Beggars and Choosers

Our second day on the road I talked, me, to another old man come along the tracks clear down from someplace near Canada. His grandsons were with him, carrying portable terminals, the way the young ones all do, them. They were moving south before the weather gets cold again. The old man’s name was Dean, him. He told me that Before he had soft, rotted bones, him, so bad he couldn’t even of sat in a chair without nearly crying. The syringes came to his town in an airdrop, them, at night, the way a lot of towns got them. He said they never even heard the plane. I didn’t ask him, me, how he even knew it was a plane.

Instead, I asked him if he knew, him, what the government donkeys were doing about all the Livers on the road moving toward Oak Mountain.

Dean spat. “Who cares? I ain’t seen no donkeys, me, and I better not. They’re abominations.”

“They’re what?”

“Abominations. U

I looked at him, me.

“It’s true. The United States is for Livers. That’s what President Washington and President Lincoln and all them other heroes meant, them, for it to be. A government for the people, by the people. And the real people, the natural people, is us.”

“But donkeys—”

“Ain’t natural. Ain’t people.”

“You can’t—”

“We got the Will and we got the Idea. We can clean up the country, us. Rid it of abominations.”

I said, “Miranda Sharifi’s not a Liver.”

“You mean you believe, you, that the syringes come from Huevos Verdes? Because of that lying broadcast? Them syringes come, them, from God!”

I looked at him.

“What’s the matter, you an abomination lover, you? You harboring one of them donkeys?”

I raised my head, me, real slow.

“ ’Cause a few donkey lovers tried, them, to join up with decent Livers. We know how to deal with those kind here, us!”

“Thanks for the information,” I said.

All the way back to Vicki, I breathed fu

“Vicki,” I said, “you got to be careful, you. Don’t go away from us East Oleanta people. Keep your sun hat on, you. A big sun hat. There’s people going south, them, that want to kill donkeys!”

She looked up, her, cross. “Of course there are. What do you suppose I’ve been telling you for days and days?”

“But this ain’t some big-word argument about the government, it, this is you—”

“Oh, Billy.”

“Oh Billy what? Are you listening, you, to what I’m saying?”

“I’m listening. I’ll be careful.” She looked ready to cry, her. Or shout.

“Good. We care, us, what happens to you.”

“Just not to the government,” she said, and went back to staring, her, at nothing.

We walked the tracks, us, for days. At places in the mountains it was pretty narrow, but we weren’t none of us in any particular hurry. More and more Livers joined us, them. At night people sat around Y-cones or campfires, them, talking, or knitting. A

The young ones carried their terminals, them. The older ones carried little tents, mostly made from plasticloth tarps. The tents were light, they didn’t tear, and they didn’t get dirty. They didn’t even get that mildewed smell, them, that I remember from tents when I was a boy, me. I remember, me, a lot more than I used to. I kind of miss the mildewy smell.

When it rained, we put up the tents, us, and waited it out. We weren’t in no hurry. Getting there would take as long as it took.

But A

I never saw, me, other donkeys beside Vicki, who laid pretty low. A few times strangers gave her dirty looks, them, but me and Ben Radisson and Carl Jones from East Oleanta sort of stood up, us, near her, and there wasn’t no trouble. Some other people didn’t even seem to realize, them, that Vicki was a donkey. Since the syringes, a lot more women got bodies, them, almost good enough to be genemod. Almost. I told Vicki, me, to keep her sun hat pulled low enough to shade them violet genemod eyes.

Then we came, us, to some town with a HT in the cafe. Vicki insisted, her, on watching one whole afternoon of donkey news-grids. Lizzie sat with her. So did me and Ben and Carl, just to be safe.

That night, around our campfire, Vicki sat slumped over, her, more depressed than before.

There was her, me, A

Lizzie said, “The Carnegie-Mellon Enclave hasn’t lowered its shield once. Not once, in nine months. They have to be out of food completely, which means they have to have used the syringes.”

She didn’t even talk, her, like us anymore. She talks like her terminal.

A

Vicki said sharply, “You didn’t want them to leave you alone when they were providing everything you needed. You were the one, in fact, who had the most reverence for authority. ‘Give us this day our daily bread…’ ”

“Don’t blaspheme, you!”

“Now, A

“She just wants you to stop apologizing for her, Billy,” Vicki said coldly. “I can apologize myself for my outworn caste.” She got up, her, and walked off into the darkness.

“Can’t you stop bothering her?” Lizzie said furiously to her mother. “After all she’s done for us!” She jumped up and followed Vicki.

Brad looked helplessly after her, him. He stood up, sat down, half got up again. I took pity, me. “Don’t do it, son. They’re better off, them, alone for a while.”

The boy looked at me gratefully, him, and went back to his everlasting terminal.

“A

“Something’s wrong with that woman, her. She’s jumpy as a cat.”

So was A

And if they didn’t, them, who would?

I thought, me, about Livers not needing donkeys no more, and donkeys hiding behind their shields from Livers. I thought about all the fighting and killing we’d watched, us, that afternoon on the newsgrids. I thought about the man who’d called donkeys “abominations” and said the syringes was from God. The man who said he’d got the Will and the Idea.

I got up, me, to go look for Vicki and make sure she was all right.