Parable of the Talents

'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.

I laughed and said, 'Yes, ma'am.' In my sleep, I thought. But Len was another matter. She had never done any gar­dening at all. Her father hired people to work in their gar­dens and orchards. She had thin, soft, uncallused hands and no knowledge of plants. I told her to watch me for a while. I pointed out the carrots, the various green vegetables, the herbs, then set her weeding the herbs on hands and knees. She'd have more control over what she pulled that way. I depended on her memory and her good sense. If she was angry with me, she would let me know about it later. Rag­ing at people in public wasn't her style. In fact, we had plenty of food in our