Butler, Octavia - Parable of the Talents

"Of course you should do that if you believe what you say."

"I'm not a demagogue."

"That's too bad. That leaves the field to people who are demagogues—to the Jarrets of the world. And there have always been Jarrets. Probably there always will be."

We walked in silence for a while, then I said, "What about you?"

"What do you mean? You know where I'm going."

"Stay with me. Go somewhere else."

"You're going to Oregon to see your brother and find your child."

"Yes. And I'm also going to make Earthseed what it should be—the way we humans finally manage to grow up."

"You intend to try again?"

"I don't really have any choice. Earthseed isn't just what I believe. It's who I am. It's why I exist."

"You say in your book that we don't have purpose, but potential."

I smiled. She had a photographic memory or nearly so. But she wasn't above using it unfairly to win an argument.

I quoted,

"We are born

Not with purpose,

But with potential."

"We choose our purpose," I said. "I chose mine before I was old enough to know any better—or it chose me. Pur­pose is essential. Without it, we drift."

"Purpose," she said, and with an air of showing off, she quoted:

"Purpose

Unifies us:

It focuses our dreams,

Guides our plans,

Strengthens our efforts.

Purpose

Defines us,

Shapes us,

And offers us

Greatness."

She sighed. "Sounds wonderful. But then a lot of things sound wonderful. What are you going to do?"

"I'm no Jarret," I said, "but you're probably right about the need to simplify and focus my message. You can help me do that."

"Why should I?"

"Because it will keep you alive."

She looked away again. After a long silence, she said with great bitterness, "What makes you think I want to be kept alive?"

"I know you do. But if you stick with me, you'll have to prove it."

"What?"

"As a matter of fact, if you stick with me, you'll have all you can do to stay alive. Ideas like those in Earthseed aren't going to be popular for a while. Jarret wouldn't like them if he knew about them."

"If you have any sense, you won't draw attention to yourself. Not now."

"I don't intend to draw huge crowds or get on the nets. Not until Jarret has worn out his welcome, anyway. I do in­tend to reach out to people again."

"How?"

And I knew. I had been wondering as we spoke, scram­bling for ideas. Len's comments had helped focus me. So had my own recent experience. "I'll reach people in their homes," I said. "There's nothing new about door-to-door missionaries in small cities like Eureka, for instance. In L.A. you couldn't do it. We may not be able to do it in Port­land either. Portland's gotten so big. But on the way there, and in the larger towns around Portland, it might work. Small cities and big towns. People in very large cities and the very small towns can be—will be—suspicious and vicious."

"Free towns only, I assume," Len said.

"Of course. If I managed to get into a company town, I might be collared for vagrancy. That can be a life sentence. They just keep charging you more to live than they pay you for your labor, and you never get out of debt."

"So I've heard. You want to just knock on people's doors and ask to tell them about Earthseed? I hear the Jehovah's Witnesses do that. Or they did it. I'm not sure they still do."

"It's gotten more dangerous." I said. "But other people did it too. The Mormons and some other lesser-known groups."

"Christian groups."

"I know." I thought for a moment. "Did you know I was 18 when I began collecting people and establishing Acorn? Eighteen. A year younger than you are now."

"I know. Allie told me."

"People followed me, though," I continued. "And they didn't only do it because they were convinced that I could help them get what they wanted. They followed me because I seemed to be going somewhere. They had no purpose be­yond survival. Get a job. Eat. Get a room somewhere. Exist. But I wanted more than that for myself and for my people, and I meant to have it. They wanted more too, but they didn't think they could have it. They weren't even sure what 'it' was."

"Weren't you wonderful?" Len murmured.

"Don't be an idiot," I said. "Those people were willing to follow an 18-year-old girl because she seemed to be going somewhere, seemed to know where she was going. People elected Jarret because he seemed to know where he was going too. Even rich people like your dad are desperate for someone who seems to know where they're going."

"Dad wanted someone who would protect his invest­ments and keep the poor people in their places."

"And when he realized that Jarret either couldn't or wouldn't do either, he left the country. Other people will turn their backs on Jarret, too, in different ways. But they'll still want to follow people who seem to know where they're going."

"You?"

I sighed. "Perhaps. More likely, though, it will be people I've taught. I don't really have the skills that will be needed. Also, I don't know how long it will take to make Earthseed a way of life and the Destiny a goal that much of humanity struggles to achieve. I'm afraid that alone might take my lifetime and yours. It won't be quick. But we'll be the ones who plant the first seeds, you and I."

Len pushed her black hair away from her face. "I don't believe in Earthseed. I don't believe in any of this. It's just a lot of simplistic nonsense. You'll get killed knocking on the doors of strangers, and that will be the end of it."

"That could happen."

"I want no part of it."

"Yes, you do. If you live, you'll accomplish more that's good and important than anyone you've ever known. If you die, you'll die trying to accomplish it."

"I said I want no part of it. It's ridiculous. It's impos­sible."

"And you have more important things to do?"

Silence.

We didn't talk anymore until we came to a road leading off into the hills. I turned to follow it, ignoring Len's ques­tions. Where was I going? I didn't know at all. Perhaps I would just have a look at what lay up the road, then turn back to the highway. Perhaps not.

Hidden away in the hills, there was a large, two-story wooden farmhouse set back off the road. It was much in need of paint. It had once been white. Now it was gray. Alongside it, a woman was weeding her large vegetable garden. Without telling Len what I meant to do, I walked off the road, went to her, and asked if we could do her weeding for a meal.

"We'll do a good job," I said. "We'll satisfy you, or no food."

She stared at us both with fear and suspicion. She seemed to be alone, but might not be. We were clearly armed, but offering no threat. I smiled. "Just a few sandwiches would be awfully welcome," I said. "We'll work hard for them." I was dressed in loose clothing as a man. My hair was cut short. Len tells me I don't make a bad-looking man. We were both reasonably clean.

The woman smiled in spite of herself—a tentative little smile. "Do you think you can tell the weeds from the veg­etables?" she asked.