“We know about illness,” Ittai said. “We’ll cross that bridge if it comes.”
“And—she has Tourette’s syndrome,” Bry continued. “That’s an involuntary twitching and grunting. It comes and goes. It’s okay just to ignore it.”
They nodded.
Then Tourette spoke. “I love Bry, but I’m a militant and I think he’s a pacifist. He’s using the plain talk now, anyway. I don’t know if this can work.”
“Join the throng,” Snow said. “Several of our couples split along those lines. We can’t decide whether to join Dreams. We may have to return to the big city.”
“But that’s where the trouble is,” Tourette said. “We built Bones to escape all that.”
“Which is exactly what Dreams is doing,” Flo said. “Similar solutions to a similar problem—and the two communities don’t speak to each other.”
“And one set of leaders is as stiff-necked as the other,” Ned said. “It is an irony.”
“Isn’t there any way to get them together?” Tourette asked. “I don’t think either community can survive alone. Oh, they think they can, but can they really? I mean, if civilization collapses?”
“I think they can’t,” Jes said. “Dreams will be overrun by the first wave of teenage thugs looking for drugs. Bones may never run out of bullets, but what about fuel for its generators, and food? Stored supplies won’t last forever, after the crunch comes.”
“We plan to survive the bad times on supplies, then to emerge to re-colonize the country after it has cleared,” Tourette said. “We have supplies for a decade. We have trucks that will run on natural gas.”
“And if illness takes out half your personnel?”
“That makes me nervous,” Tourette admitted.
That was all. The family had been introduced to Tourette, and now knew her place: with Bry. He was the last to find his opposite number.
They joined in the folk singing in the evening, and Bry introduced Tourette to anyone who was interested, but did not explain the name unless asked. She was accepted as an addition to the visiting family, though she did not conceal her origin. The weapons she wore made it clear enough.
“I think it’s great,” Faience said. “You went in there and got her out.”
“Thee gives me more credit than is due,” Bry said.
“Bry! Thee has joined us!” She hugged him.
“Well, not without my family,” he said. “But I guess it’s true, for me; my vote is to join. But I’ve got to be with Tourette, too.”
“So are you changing sides?” Faience asked Tourette.
“No. I can’t turn my back on my family, on my community, or on my nature. I will return to Bones soon. When the threat of plague is gone, if I don’t have it already. I’m really only on temporary leave from there.”
Faience shook her head. “I think it’s great that you two are together. But you know, Romeo/Juliet romances don’t work out so well in real life. There are some awful differences to work out.”
“We know,” Bry agreed.
They shared a chamber that night, and a bed. But now Tourette was diffident. “Anything you want,” she said, but there was some reservation.
“What is it?”
“I’ve never been away from home like this, before. I miss Mom, and Dad, and everything. And I don’t know what’s going to happen. I can’t relax.”
“Then let’s just be together, until we’re sure.”
She turned to him. “Thanks, Bry.” She kissed him. He was gratified simply to be with her.
In the night he felt her motion and heard her grunt. He found her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly, and she settled down. He wasn’t sure she was even awake. He knew that he could touch her anywhere, and she wouldn’t object, but her hand was enough.
As daylight came, he woke and gazed at her. Her hair was messed across her face, and she was snoring. He liked that too. She was a real girl.
Sunday morning the family prepared to go to Meeting. “We don’t have to go,” Bry said. “We’re still trying to get the feel of Dreams, to know whether it’s really for us.”
“If you go, I’ll go,” Tourette said. “We have church services too.”
“We just sit quietly, and anyone who is moved to gives a message. It’s sort of nice.”
Several people glanced at Tourette as they approached the meeting house. She was wearing one of Wildflower’s dresses, but over it wore the belt with the pistol and knife in plain view. She was refusing to pretend to be anything other than what she was. Jes, also armed, came to join them, lending tacit moral support. They picked a pew and sat, Tourette flanked by Bry and Jes.
The first message was a prayer: “Lord, we thank Thee for Thy beneficence. Lead us down the path of righteousness and mercy. May we stand before Thee without affectation. May we remember that he who is noble needs not a weapon, needs no man to guard him; virtue defends him.” The last sentence was a quote from one of the songs they had sung the evening before, but the reference seemed rather pointed to Bry.
There were other messages. Tourette seemed uneasy. Then, to Bry’s astonishment, she stood and spoke.
“I am not of this community. I apologize for not knowing the proper forms of expression, and I regret that my presence here makes some of you uneasy. But there is something I must say. It is said that we are made of dreams and bones. You are of Dreams, and I am of Bones, and I think that it is a mistake to separate the two. I think that the two communities are not as far apart as they may think. Both seek to survive, when human civilization and culture collapse. We merely have different ways to achieve a similar objective. You are trying to build a self-sustaining community; so are we. You want peace. So do we. You want to see a better future. So do we. So we differ only in the means, not the ends. You believe in nonviolence. We believe that there are occasions when violence is necessary. We do not seek it, we don’t desire it, but we prepare for it in the hope that preparedness will make it unnecessary. But even here, we do not necessarily differ from you beyond the possibility of compromise. There is a martial art known as Aikido. An Aikidoka will not attack; indeed, he has no means to attack. But if another person attacks him, he will quickly immobilize that person. He doesn’t have to hurt the other, he merely makes it impossible for that person to hurt him. I think this is a form of violence some of you could accept. We would teach it to you, if you wished. It does seem better than standing helplessly by while others who are not pacifists come to kill your men, rape your women, steal your children, take your goods, burn your houses, and destroy your dreams.”
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 a
nd 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.
In the 1990s antibiotic-resistant strains of disease increased dramatically. For example, Streptococcus pneumoniae, causing pneumonia, meningitis, and some deadly bloodstream infections, evolved variants that could not be cured with penicillin or other common antibiotics. Diseases that had seemed to be on the way to extinction returned with renewed force. This was a sinister indication of the future.
Chapter 20
SYMBIOSIS
One of the most significant trends in the later history of mankind was the formation and expansion of cities. These brought the advantages of safety from assorted predators, convenience for trade and association, and comfort. Civilization was largely built around great cities. But cities also put a strain on the local productivity of the land, reaching far out into the countryside for their sustenance. Their garbage—solid, liquid, and gaseous—polluted earth, water, and air. Their increasingly crowded conditions made them prime reservoirs of disease. Infectious agent? prosper best when there are many targets within easy range. Thus the large predators of the early years were replaced by the invisibly small predators of the later years.
In the twentieth century the growth of cities accelerated, a function of the growth of global human population and its increasing concentration in metropolitan areas. By the end of the millennium there were perhaps twenty cities with populations greater than ten million people. As the climate changed, food became scant, pollution got worse, and treatment-resistant diseases evolved, such cities were increasingly ravaged by modern plagues ranging from flu to AIDS. As in ancient times, such as during the plague of Athens, civilized restraints broke down, so that plagues of human ferocity amplified the effects. Life continued for some, but the quality of it was drastically reduced.
A few had acted on their awareness of the mischief they saw coming, establishing enclaves of civilization and relative affluence in remote districts. But in time these, too, became prey for the brutish remnant of the larger societies. It required a very special combination of qualities to survive such onslaughts.
The time is circa A.D. 2025; the place is the Andean mountain range of Chile, South America. It is midsummer: December.
FLO 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.