The Sum of Her Parts

by Alan Dean Foster

  Then their owner began to laugh.

  Whispr let the wheezing guffaws flow unchallenged for a while before deigning it permissible to interrupt. “So—you’re not gonna turn us in?”

  Sniffling, the old Meld rubbed a filthy forefinger across his nose and flicked away something better left undescribed. “Me? Turn you in? Bug’s breath, I thought you were going to turn me in.” Extending the hand he had just employed for suspect hygienic purposes he smiled at Whispr. “Pul Barnato’s my name, giving the company a finger up the ass is my game. Has been for more than thirty years.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

  From the time she had first made Whispr’s acquaintance Ingrid had never admired her companion more than the moment when he took that hygienically dubious hand and shook it firmly.

  “Pleased to meet anyone who’s giving a major international corporation the finger.” Whispr did not provide the oldster with his name. Nor did Ingrid when, setting aside professional and personal thoughts of germs rampant on a field of bacteria, she took and shook the hand in turn. Thankfully, Barnato did not press them for further identification. As they were later to learn, it was enough for him that they were not minions of the hated company.

  “Give me a hand.” He was busy gathering up and stretching out the crumpled fabric that had failed to support his unexpected visitors. “We got to get this back up before a searcher comes over.”

  Whispr and Ingrid helped to wrestle the material back into place over their heads. Once it had been repositioned, Barnato scrambled out of the depression and fixed it back in place at the corners and along the edges. He used no metal or composite stakes or weights, she noticed. Only carefully placed rocks that would draw no attention and set off no alarms.

  Slipping back down into the excavation, he rejoined them. No longer fearful of being shot, picked, or shoveled, Ingrid found herself with time to examine their surroundings. Niches quarried into the walls of the depression held basic gear and simple stores. Except for a solar still whose automated tracking funnel was exposed to the sun, everything was concealed under cover. Most surprisingly, she could not see a single electronic device. The Meld had been careful to construct a subterranean dwelling that was electronically dead. In this day and age that was by itself enough to render him invisible to the senses and sensors of the outside world.

  “You live here?” She did not try to mute her disbelief.

  “It’s more a base of operations than a home. I move around a lot. Because I want to, because I need to, and because it helps me to avoid attention.” He smiled again, exhibiting orthodontics that in lieu of missing or melded teeth had been replaced by two bars of solid white composite. “It’s worked for thirty years. I expect it’ll work for another thirty.”

  “But what do you do?” When it came to matters of personal curiosity Whispr was a virtual stranger.

  Barnato gazed innocently back out of his one natural eye. “I’m a scientist. I’m here to study wildlife.”

  There was a pause while his guests digested this. It lasted longer than it otherwise would have because their host had delivered the reply with an absolutely straight face. Then both Namericans burst out laughing.

  “Okay.” Whispr wiped at his eyes. “We get it. No more intrusive questions.” He raised a hand. “Promise.”

  “It’s amazing to me that you’ve been able to live out here, in this wilderness.” Ingrid was inspecting the surrounding wall niches for anything resembling modern survival gear. So far she’d found nothing. She indicated the fabric that had been pulled out and stretched back above their heads. “Is this all it takes?”

  Barnato cast a squint upward. “The material has the same absorption number as the ground. Searchers and satellites don’t see me. When I move around it’s mostly at night. They use infrared, but I’m careful and I know how to mask my heat signature. You can live off the land here if you know what to eat and where the water is. The San people have been doing it for thousands of years.”

  Whispr frowned. “San people?”

  “Might as well be. I try to avoid them as much as possible. Which suits them just fine, since they try to avoid everybody. It’s a habit they picked up a long time ago when one of the then-regional governments kept kicking them out of their homelands and trying to make them into farmers and tradesfolk. Not everybody wants to live in city or on a mechanized farm. Some folks, they like the old ways.”

  “I understand.” Whispr spoke emphatically. “For example, right now I wish I were enjoying the old ways back in Savannah. Sitting on the riverfront sipping an iced coffee and eating a beignet.” His voice faded, growing dreamy.

  “Actually,” Ingrid told their singular host, “if there’s anything we can do for you in return for your—hospitality—you just have to ask.” Ignoring Whispr’s increasing disquiet she added boldly, “I’m a doctor. I could check you for problems, maybe prescribe some remedies.”

  “A doctor.” Barnato did not try to hide his incredulity. “Sure you are, pretty missy.” As she bridled he added, “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I don’t have any problems.” He stretched, extending all four arms before retracting the two that were tipped with digging tools. “By Society’s lights I shouldn’t be alive. Yet the lifestyle I’ve chosen has kept me healthier than any thousand men my age you might stop at random in Lela or the canals of London. I’m happy here. It’s peaceful, I pay no attention to the conflicts of an overpopulated, confused world, and if I wish I can dig for pretty rocks all night long.”

  “I don’t think the company would respond real well if they were aware of that,” Whispr remarked.

  Barnato shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I do. Just living here puts me in defiance of every regulation that’s governed travel in the Sperrgebeit for the last two hundred years. If they find me they’ll shoot me for shitting sand as soon as they would for prospecting.”

  “Have you?” Whispr could not keep himself from asking. “Ever found anything, I mean.”

  “Rocks.” Barnato smiled. “Lots of rocks. I like rocks.”

  “Okay, okay.” Whispr was disappointed despite himself. “I should’ve guessed.”

  “You never go down to Orangemund or Alexander Bay?” Ingrid prompted their host.

  Barnato shook his head dolefully. “Too many people. Shouting and yelling, arguing over nothing. Trying to sell stupid electronic gadgets, qwikmelds, outdated food, religion. I prefer the desert. Snakes, scorpions, lizards, insects. We understand each other. It’s not all about predation out here, the way it is in town. Though sometimes I see leopards or cheetahs. Sometimes I encounter a herd of gemsbok.” He licked his lips. “Good eating, gemsbok. So are a lot of the local grubs.”

  Whispr licked his lips. “You’ll excuse us if we don’t stay for dinner, but we’re on kind of a schedule.”

  Barnato turned serious. “Which way you two—scientists—going?”

  “North.” Despite their strange host’s apparent affability Ingrid saw no need to be more specific. She wasn’t as naïve as Whispr often seemed to think.

  Barnato’s expression grew dour. “You keep on north and company security will catch you for sure. You’ll end up food for crows and vultures. Better you should turn back now and return to Orangemund. With caution and luck you’ll make it without being spotted or picked up.”

  “Can’t do that,” Whispr told him. “As dedicated scientists we have no choice but to keep on until we achieve our designated objectives.” Ingrid’s jaw dropped as she stared at him. Flush with unexpected confidence, he paid no attention to her. “We’ve come too far to give up on our research objectives now.”

  “Um, yes,” she added quickly, “we’ve come too far to turn back.”

  “It’s never too far to turn back,” Barnato told her solemnly. “Return to where you came from, red missy. I have lived here for so long and yet I can barely call this place my home. It’ll never be yours.”

  Not wishing to argue, Whispr sought to change the subject. “I was w
ondering, Meld brother, why if you decided to dwell in a place like this you didn’t just go full inside-out and opt for a Martian meld? Without the respiratory rework, of course.”

  Barnato cackled softly. “Couldn’t afford it, for one thing. And I’ve never been one to do anything half-assed, which is what you’re describing.” His shoulders flexed and the pick and shovel bone-works rose until they dented the fabric ceiling. “All I wanted was to be able to dig. To prospect in the old way. Don’t need any electricity to run my gear, don’t need to worry about motors failing or circuits frying. Just have to get enough protein and carbs.” He peered amusedly at Ingrid. “Grubs are chockful of protein and carbs.”

  If he was looking to gross her out he was picking on the wrong woman. But then, she reflected, he didn’t believe that she was a doctor. The only thing that could gross out a practicing physician of her experience and skills was insufficient repayment from the government for services rendered.

  “Why don’t you spend the night?” he suggested. “I guarantee you’ll be warmer and more comfortable than up top, and you can catch me up on this and that bit of real news. I’m not a hermit, you know. I just prefer living by myself.”

  “Isn’t that pretty much the same thing?” she pointed out.

  “Nope. Reflections of my feelings toward today’s sociocultural trends.”

  She looked toward Whispr, who shrugged. If this Barnato meant them ill he had already had ample opportunity to demonstrate it. Unless, she thought, his intention was to get them to sleep so he could notify Nerens security and turn them in. There was probably a company reward structure in place for ratting out intruders. She shunted the thought aside. As much time as she was spending in Whispr’s company it was only natural that she should pick up some of his paranoia. Barnato’s dislike of the Company seemed as genuine as his disinterest in worldly goods.

  As the sun disappeared somewhere over the South Atlantic their host brought forth a convective containment cooker. At last, she thought: a modern accoutrement. But not one that required potentially revealing electricity. Powered by solar energy acquired during the day, it would turn all of it into heat without releasing any as radiant waste for a wandering nocturnal searcher drone to detect. Using only local ingredients including spices obtained from native plants, Barnato put together the first nonconcentrate meal the two Namericans had enjoyed since leaving Orangemund. Hewing to a pact of mutual silence, neither Ingrid nor Whispr asked what was in the bowls Barnato handed them.

  When they had finished, Ingrid complimented him as she handed back her dish. “Not bad. In fact, very tasty. Thank you.”

  “I’ve had worse,” the ever diplomatic Whispr conceded. “What do you use to clean your utensils? Surely not water?”

  “Actually, there’s a small spring not far from here. When I want to, I can even do washing. And not just my clothes and gear. It’s big enough so that I can bathe.”

  “I was wondering about that,” Ingrid commented with a smile.

  Barnato laughed appreciatively. She had already noted that his pickhand meld had been fashioned so that the flat side lay against his back when his work arms were folded back over his shoulders. Otherwise a hearty belly laugh could have resulted in a self-inflicted injury. Checking to ensure that the camouflage fabric that formed the roof over their heads was secure at the edges so that no light would leak out, he brought out a small coldcandle and rubbed it to life. Settling himself in a low-slung folding chair, his gaze roved from one guest to the other.

  “Now then,” he began firmly, “I want to know all about current local politics. By local I mean the SAEC, points north, and relevant international relations. This is my home and it’s useful to occasionally know how it’s being treated.”

  Whispr looked helplessly at Ingrid. With a sigh, she began relating what she could recall from the last news she could remember reading. Fortunately the soft-voiced give and take between her and their host did not last long, and the three of them were soon fast asleep in a landscape of such complete silence that it was almost painful.

  CLIMATE-WISE, MORNING SAW AN exact repetition of the day before, and the day before that.

  “There are seasonal changes here.” Barnato was finishing the breakfast he had prepared. “Mostly when the fogs make it this far inland. Then, desert or not, you can have some really cold mornings. But it sure is good for water extraction.”

  Ingrid nodded and rose. “Thank you for your hospitality, for the food, for the conversation: for everything. But we really need to be on our way.”

  “That’s all right.” Putting his eating utensils aside he turned and scuttled to the far end of the excavation that was his home. When he returned it was with one fist clenched.

  “You’ve both been very kind to a solitary old fool. So I’d like to give you something.” Though he was speaking only to Ingrid, Whispr was not offended. Had their situations been reversed he would have done exactly the same.

  “You’re the prettiest woman I’ve seen in some time. Hell,” he said, chuckling, “you’re the only woman I’ve seen in some time. I told you I like pretty rocks. Maybe you do too.” Opening his palm he passed her a rough, shiny stone about the size of her eye and the color of cranberry lipstick. “I’d like you to have it. Because I like giving stones away and because I’d like you to remember me.” His gaze rose slightly. “It’s a little too dark to match your hair.”

  Taking it from him she held it up to the light and made a show of studying the badly scratched present. The least she could do was humor him. She could toss it away later, somewhere safely distant along their route.

  “It’s very pretty. Thank you, Pul.” She made a small ceremony out of putting it in her backpack.

  Later, looking rearward as they resumed their march to the north, she could see the old prospector standing atop the edge of his simple underground dwelling. He was waving to them with all four of his arms: two sporting hands and two maniped digging melds. She returned his wave.

  “What a way to waste a life.” Whispr was not looking back and not waving. “Living in a hole in the ground, surviving on scraps and bugs, slaving away at manual labor for nothing.” He nodded curtly toward her pack. “I was hoping he might give you something worthwhile, but clearly in all his years of wasting away out here he hasn’t found anything.”

  “Yes he has, Whispr,” she countered. “He’s found happiness. Most people dig for that their whole lives and never strike pay dirt.”

  Her companion shook his head sadly. “You and I have always had different definitions of both happiness and pay dirt, doc. Me, I would’ve liked to have gotten something salable. Not a worthless pebble. You gonna keep it? I shouldn’t have to tell you by now that the farther you walk the heavier every gram gets.”

  She returned her gaze forward. “I don’t know if I’ll keep it or not. Maybe it’s not worth anything, but I like the color. As far as weight goes, the more of our food we eat, the lighter our packs get.” She indicated the programmed line they were following. “What’s more interesting to me is that the location of the spring Barnato mentioned matches the coordinates for one of the water holes on our maps. That’s the first solid indication that Morgan Ouspel didn’t sell us a bill of goods.”

  “Or set us on a wandering path to a slow death. So long as there’s water and I have my NEM supplements …” He picked up the pace. Several weeks ago the now travel-hardened Ingrid would have been unable to match his gangling stride.

  Pul Barnato watched them until they disappeared. Given the supernal clarity of the air in the Namib that took quite a while. Then he turned and dropped back down into his home. The excavation was also the entrance to his diggings, though as much as he had enjoyed the previous night’s company he had seen no reason to inform his guests of that fact.

  Pulling aside an unprepossessing piece of camo cloth he bent low and started walking. A modest distance later he entered an old volcanic tube. One side of it had been broken down by heavy manual labor. Re
moving his ragged vest he stretched, took a deep breath, and brought his melded arms forward. Armored osseomelds alternately slammed into and shoveled aside rock and rubble. Once he had accumulated a decent pile of the latter he sat down and picked up a sifting pan. Like all the rest of his equipment it used no power, required no batteries, and gave off no emissions for a patrolling searcher to lock on to.

  An hour or so of careful sifting produced three glassy pebbles and a number of much smaller stones. These he dumped into an ancient five-gallon jerry can that he had salvaged from a rusting wreck farther to the south and west. The can was about half full of similar pretty rocks. Among them were one or two that were identical in color to the much larger stone he had bequeathed to his courteous red-haired guest.

  Idly, he wondered if either she or her acerbic companion had ever seen a natural red diamond before.

  3

  The last thing they expected to have to deal with was rain.

  They had set off from Orangemund equipped with food, water and water extractors, communicators, lightweight sleeping gear, appropriate footwear and outer attire, and everything else they could think of that would enable two travelers on foot to survive in the unfamiliar Namib. They had not considered the possibility of rain. Not with the region they were traversing typically receiving a couple of centimeters of precipitation in a good year.

  It seemed as if all of it was falling on them now.

  Designed to keep off the sun, their wide-brimmed hats soaked up the pelting moisture instead of repelling it. While there was nothing in their packs that could be seriously harmed by getting rained on, including their sealed concentrates and waterproof communicators, Ingrid had no desire to see everything soaked.

  “This is ridiculous!” she declared as she trudged up the dry riverbed alongside Whispr. Contrary to the hoary jokes he had been forced to deal with ever since he had gone through his extensive slimming meld, he was not so thin that he was able to step between the falling drops. Five minutes into the unexpected downpour he was thoroughly drenched and more depressed than usual. If the day had begun hot, the shower would have been welcome. Instead, it simply rendered both of them miserable and clammy. While she couldn’t vouch for her companion’s personal supplies, Ingrid had the foresight to bring along spare underwear. Her single outer set of safari attire would just have to dry out in its own good time.