank didn’t seem important but the act of chopping at the snow was the main point. It was fun. There was an enjoyable feeling of power.

  Confirmation

  Everyone who was outside at base camp heard it. The explosion, I mean. I heard it. It was distant, muffled, but we knew right away it was an explosion. Not huge, no global effects certainly, and we could see nothing from our location. But that’s not surprising the way we are nestled in the mountains. Grigor, back on solid ground now, says he felt it and Carol says she did too. I haven’t spoken in person to Dylan but he contacted me via genie to say that a whole settlement has been wiped out. Brachus’ decision, he said.

  “Brachus said it had to be done,” Dylan explained. “No other clarification has been offered, nor do I expect one. Here we go again.”

  “Did you see it?”

  As we speak, we are up in the mountains in the next little rocky valley over from base camp. Not a valley to speak of but a notch in between peaks. Mark is supervising some serious work higher up and a few of us have gathered to watch the activity.

  A shake of the head is the response, no eye contact from Dylan. He’s looking up at the progress of the work, but not looking at any one of us at the moment.

  Two of the Power and Energy guys are down from the ship and are working alongside Mark. They are all business and have Porter tied up lifting and positioning equipment.

  “This is crazy, what with the wind and all.” The sun is just clearing the mountains and the warmth of its rays is welcome.

  “Did you know it was coming?” Aileen asks. She and Tracy are standing and leaning back against the stone, full in the sun. I am sitting on the edge of the central formation we’ve nicknamed Table Rock with Alain, Rick and Chris.

  This time D
ylan looks around as if trying to see who asked the question and nods and says, “Yes, I knew. I got some of the people that I knew should be spared out of harm’s way, but that doesn’t amount to much.”

  “Do you know why he did it?”

  “No, not exactly. He’s on his own out there and answers to no one. I wanted to be actively involved with the descendants and that he has given me. In fact, I think Wesley is glad to not have to deal with them so much on a personal level. His focus, if you ask me, is on a larger scale now. Groups, not individuals.”

  “I think you’re all gettin’ worked up over nothin’,” says Rick. “These ones had to go; they were outlaws from the old bunch.”

  He looks first at Dylan, who doesn’t meet his gaze, and then at me.

  “They’re not part of the program. Had to go,” Rick repeats, looking, it seems, for a response.

  Mark walks briskly through the area, around Table Rock and around us, followed closely by one of the P&E men.

  “Mark…”

  “Not now. Rick, come with us.” Rick joins them as they pass by and out of this area, higher up the notch.

  “What does he mean?” I ask, speaking of Rick’s comments.

  Chris says, “What he means is, the little settlement that was blasted was a pocket of leftovers from the outcasts— the ones that are not part of the select group. They should have been dealt with before, during the re-start, but were missed.”

  “Little bit of overkill, eh? The way he did it? Don’t ya think?” asks Tracy, face pointed up towards the sun, eyes closed.

  “Could be, but he said these were retrogressive and dangerous. More animal, less human. He must’ve seen something that disgusted him because he didn’t hesitate long.”

  “And now he’s run to David,” adds Dylan.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to get stabbed in the back,” says Lester, appearing from around the bend of the trail leading into the small Table Rock clearing. He’s looking right at me.

  I don’t respond to his comment, and no one else speaks either.

  “Chris. Go find Mark, he needs more help. Where’s Rick?”

  “Mark took him.”

  “Alain, girls, come with me. We’re heading out. Not you Waters, you wait to hear from Wes. He’ll get hold of you real soon I’m sure.” Lester and his small troop head back toward base camp.

  “So you think he went to David to head off any complaints?” I ask Dylan when we are alone.

  “Of course he did. He’s a loose cannon, but he learns. I’ve been out in the field a lot. I see what he’s been doing. I’ve said it before—he has no respect for the people here.”

  “What do you mean, he’s playing around again? Girls? Fighting?”

  “Not so much that, although you can hardly talk to him anymore he’s so full of himself. No, he’s playing war games now.”

  “War games? You mean like the fights he was promoting before?”

  “Yes, but now it’s groups.”

  “Really, how so?”

  “You know that there are other populations scattered around the globe, yes? And there have been since the beginning. And they have seen us, accidentally or incidentally you might say, but they are not our primary focus, these others. There is only one population that we are looking at now, the descendants from the re-start, to make sure that they have a fighting chance to multiply and prosper. Right? This is what we are doing. Mark is continuing to replenish and refit for our eventual departure but, in the meantime, that’s what we are doing.”

  “Ok, I’m with you.”

  “As you can imagine, ‘our’ population is more or less surrounded by ‘outsiders’—various separate groups, not one large one—and there are naturally border disputes. You have an almost constant display of aggression for land, food, women or anything else of value. Some groups have learned agriculture, some metallurgy, others not so much. Threats and force are one way for groups to get what they need or want. So…”

  “Yes, so…?”

  “So, the cultures have learned that their planet is a rich source of metals such as iron and they are now using and developing that resource. They know how to make both offensive and defensive armaments, as well as non-military tools. These are all manual weapons and tools mind you— they have so far no kind of engine other than animal power. What it means is that they can whip up some ferociously bloody battles that go on all day, decimating whole populations, sometimes one person at a time. Sometimes, these battles threaten ‘our’ people. I will try to communicate, in various ways, when I see trouble brewing, to see that bloodshed is avoided or minimized. But Wesley, he likes to play military strategist.” Dylan offers me a piece of the snack he has been nibbling on while talking. It looks like more of the dried meat. I decline and he doesn’t force the issue. “He likes to play war games with these groups.”

  “You don’t mean…” I say as I start to form an image of Brachus, the soldier. “You surely don’t mean he is out amid the people, fighting.”

  For the first time ever, to my memory, I see Dylan almost laugh. “No. Not even. He might do it if he was in no danger whatsoever. Come to think, maybe he has gone out and pretended he’s a great warrior. I can tell you this: He would never go out with their primitive armor and weapons. Not on your life. What he does do is assess a battle’s combatants, as a whole, decide who’s got the advantage, and, if it’s not our people, arrange things so that we do have the advantage in some way.”

  “Dylan, I can see you are not kidding. You are serious.”

  “No, I’m not kidding. But you may have missed the best part. I said he’s manipulating things so that our people win or at the very least, minimizes their damage. You see? He’s doing what David asked him to do. He’s playing war games, with real people, and he can always point to the results and say, ‘See, this is what I was told to accomplish.’ Our guys are prospering, multiplying and expanding their territory.”

  “Are you one hundred percent sure about this?”

  “I am one hundred percent sure.”

  “What is wrong with this guy?” No answer and I don’t expect one. “Let me guess, Lester buys into the whole scheme.”

  “Certainly he does. They assess and plan and execute together. Can I say it? I think they are having a ball out there.”

  It’s clear that he’s uncomfortable with the image of these two cronies using people like game pieces. He decides to continue, after finishing his snack, and says, “Do you want to help? I’m tracking the main families, but there are quite a few now and they are dispersing, sometimes of their own will, sometimes not. We are keeping a special eye on those lineages with the highest correlation to ideal. I figure that will give us the best shot at David’s vision. I could use you out in the field.”

  This is something to think about. My contact with the people lately has been essentially nil.

  “Don’t worry; we can make you look like one of them. Worst case, they will treat you as a stranger, not as an enemy,” Dylan says, no doubt noting my hesitation. “You may not even have to mingle at all, just observe from a distance, or remotely, and report. I’ll keep you out of trouble, if I can. What do you say?”

  ______

  “What do you say?” I ask Carol when we are alone a few days after hearing Dylan’s proposal. “He says as a couple, we will be more accepted should it happen that we find ourselves in direct contact. And we will.”

  I am used to her silence as she thinks things over. I like this part. She is deliberate and logical.

  “Let’s do it,” she says at last. “I don’t know what will happen, but I would like to think we can make a difference. If he needs help, let’s help him. When can he give us the language and customs basics?”

  ______

  “What, are you nuts? At this late notice?” exclaims Mark when I tell him of our resolve just before we head out. We are going to a remote site that Dylan is using for the time being as his moveable field ‘headquarters.’ It is there that we will get
outfitted to pass as natives.

  “But, you already knew about this didn’t you? This is why we need you, or someone, to shuttle us out. That’s why I reserved the runabout.”

  “Oh, so that’s what it’s about,” Mark says in an unconvincing tone. “I think I heard a word about it.” He continues to putter about pretending, it seems, to be concerned with other matters. “You know, maybe I will pilot you out myself. There might be something interesting I can show …” Mark finishes his thought in a low tone that I can’t catch.

  “Hmm? What’s that? You’re mumbling again.”

  “Nothing. I’m old. I talk to myself.” And then, “Right. It’s settled. I’ll take you. One thing: I may come and get you on short notice. There just possibly will be something you would like to see.”

  “Something, eh? I have no idea where we’ll be. Could be anywhere.”

  “I’ll find you. Just be ready and watch for my message. I’ll give you as much notice as I can.”

  ______

  Carol and I only spend a few days at Dylan’s makeshift camp being trained, before he decides to relocate. His contacts in the field are widely scattered over a large area and he’s found a few well-hidden spots to use as temporary bases for his forays into native communities. He continues instructing us at the new location and stresses ‘quiet confidence’ as our best tool. ‘If you look like you belong, and act like you belong, you belong,’ he says.

  For our first outing, Dylan guides us to a common area in a settlement, a marketplace where food, clothing, and other goods are exchanged. It’s early in the day and people are milling about, setting up their goods, mostly on the ground. The few structures are simple and crude. We separate from Dylan, but keep close in case of the unexpected, which of course happens immediately. We are accosted by a merchant who is not deterred by our persistent ‘no’ and refusal gestures. He seems to insist that Carol look at his wares and soon decides to take me by the arm to stop us from moving away. It is not clear to me if we are dealing strictly with a rude salesman or if there is something wrong with my accent or words. While I resist the pull of the man, I decline to react more strongly so as not to escalate the situation.