"Down on the Farm" by Julie E. Czerneda

Down on the Farm

by Julie E. Czerneda

The satellite signals pulsed to Demeter’s surface, regular as rain, collecting like so many puddles in stations nestled within belts of fertile farmland. They were interpreted, enhanced with input from land-based towers, rerouted, and passed along to the tireless machines without flaw. It was archaic but reliable. This far from Earth, on humanity’s latest frontier, reliability counted for more than style.

"Stick your nose in it!" Deighton roared. The wide-eyed, would-be colonist looked up from her crouch, then, doubtfully, at the handful of dark, steamy organic matter in her gloved hand. She hadn’t expected this; then again, which of the eager recruits from an overly civilized Earth did? Education was, Deighton thought with a bit of exasperation, always left to those in the field.

"In it?" came a horrified mutter from someone among those clustered for today’s class at Demeter’s Colonist Induction Center. Deighton made a mental note regarding pig sty assignments for the remainder of the week. Should kill or cure him.

Deighton gestured impatiently. The recruit with the handful took an ill-advised deep breath as she bent her head over her hand. The class, mindful of past experience and determined to succeed, unconsciously leaned forward with her. The delicate, upturned tip of her nose disappeared into the mass. There was a silent, prolonged moment of disbelief — on Deighton’s part as well as his class. She raised her head, the beginnings of a triumphant look on her face, a flake of greenish black on one cheek.

"I meant stop being squeamish and take a closer look at it, you fool!" he growled, throwing up his big hands. "What did you think you’d learn about the damned horse at armslength? Does she need worming or not?"

"Worming?" The recruit turned an alarming shade of green and dropped face first into the manure. Her classmates rushed forward to help her, exclaiming in equal parts sympathy and disgust.

The lone human in the lead machine, a jockey on a 5 ton metal monster, spent the time writing letters home. She was in token charge of the flock of twenty, floating in meticulous formation across the waving grass ocean, immense boom sprayers held out as if wings. A human presence was a holdover from the colony’s first days when the machines might have encountered something not covered by failsafes or programming. Now, she was there in case something unimaginable went wrong. But nothing ever did.

Classes were over for the day. Taking advantage of the late-lingering light of the northern prairie summer, most of the Center staff had jumped into trucks and headed to the sandbanks of the nearby Green River to swim and relax.

The newest batch of recruits, not yet entitled to planetside liberties, had all showered, one twice, and were tired in that bone-deep way that encouraged philosophy. As usual, they gathered at the fence line to gaze lustfully upon the fields surrounding the Center, to where machines flashed and gleamed, slicing soil and cradling corn, humming in C major chords.

"That’s real farming," one burly recruit breathed, eyes round with wonder. "That’s where I plan to be."

"A jockey? Give me a break," his smaller companion dug a sharp elbow into his ribs. "The future’s those guys."

The pair turned as one to the huge bay doors where yet another freshly emptied harvester growled its way into the beginning twilight. Ag-techs in their pristine whites clucked and fussed over the immense machine as though over the birth of a champion calf. Unimpressed, the harvester continued toward the field, halting its slow inevitable course only once, to let a stray chicken cross. Deighton’s pretend farmyard was never perfect.

"Yep. That’s farming." They paused in silent communion, no need to remind each other of what was definitely not, in their opinion, real farming.

Still the thought couldn’t be totally contained. "Have you checked out tomorrow’s schedule?" the young woman asked bitterly. "Scouting for smut. On foot. And in the barley, no less."

Shudders oscillated down a dozen backs. The evening air was settling, leaving no doubt that the day’s unusual humidity would mean a rough night’s sleep and an early return to the heavy heat in the morning. And barley hairs had a way of creeping under pant legs, no matter how tightly they were tucked into boottops.

"Don’t know why they haven’t spent the cash and put in automated samplers like we have at home," grumbled one. "What are they waiting for? Demeter’s been settled long enough, hasn’t it? The government promos were all raving how perfect this world is for ag-biz – how soon it will be exporting pharmaceuticals and fresh produce to the stations, let alone be self-sufficient. I don’t know about you, but I signed up for my 15 years here to make some serious credits, not pretend to be some 20^th century farmer."

Nods of agreement. Then, the young woman said boldly: "We won’t be stuck here much longer."

"Maybe you don’t think three and a half Dem-months isn’t long, but I do," the other recruit responded glumly. "You know the drill. We’re in for a full season. Everyone from colonist prospect to temp worker has to pass Induction training --"

A third, hitherto silent, disagreed sharply: "Haven’t you heard the scoop from home? We aren’t the only ones who think making techs shovel manure and chew canola is a waste of time and resources."

"Hold it down! Here comes Deighton."

Deighton, also showered but inclined to look fresh from the barn regardless, contemplated the evening sky, ignoring the recruits’ retreat as easily as he dismissed the ceaseless machines surrounding his island of peace. He also ignored the stars beginning to pockmark the darkening arch with unnamed constellations, looking for and finding what he was after, head strained backwards until his shoulders ached. Satellites, like pendulum clocks, rolled around Demeter, always where they should be, always transmitting, dependable as rain in spring.

"It’s coming," he whispered to the moving spots of light, feeling unusually discouraged. There had been news today – the kind that traveled in low voices, avoiding com systems and certainly never leaving a paper trail. Not good news and not unexpected, at least by those like Deighton whose labors had added Earth-scents to the evening air. "Too damn soon."

"Pardon?"

Deighton dropped his gaze, trying not to scowl at the small earnest face lifted to his. At least she’d cleaned off the evidence of this afternoon’s blunder. "Nothing, Ms. Peirez. Just talking to myself."

"May I speak to you for a moment – "

"If it’s about what happened today –" he began warningly. Last thing he needed tonight was a complaint about his methods.

"No, sir," she said quietly but firmly. "That was my mistake."

Thinking he knew where this was going, Deighton sighed. "You want out. I’m sorry, Ms. Peirez, if that’s the case, but settlement fees are non-refundable." Among other things, those fees helped financed each little move forward in technology for the colony. Potential colonists contracted for short or long term stints on Demeter – and paid up front for both travel and the time it would take to turn them into productive members of a society with quite different demands than the tame world they’d left.

Left being the operative word. Demeter was Earth’s first, full-scale attempt to expand humanity’s reach. No one was granted full immigrant status here until they’d proven their worth and their commitment to stay. There were too many waiting their turn at this fresh start to waste valuable time or resources on anyone who’d take their skills back home on retirement.

"No, sir," this with an element of surprise. "I’m on a 25 year immigration track. It took some doing, as you can appreciate; there are a lot of robotics specialists who’d kill to be out here, to get a chance at this human-machine interface tech. There’s nothing like this back home," she waved in a vague general motion that seemed to encompass the barn as well as the stars above. "I’ve no intention of throwing away my chance." She took a step to one side. Deighton realized it was so the lights from the barn shone on his face and she could see his expression. He wasn’t sure why, until she went on in a determined, jumping-off-the-cliff voice. "What I wanted to ask you is: why? Why are you making us do this? You must know how unpopular it is to force everyone coming here, regardless of their specialties or training, to learn this -- antique -- farming methodology. Don’t give me that government line about training us to survive as pioneers. Sure, all the brochures call Demeter the frontier, but what’s that mean, really?" Her voice grew even firmer. "Demeter City is three times the size of my hometown already. From what the staff says, there’s nothing on Earth we’d want that isn’t here now. This is Earth, as far as anyone can tell."

"Oh, it’s not Earth," Deighton countered, inclined to be amused. "Granted, you’d be hard-pressed to find any differences in this particular biome. The prep crews were quite thorough."

Demeter had qualified for colonization based on two key factors: its Earth-similar physical environment, from atmosphere to gravity, and the relative youth of its biology. The Demetran fauna consisted of three phyla, none with bone or appreciable size, while the flora, slightly more abundant and varied, still depended on good timing and rainwater for procreation. From orbit, one could see how the prep crews had ribboned the colony’s agriculture between preserves of native life, preserves kept inviolate by molecular disintegration fields powered from Demeter’s own core. Within these fields, Demeter’s life could continue to evolve as it would – without further human influence.

That these sentry fields protected the spreading leaves of alien vegetation, from bananas to maple trees, was equally important.

"I’ve seen it," she agreed. "Which makes me – and not just me – wonder why we have to spend time here before heading to our real assignments. Blanchard Robotics has a job waiting for me in the city. What’s the government thinking: that we’ll be mysteriously cut off from tech support or ships from Earth won’t stop here any more? That’s nonsense. If the planet’s secured, why can’t we get on with settling it? We know our jobs, Mr. Deighton."

"We’ll see if you know any more, then," he said with what he felt was admirable restraint. "Good night, Ms. Peirez."

Deighton turned and walked away, leaving her standing, mouth slightly open.