Hope of Earth (78 page)

She paused, and her body began to jerk. She grunted. “No!” she cried, and it seemed to be a protest to her incapacity, not a denial of her message. Bry didn’t know what to do, so he followed his own advice: he did nothing, ignoring her seizure. No one else moved or spoke. What a scene to make in the midst of a worship service!

Bry sat frozen. Tourette had spoken well, amazingly well, surprising him in more than one respect. He knew that she was rehearsing, to a degree, a philosophy to which she had had a lifelong exposure. Still, he had not before appreciated how well she could express herself when she tried. His love for her swelled in his chest as if his heart were a furnace. Yet there was nothing he could do to help her in this situation. She had to finish in her own way.

Then the siege passed, and she resumed talking. She was blushing, but pursued her message doggedly. “I am, as you can see, not a normal person. This is part of what I am. But I am other things too. I am not a pacifist. I carry a gun and a knife, and I will use them to defend myself or some other person in need of defense. I will not conceal my nature; I will not pretend to be something I am not. That would be hypocrisy. All my people carry weapons, and are trained in them. None of us are hypocrites. We do not seek quarrels, we only stand ready to defend ourselves when this is necessary. We are satisfied with our philosophy, and do not intend to change it, or to ask anyone else to change theirs. We are not roughnecks; we are educated and civilized, as you are. But we are also realists, as we fear you are not. We are preparing for a future that may be ugly beyond belief, because the alternative is to risk suffering calamity beyond belief. Even now the first wave of it is coming; my father is dying of a plague we can’t fight, and the rest of us may fall too. It is my hope, my prayer, my fervent wish that I have not brought this terror among you also. If I have, then how can my shame ever be abated?

“But that isn’t all. I find that my life is incomplete. I have been protected—-too much, perhaps. Now I have found love, outside my community, outside my philosophy. I never knew love before; maybe my inexperience makes me foolish. But it is the greatest passion I have experienced, a mountain when I have known only “foothills. I would do anything to preserve and consummate that love. But I can’t change what I am, and do not seek to change what he is. I love him as he is. I love him without reservation or limit. He is my sun, my moon, and all between. But our communities do not approve of our association, and we do belong to our communities. How can we be together, when our people are at odds? I know only that if there is not some way to bridge across the social and philosophical gulf that separates us, I may lose that love, just as I may lose my father, and then I will die of despair, and perhaps my friend will too. We need each other, and I think our communities need each other, or both will perish. The world is not bound by a single creed; there are many creeds, and it is right that there be these differences, for what works in one situation may not work in another. Maybe no one way can save the world. Maybe no two ways can do it. But two are surely better than one. Can we not accept each other as we are? We differ much as man differs from woman, yet we must act together if we are to survive. I beg of you, I beg of the world: is there not some way to do it? Isn’t there some way?”

Then, abruptly, she was done, unable to speak further. She sat, and Bry saw that she was crying. The hell with protocol! He put his arm around her, and she wept silently into his shoulder. She had tried so hard, speaking so brilliantly, baring her soul, suffering such humiliation—-and for what? “I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you, I love you, no matter what.”

There was a pause of several minutes. Bry glanced across at Jes, and saw her sitting stone-faced. The embarrassment of the good people of the Meeting was almost tangible. Surely there had never before been a message like this!

Then at last an elder rose to speak. “We stand rebuked. We were perhaps too hasty to judge by appearance. There must be a way.”

In a moment another stood. “With due respect, I beg to disagree. I suspect that ‘rebuked’ may be too moderate a word. We stand shamed. We have walked the path of isolation, instead of reaching out to help those in need. May the Lord forgive us that error, and see that we never repeat it.”

Bry knew, with sudden revelation, that the embarrassment of the people of the Meeting had not been for Tourette, but for themselves.
She had gotten through.

Then a third: “I believe there are those among us who would like to inquire about Aikido.”

And another: “Perhaps we have seen it already.” There was a general chuckle.

Soon the eldest elder turned to shake hands with the adjacent elder, and the Meeting was over. But the group did not disperse. Attention was centering on Tourette.

An elder approached her. “We know something of antibiotic-resistant diseases. We have alternative techniques that are not generally known to medicine. We may be able to treat thy father, and others who fall ill. What is the telephone number by which we can reach a responsible person in thy community?”

Then Bry knew it was going to be all right. The God of the Quakers—the God of all people—had answered.

F
LO LOOKED UP FROM HER
work as Wilda dashed in. “What is it, dear?”

“Bad men!” the child gasped. “Up on the fog ridge!”

This was probably mischief. “How do you know?”

“Flint and I were up there picking berries, and we saw them. We didn’t know they were bad, but we didn’t trust them, so we watched. They took down the baffles.”

That made the diagnosis almost certain. “Dirk,” Flo called.

Dirk came from the other room. “Something’s up?”

“The children saw strangers taking down the baffles.”

“I’ll go inquire.”

Flo felt a chill. “Alone?”

He paused. “Maybe put in a call to Tourette’s father. We can go together.”

She picked up the phone and touched the key for Tourette’s address. In a moment the young woman answered. “Yes, Ho?”

“Strangers are taking down the baffles. Dirk thought your dad might want to go with him to inquire.”

“I know he will. Meet at the fork in half an hour?”

“That will do.”

Flo hung up. “Fork in half an hour.”

“On my way.” Dirk went out.

Flo continued working on her bread, but she was uneasy. The baffles were vital to the well-being of both the Dreams and Bones enclaves. They were large vertical frameworks covered with fine nylon mesh that collected condensing water from the high mountain fog. Though the effect was diffuse, enough water dripped down to not only provide for the needs of the two enclaves, but to run a generator on the way down. This supplemented the current generated by the Solar Stirling engines, especially on cloudy days. But the water was the essential element; without it they would soon be in trouble.

In fact water was the main problem, here in the Andes. Immediately inland from the Pacific coast was the Desierto de Atacama, perhaps the longest and thinnest desert in the world, paralleling the great Andes range. It very seldom rained in this locale, and few rivers made their way down from the mountains. That was why it was a largely barren region. Which was in turn why the enclaves had been established here: to be well away from any big city. But even here they were not entirely safe.

It had been coincidence that two enclaves had set up so close together. Neither had been aware of the plans of the others until preparations were well under way. At first relations between the two had been tacitly hostile. Then the plague had come to Bones. The medics of Dreams had gone to help, using their array of special therapies. They had brought Tourette’s father to the heated greenhouse, to isolate him, and plied him with derivatives from rare medicinal herbs salvaged from the declining rain forests. It was a difficult search, but in time they found an antibiotic to which the disease was not resistant, and then he mended. Just in time, for by then others were coming down with it. They had used the treatment on those others, and stopped the plague before it was fairly started. It was clear that they had thereby managed to save a number of lives that would otherwise very likely have been lost.

After that, relations between the two communities had thawed considerably. The folk of Bones wanted to repay the favor, in money or in kind, but the folk of Dreams would accept no payment for doing what was right to do. The matter faded without resolution. Now it was six months after the onset of the illness, and all were recovered, and both communities were doing well. They still existed apart, with different philosophies, but visiting occurred between them, and Bry and Tourette were not the only young folk dating across community lines. When anything important came up, of mutual interest, the communities kept each other advised. Hence her call to Tourette, because both communities depended on the cloud harvest for water.

In due course Dirk returned. “Remember Bub?” he asked. “He’s the leader of a band of raiders. They demand that we send two female liaison personnel within the hour, one from each enclave, to stay with them and negotiate terms.”

“Terms?” Flo asked sharply.

“In general, they want to take a hefty chunk of our supplies: food, blankets, clothing—” He broke off, looking uncomfortable.

“Women?” she prompted.

“They want girls, yes. They promise to return them after they are through with them.”

Flo grimaced. That would mean barefoot, pregnant, diseased, and dead in spirit. “And what is their threat?”

“The baffles will not be allowed up until they are satisfied with the deal.”

“What is their strength?”

“We don’t know, but it is clear that they have a sufficient force to maintain possession of the baffles. They showed us just enough snipers dug in around the area to satisfy us that it is not an empty threat. We will have no water until we deal with them.”

“They mean to bleed us dry,” Flo said angrily. “In more than one sense. And they may destroy us after that anyway.”

“Yes. This is a bad situation. They demand that two more people, one from each enclave, come within the following hour to serve as runners, arranging for the goods to be delivered. The first batch they want by dusk today. Now I must report to the elders.”

“The elders are not going to agree to any of the demands. Neither are the folk of Bones.”

“I know,” he said heavily. “But if we don’t get those liaison people out there within the hour, the raiders will burn the baffles. Then they’ll shoot us down as we run out of water and come out.”

“It’s hostages they want. Women they can use or torture while they wait. To goose us into prompt capitulation.”

“Yes. They have figured it out. Apparently that is their business: preying on isolated communities. When they have squeezed one for all it’s worth, and the pickings diminish, they move on to the next. They are experienced in what they do, and make few mistakes. They don’t just charge in, because some communities have mines and traps for the unwary. They force representatives to bring the goods out to the raiders, on a regular schedule. It is all very organized.”