Day One — Hindsight, Chapter 6, Part 1

Bill swabbed his nose with the applicator provided, and then placed the extra-long swab into the orifice of the test apparatus.

Go back to the CONTENTS Page.

Hindsight by Neil Shooter (photo by author)

June 2038.

Bill swabbed his nose with the applicator provided, and then placed the extra-long swab into the orifice of the test apparatus.

The house AI, which was paying close attention, said, “The sample is verified. I’ll notify you when the results are ready.”

“Thank you, Computer.”

Bill heard Brian blowing his nose, and knew he was at a similar stage of the process.

Testing had come a long way since the early days. One more thing to be grateful for.

Bill went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. While he waited for it to boil, he stared out at the already-browning grass. At least the heat was killing off the black flies.

Brian came into the kitchen with a theatrical sigh. “Thanks.” He’d seen the second cup sitting on the counter. “I want to enjoy our last bit of freedom and privacy.”

Bill smiled to himself. He was also grateful for this friendship.

The kettle boiled, he made the teas, and then sat at the kitchen table with his nephew. With his friend.

They’d discovered comfortable silences over the years. This was one of them. They were in the same boat, after all. A bundle of nerves about the looming change of circumstance. All preparations already made. Nothing to do but wait.

About fifteen minutes after the tests had begun, the HAI spoke from the kitchen speaker. “I have the test results. Both are negative. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Bill said, with a laugh. Only one more hurdle to jump now.

The Bardington HAI had to confer with the Tweed Sub-Dis AI. Meanwhile, in the Motley household, their test results were being shared with the Belleville Sub-Dis AI. The two Sub-Dis AIs would confer, and if all tests were negative, would agree to the change of residence, and then log the change with the Unit AI. The testing was an obsolete step, really. The whole Sub-Dis, the whole Unit in fact, was a single bubble, unless there was ever an outbreak, in which case the Unit quickly fractured into Districts and Sub-Dises. But it had been a reassurance in a moment of upheaval. And now it was an ingrained tradition from an era of uncertainty.

“I’ve received confirmation of the transfer of residency. I believe they are ready to depart, and will be here within the hour.”

“Okay.” Belleville was forty minutes away. They had at least that long.

*

Bill stood at the doorway to the room that was Juss’ art room no more. He grudgingly confessed to himself that the room looked nice as a bedroom. Tweed Sub-Dis had provided the needed bedroom furniture. Everything of his, or Juss’, had been moved out—his own bedroom looked like he’d just moved into it, with boxes sitting around in piles.

The main thing, of course,was her art work. The easel. But the rest of it had sentimental value too. The paints hardened by time. Fossilized. The shiny, glittery craft supplies she’d gotten from Michael’s once upon a time, before Michael’s shut down in the pandemic, and before glitter itself was banned. He had no clear idea what she had ever planned to do with these things. But in a way, if he kept the things, then he was one step closer to having Juss make whatever it was she had planned. Bill knew. He knew. But it was still a connection that he couldn’t sever.

*

The sound of a car in the driveway. An actual car. A door slamming.

And then the next bit happened so fast. Bill and Brian stood on the front porch, shaking hands in the old way, with strangers. Hudson Motley, and his parents, Penelope and Chadwell. Unusual names seemed to run in the family.

It was a surreal moment. The negative tests of all present, all conducted today, encouraged a kind of intimacy that was no longer normal, but warning bells rang in the recesses of Bill’s mind.

Friendly formalities. Small talk. Smiles and innocuous questions. And Hudson, off to one side, observing.

They all got the tour, the one that guests might have received Before. “Pen” and “Call Me Chad” seemed to like the space. The room, the view, the land, even the chickens. Bill got the sense that it fit into their sense of pioneering spirit, of pulling together, of communal effort. Pen noted how far the basement bathroom was from her son’s room, but considered that at least he had his own private facilities, which he didn’t have in their apartment.

Bill didn’t mind the visitors, really. Pen was a cheerful, ample woman, radiant with enthusiasm. Chad was a pleasant, personable guy, but seemed unremarkable. Conventional.

Hudson himself seemed embarrassed by their attention, and the situation, as though he wished it could all be over, and he could just slide into the new life without a transition of any kind.

Mercifully quickly, there were the tearful goodbyes, and Bill’s assurances that he’d take good care of their son, and then there was a multitude of waving as the car pulled out of the driveway and headed south, to the village, through it, and away back to the city.

And then the three of them were alone, standing in the shade of the front porch, with the only sound the occasional crow of a rooster in the run.

*

There had been a number of other Streem conversations with Hudson and both Brian and Bill over the last couple of months, to try to get through this moment of awkwardness, and to try to make sure that the match was going to work. Naturally, it was not enough. Bill saw the blush in Hudson’s pale cheeks, and made darting eye contact with Brian.

Bill cleared his throat. “I hope you’re going to like it here, Hudson.”

Hudson nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Bardington.”

“It’s Bill, okay?”

“Okay, sir.”

“And we don’t need that either. We must all work together. We’re on the same team. The quota has been upped, of course, so we’ll have to try to squeeze out more productivity somehow. New planting beds, I imagine. A lot of work. But we won’t do much today. Just get settled in, unpack some stuff, and then how about we take a walk around the garden before lunch?” Bill smiled. He hoped he was striking the right chord.

Hudson met his gaze, and smiled shyly. “Okay.” He went inside.

“Nice speech,” Brian said, with a smirk.

“Quit it. I’m going to chop a salad while he sorts himself out.”

“You want some greens? Radishes? Arugula?”

“Sure.”

They got to work.

*

A few Streem conversations were never going to be a substitute for really living with someone, but it was a way to try to get more comfortable with each other, and to uncover any dealbreakers that weren’t immediately evident. There weren’t many of these conversations. But several. And no dealbreakers had been discovered.

Bill set three places at the kitchen table. It seemed a bit crowded, but workable. Brian went to get Hudson, and they all sat for their first meal together.

Hudson looked unsettled.

Bill said, “Do you like the room?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Bill was at a loss for words. All the logistical needs had been worked out in advance: things Hudson would need, like gardening clothes, boots, a wide-brimmed hat, and so on. Bill thought about the conversations they’d already had, over Streem. “Have you written anything lately?”

Hudson looked up in alarm, like he’d been caught out about something. “No. Not really. Not recently.”

“There’s a lot to do, but don’t worry, you should still find time to write.” Bill smiled, trying to reassure him.

Hudson nodded. “Thank you.”

“You like the dressing?” Brian chimed in.

Hudson nodded. “Thank you.”

“Good.” Brian looked at Bill.

Bill looked at Brian and shrugged slightly. He supposed they would all relax around each other given time.

*

Bill smiled at Hudson’s straw hat. “Huckleberry Hudson.”

Hudson blushed. “I look stupid.”

“No, it’s perfect. Don’t worry.” Bill’s own cowboy hat was years old, and due for replacing. It was very comfortable, but had the distinct aroma of old sweat and fake leather. “The point is to keep the sun off your head. You don’t want sunstroke.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just Bill.”

“Bill.”

They stood on the balcony looking out over the back garden. The giant maple on the eastern line shone a luminous green in the hot sun. Behind it, the cows grazed peacefully. A hawk circled above. A small line of blue showed the lake, although there were too many trees in the way to really appreciate it.

Old pines guarded the north line of the property, looming over the four main vegetable gardens. “We’ll be putting in a new area in the next week or two,” Bill said, pointing at the spot. “The soil is pretty sandy, so it will take a lot of work. We’ll need to till the grass out of it, and dump a load of compost and chicken manure in there.”

“What will you plant there?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m thinking potatoes. As long as we get enough nutrients into the soil, the potatoes ought to do well in a new spot. It’s still early enough, as long as they get lots of water. Sweet potato would be good too—it lasts better over the winter.” Bill pointed to the lines in front of the giant maple. “There’s the berry patch. Strawberries, raspberries, black raspberries, blueberries, aronia, haskap, josta, honeyberries, blackcurrants, and elderberries. Strawberry season is winding up—for the June-bearing variety, anyway. The Everbearing will carry on. Too soon for raspberries. Honeyberries, you can blink and miss them. Blackcurrants ripen slowly, but I love the jam they make—tart and sweet.” And along the south line, evading and surrounding the septic bed, were fruit trees. “In the orchard we have peach, apricot, plum, pear, and apple.”

Hudson listened dutifully to the information, but didn’t speak.

“Let’s head down. You’ll get a better sense of things being in it.”

“Okay.”

Bill led him down the steps, across the lawn, and through the vegetable patches. Bill droned on about each plant, things to consider with each one, pests that were most likely, pests that perhaps didn’t come every year.

Hudson listened, but didn’t say much.

Bill realized how much he was talking. “It’s a lot of information, right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to remember it all, but it’s all useful stuff. Particular to this place. To living here. When we moved here, I had no idea about plants. You learn by doing, you see?” Bill remembered something from one of their Streem conversations. “Don’t be daunted by the fact that this is all new to you. Experience only comes from doing things, from trying things—right?”

Hudson nodded.

“We already did the backyard watering—we do it before the sun comes up too high. Gives it a chance to soak in, rather than all evaporating. But I start there, work my way across, and then go up the orchard line and finish with the grapes.”

“Do you make wine with them?”

Bill blinked. “No. But just because we don’t really have enough of them to bother getting the equipment for it. And we don’t drink much.”

“So you eat them?”

“There’s a lot we can do with them. The best you can eat fresh. The others you can juice, or make vinegar, or even jam if you want. Jelly, I guess, because you take the bits out. And we use the leaves for a Greek dish called ‘dolma’.”

“Are you Greek?”

“No, but I like pizza and I’m not Italian, and I like curry and I’m not Indian.”

Hudson looked down, and away.

“I’m not being an ass. I’m just explaining. When things were bad, we had to get pretty creative with the food that we had, the spices we could get. And sometimes the only things we could get a hold of were international foods that other people weren’t hoarding. We got a hold of some teff flour, and learned how to make injera. We got a hold of some bulgur wheat, and rehydrated it—it ends up a bit like barley. You know, we tried so many things. Some were bad, sure, but Juss never shied away from trying something new.”

“Your wife.” Hudson looked him in the eyes.

“Yes.”

“When … sorry.” Hudson looked away. “I shouldn’t—”

“2024. Yes, it was 23B. It got so many.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Everything here reminds me of her anyway. All the time. So don’t worry about it. She would’ve liked you.”

Hudson smiled, but turned to look at the horizon.

An affectation? An excuse to not get too close too soon? Maybe.

“Look at the way the hay sways in the breeze.” Hudson almost whispered it, like he’d forgotten Bill was even there.

“It’s ready to cut. I bet it won’t be long before they take it in. If there’s enough summer rain, they might get a second cut out of it.”

“What do they do with it?”

“They make big round bales of it. Gets the animals through the winter.”

Hudson nodded. He smiled as he looked out across Eugene’s field.

A rooster crowed.

Hudson turned at the sound of it. “What about the chickens?”

“Well, I take care of the chickens most of the time. I’ll show you what I do, so you have an idea, in case I need you to do it one day. Or to help me out. They have to get used to you. They have to accept you as part of the flock. Giving them treats will get them to like you.” Bill grinned. “I remember a couple of times a rooster tried to chase Brian. He wasn’t happy about that! Brian had to show him who was boss. It’s only the roosters you have to worry about. And after all these years, I’m pretty happy with the temperament of the roosters we’ve got. Don’t stress out about it.”

“And you have some birds out on the front, under the trees?”

“Yes. Let’s go up, and I’ll show them to you.”

“Okay.”

They marched up the garden along the south boundary, next to the swaying grass. The grapes on the south slope came up on their right. Bill could see that some of the plants already had tiny clusters that would become grapes later in the season. And he could tell at a glance from the different greens which plant was which variety.

Then came the chicken run. Dozens of chickens were running around, and some came to the fence as Bill and Hudson walked by. “They think we might have treats for them.” Bill pulled up a weed from beside the fence, and tossed it over. The chickens seemed thrilled.

At the west end of the run was a separate enclosure. “These are the older chicks,” Bill explained. “Too old to roam free; too young to get merged with the main flock.”

“Why?”

“To which part?”

“Both.”

“Well, because they’re raised by me, the rest of the flock are unfamiliar with them. So by having them hang out where they can see each other, but not fight with each other, they can get used to each other gradually. When I think it’s time—or when the next batch has to be moved into here—these ones will have to take their chances and get merged, whether they’re ready or not.”

“And the other part?”

“Oh. As soon as they figure out we’re growing food, they’ll start eating it. Early in the season, it doesn’t matter too much. There’s not much to tempt them, and they are too young to realize most things are food.”

There was a rustle in the line of weeds at their feet. A young chicken poked its head out. Black and brown feathers, and a red, nut-shaped comb. “And this one?”

“That one’s borderline. We’ll have to move everyone up soon. Come on, let’s meet the chicks. You like chicks?”

“Sure.”

“So the ones in the separate run are three months old, hatched in March. The one in the weeds was an April chick—so two months old—and there are his siblings, running free in the grass.” Bill walked past them, although a couple of them came running to him. “I don’t have anything for you! Go play in the grass! Go find some bugs!”

They stopped and looked at him, and almost seemed to understand, at least, that he wasn’t going to give them anything. They turned to look at Hudson, and promptly discounted him too.

“They … don’t understand, do they?”

“Not really. I don’t think they do. But for creatures with such tiny brains, they’re pretty smart. It’s basically all about food. If you give them food, they love you.”

“But you talk to them like they understand you.” Hudson looked at him carefully.

“Yes … well they need to get used to the sound of your voice. So you have to keep finding things to say, and it’s easier to talk if you’re pretending to have a conversation with someone who understands, you know? Like, sometimes when I put them away, it’s already dark, and when they hear someone, they start to worry, or even to freak out. So if they know it’s me, they stay calm. Calmer, anyway. If they know it is me—whether by sight or by sound—then they are more relaxed. And the roosters know they don’t need to defend their ladies.”

“From what?”

“Dogs sometimes. Raccoons, maybe. Raccoons are likely to win the battle though. Razor claws, right?”

“Okay.”

“So look at these ones.” Bill came to a stop in the shade under the two maples that overlooked the best view—his summer spot. There was a dog cage surrounded by panels of black metal fencing that could be folded up when it wasn’t needed. Designed for small dogs. But they’d always used it for the chicks. “These were hatched in May. They’re about three weeks old now. You can tell how they still have so much fluff on their heads, rather than feathers.”

Hudson nodded.

“They go back into the cage at dusk, on their own. And then I carry them into the garage overnight, and bring them out again in the morning. It’s getting to be a two-man job. The cage full of chicks is a bit awkward for one person.”

“Hey!” Hudson pointed at the pet carrier between the two trunks. A broody hen and her four new chicks wandered into sight. “They’re so small!”

“Yeah, just hatched about a week ago.”

“They’re so tiny!”

“You should see them the day they hatch. These are hulks in comparison.”

Looking at the happy little fluffballs, Hudson didn’t seem convinced. He grinned like an idiot.

Bill felt himself relaxing into the familiar and the joyful, and a grin came to his face too.

“She hatched them?”

“Yes. Sometimes, a hen gets an urge to sit on eggs, and I generally let her. Although I don’t know whose eggs these are, or who the father is.”

“Is that important?”

“The short answer is yes, it is. The long answer is … longer.”

Hudson looked up at him, and finally asked. “Why?”

“Genetics. You see the bands on the hen’s leg? Well that tells me a lot of things, but the main thing being what family she belongs to. Hens are part of their mother’s clan, and roosters from one particular clan breed only with hens in the next clan. The clans are in a certain order, and roosters from the last clan breed with the first clan’s hens. Get it?”

“I guess so.”

“They’re all cousins, so the aim is to breed the least related birds together, for maximum genetic strength. So these new chicks that I don’t know about, they probably won’t be part of the breeding plan, but they are extra birds that can be processed when it’s time for that.”

“Uh, processed?”

“Culled. Killed for food.”

Hudson gulped.

“You eat chicken, don’t you?”

Hudson nodded.

“The chicken you eat here will be our own chicken, that me and Brian processed ourselves last fall. Don’t worry, you don’t need to help us do it. But we’ll need to do a cull soon. Too many of the new birds are roosters.”

Hudson looked at the little chicks happily pecking the ground next to the hen. “It seems like such a shame.”

“It’s food. But more than that. It’s food security. And also, when you love the animal that you kill for food, and then eat, it gives you … a profound respect for the whole process: life, death, the cycle.”

Hudson nodded. “I get it.” He sounded distressed.

“And we’re hatching more.The quota being upped, and everything.”

“The incubator in my bathroom downstairs. Because of me.”

“Because of the quota. Listen, you don’t have to have any part in the processing if you don’t want to. You don’t have to help raise the chicks if you don’t want to. But hatching chicks is an incredible thing. Very moving.”

“Even though you’re going to end up eating most of them?”

“Even so.”

Hudson didn’t seem very happy about that.

Bill decided to change the subject. “So I’ve talked about morning watering, weeding, pests, and pruning. This is where we have our siesta.”

Hudson looked up at him again. “You mean you actually sleep here?”

Bill laughed. “No, but we relax here in the hot afternoons, when we can. Sometimes the breeze is just perfect under these trees, and the sun is—well, the sun is already too hot, right?”

Hudson nodded.

“And look at the view. It’s the best spot on the whole property.”

Hudson turned to take it in, and nodded again.

“And in the evenings, when the shadows have come around a bit, and the sun is not as strong, we water the front garden. The pots along the driveway—mostly peppers and eggplant, that love the heat and the sun. And the herbs in the beds.”

Hudson looked dutifully at each place as Bill described it.

“And we do more weeding in the evening, when the sun is weaker.”

“You’re outside all day.” Hudson seemed taken aback.

“Well, yeah. The work is outside. And honestly, after being stuck in the house over the winter, trust me—you want to be outside as much as you can when the weather is warm enough.”

Hudson seemed to consider that. “So I will have my siesta to myself?”

“If that’s what you want.” Bill understood that people just needed to be alone sometimes. “But I think you’ll love sitting here.” And then Bill realized what was bothering Hudson. “Juss used to do work out here. Editing work. Writing work. I know how to keep my mouth shut—sometimes!”

Hudson looked up in surprise, and laughed.

Bill grinned. “And if it rains, there’s very little to do outside until it stops. You get a vacation from watering, if it rains enough. But also it’s too wet to do any weeding or harvesting. So, what to do? Whatever you want.”

Hudson nodded.

“And I don’t want to think about winter right now, but from November to February there is very little that needs to be done. You’ll have lots of free time then.”

Hudson smiled. “I think you mentioned that before.”

Bill shrugged. “Oh, and we get our daily delivery in the mornings, around 10.”

“Of what? Food?”

“Yes, supplies. Trade items. Anything from flour, to sugar, to corn, to spices. Things we can’t—or don’t— grow on our lot. The Computer will keep your dietary preferences in mind. But that’s also when we declare whatever produce we have for the day. When things come into season, we pick in the morning, and by the afternoon it has all been delivered throughout the Sub-Dis.”

Hudson seemed satisfied with that.

Bill went on. “So, it’s too early to water the front. I need to check the chickens, and then I’m going to have a cup of tea, and have my siesta right here. Want to join me?”

Hudson looked away. “Actually, I thought I’d talk to my friends, let them know how my move went.”

“Sure.” Bill smiled. “Go ahead.”

*

Bill sat on his hill, in the shade of the two trees, between his broody hen’s small brood and the fenced chicks. He watched the clouds pass by to the south, changing and growing as they moved from the trees behind him to the horizon ahead. An anvil cloud glided across his view. He thought for a moment, getting his bearings. Over Syracuse, he reckoned. About 200 km to the south, but thunder clouds were tall. After all these years of watching them, on days like this when it was too hot to do anything through the middle of the day anyway, he didn’t need to look at the weather map. He could visualize it.

He visualized the curvature of the Earth. He loved the discomfiture as his perspective changed, as he really felt the Earth below and behind him as a sphere, not merely the flat-seeming world reaching to the horizon. Syracuse had always been beyond the horizon, of course, as well as across a border. The border had changed. It was the USNE now, not the USA—not that this made any real difference to him. The counties of New York State were tiny fiefdoms now, as much as HPE Unit was. So many borders lay between here and there. Syracuse might as well be another world. And yet, from his hill he could see into other worlds.

The roosters squawked, overreacting about some pigeon or sparrow most likely—he couldn’t see what. But it was enough to draw him out of his reverie, and remind him of the things he should be doing, whether it was still too hot to do them or not. The trees now cast enough shade across the front garden for him to consider watering the pots beside the driveway and the herb beds in front of the house.

Time waits for no man. And, no rest for the wicked. These were things that people said. They crossed his mind from time to time. He remembered that first summer, sitting in this spot, enjoying the peace and quiet, relative to the city they had escaped, and the hectic lives that still echoed strongly in both of them. Side by side. Sometimes hand in hand. Worrying that the world would never be the same again. Sometimes thinking that wouldn’t really be a bad thing, that some things needed to change. Sometimes just terrified.

And this is what the world had become. Juss was gone, and some kid from Belleville was squatting in her art room.

The front door banged. He craned his neck to look. Speak of the devil.

Bill got to his feet, suddenly ashamed of his thoughts. He put a smile on his face. “I was just going to do the watering. You want to give me a hand with the hose?”

Hudson Motley considered for a moment too long, and said, “Sure.”

Bill almost wished he’d said no.

Thanks for reading!

Continue reading with the next part!

Go back to the CONTENTS Page.