[Author's Note: I'm taking a break from /r/WritingPrompts. Instead, I want to expand/combine a couple of the existing posts. This will continue from from where yesterday (Mo and Her Mother) left off.]
Mo spent the next few days trying to fit into this new home. There was only one bedroom in Mom's shack and Lisp/August slept on the couch. That left no space for Mo at in that shelter. Instead, her mother got Mo set up in the communal women's barracks on the promise that Mo would put in time helping in the fields. As it was fall and time for the second harvest, there was no end of work for Mo to do.
This dwelling assignment helped Mo to understand that her mother's home was more than the shack she lived in. That was merely a place to sleep and have some private time when everything else allowed. Meals were taken in the old clubhouse and cooked by a rotating list of the inhabitants. Mo had dealt with a similar setup when she lived in the Institute. Then, most of the patients had viewed kitchen duty as a necessary evil. It was something that they had all traded out of whenever possible. Now, here at the commune, Mo quickly learned that time in the kitchen was treated as a luxury: the alternative was spending time in the fields. As the newest person, Mo got last pick of the available jobs and that meant harvesting the low crops.
Lettuce, cabbage, broccoli, radishes, onions and more. Anything that needed stooping or kneeling to harvest. Those were the low crops. It took less than ten minutes for Mo's back to ache and after thirty she was experiencing weird muscle spasms from her calves through her shoulders. She had reported for duty at eight o'clock as directed having eaten a breakfast of porridge and coffee. The shift supervisor had handed her a basket and a short, hooked knife then turned her over to one of the more experienced members, a thirty-something woman named Joan.
Joan had walked Mo over to the rows of lettuce[1] which took up all of the old seventh fairway. Setting down her basket, Joan said, "Watch closely." Then she had bent over, grabbed a head of lettuce in her left hand, sliced quickly through the stem with her right and tossed it in the basket. Still bent over, Joan had cocked her head up at Mo. "Got it?" Mo nodded. "Great. Show me." Mo bent over, grabbed the next head and swiped the knife at the base. She cut lower than Joan, got the knife caught in the dirt and only halfway through the stem. She muscled the knife through the rest of the stem, finally breaking off the last quarter inch by twisting and pulling on the head.
"Okay," said Joan. "You cut too low and split the stem. That will make the head rot sooner. You wanna cut a half inch under the last leaves and all the way through in one swipe." She reached for the next head in the row and showed Mo what she meant. "Try again." Mo grabbed another head of lettuce, this time cutting through cleanly. "Right," said Joan. "You take this row and I'll take the next one. When your basket is full, dump it in the cart over there." She picked up her basket, stepped over the row that she and Mo had been practicing with and started on the next. By the time that Mo had stretched her back and reached for the next head of lettuce, Joan was already three heads down her own row and working in a practiced rhythm of grab-slice-toss-step, grab-slice-toss-step.
When the supervisor called a break at ten, Mo had made it halfway down her row and was ready to die. Joan, by comparison, had finished her first row and was nearly done with a second. In that two hours, Mo had almost sliced the thumb off her left hand three times, had hooked the knife into her jeans five times and fallen over twice. Her right hand had a blister forming in her palm from the knife handle. She had managed to fill her basket four times and learned to relish the opportunity to dump it in the cart: it allowed her to walk upright and grab a drink from the canteen hanging on the cart's side.
After the ten am break, Mo groaned and went back to her row. Three painful heads of lettuce later, she was interrupted by a voice.
"Salutations fellow low cropper," it said. Mo looked around, but no one was near. Then she checked her connection status. The icon for her full connection was still an 'X', but her local area connection showed as active.
"Lisp?" she asked.
"Yes. I'm over in the broccoli. May I offer some advice on your current task?"
"Of course."
"Slow down."
"What do you mean 'slow down'? I'm already the slowest worker in sight."
"True, but no one really expects you to keep up. They have all been doing this for months. Some for years. They've built up the muscles and the calluses. You have not. If you continue at your current rate, then you will be useless tomorrow."
"And why am I only learning this now?"
"Because Joan is not the most talkative of people. And very literal. She was asked to show you how to harvest lettuce. She did. Task complete."
"Great. I may have already burned myself out on the first two hours. I can hardly move."
"Yes. We've all noticed."
"Really? Who's 'we'?"
"Just about everyone in the low crop area."
"Why didn't all this 'we' tell me any of this earlier?"
"It only just came to our attention. The person in charge of radishes, Bruce, is over talking with Susan, who you met when you checked in. I assume that someone will rescue you in a moment. In the mean time, you might try kneeling instead of bending at the waist. Crawl even. No one cares and it will save your back."
Mo got down on her knees. The lettuce heads were now at waist level instead of knee level and much easier to reach. She shuffled her legs forward, putting two trenches into the soft loam as she moved down the row.
"Thanks," she sub-voc'd back to Lisp. "That actually helps a lot. Now, it's just the blisters and the heat stroke."
"You can pay me back by keeping me entertained while I pull these radishes from the ground."
"Sure thing. What do you want me to do? Sing? I've tried and I don't think you'll enjoy it."
"That will not be necessary." Just then the lettuce supervisor, Susan, tapped Mo on the shoulder and motioned her over to the cart. Inside her network, Mo asked Lisp to hold on. When she and Susan got to the cart, Susan sent Mo into the Club House telling her to rest until lunch when she could help set the tables. She, Susan, would figure out what to do with Mo after lunch.
When she got inside the Club House, Mo collapsed in a corner. Then she pinged back at Lisp. "So how should I entertain you?"
"You can start by telling me why your network is infected," Lisp replied.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, yesterday, when I first connected, I received a trojan file that tried to infect me with a virus. I assumed that you knew about it. Did you not?"
"Oh. That. Yeah. Sorry. I do, I just kind of forgot to turn it off. It was infecting a couple of homeless communities for me as a distraction and then I kind of forgot to kill the process once it had taken off. Give me a second and I'll do it now." Mo pulled up her list of active processes and killed 'Whight_saddle.strap'. "All good now," she told Lisp.
"There is a story behind that process. Tell me as my entertainment."
"Umm, okay. Sure." With the practice that she had received running her Mom through it the day before, Mo was able to deliver a more coherent plot thread to Lisp. It also took less time because she did not feel the same need to justify her choices to Lisp and he did not ask, merely listened.
"That is an interesting tale," he said once she had finished. "Are you in contact with this 'Erics' now?"
"Sure," Mo said. "It's been a quiet since we arrived at the Commune. It really likes having full connectivity, being only a node of a greater whole. But it should still be wandering around in my circuits. It's process thread is still active."
"May I meet it?"
"You're the one that just killed the infection."
"No," Lisp said. "Not that way. I want to talk to it through you."
"To what end?"
"I'm curious. I've never had the opportunity to talk to a virus or a bacterium before."
"I guess. Let me check with it." Mo muted her connection with Lisp and sub-voc'd to Erics. "Are you there? There's someone who would like to meet you."
"Yes, Mo. I am here. I've been listening in on your conversation. I also would like to meet this Lisp."
Mo joined the two conversations together with the flick of her wrist and twitch of her iris. Almost immediately, the flow of words between Erics and Lisp moved from fast talking but intelligible into a buzz. "Hey," she said. "Hey! You're talking in my head. You have to include me."
"Apologies," both of them said at the same time[2]. Lisp continued, "Erics was filling in some of the details and technical aspects of your adventure. In particular, I was curious about the bacterium-to-virus transition. I have not done any reading on the electrical properties of micro-organisms."
"Fine, but if you want to learn it all at full bandwidth, you might as well get infected. It will be much faster."
"True. I am seriously considering that approach." As he said that, one of the cooks came out and prodded Mo into setting the tables. Her back and legs complained as she got up having seized during her corner lounging. Setting the tables turned out to not be a quick task. Everything, including the utensils, was served buffet style, so all Mo needed to do was ensure that the napkin holders were full and that every table had a full set of condiments (ketchup, mustard, hot sauce, salt and pepper). Then the lunch bell, then the lunch rush, then eating and chatting.
Mo found herself sitting with the other low crop pickers including Susan, Joan and Lisp. Most of them were discussing the possibility of rain, how much they would have to spend to get water from the old Mann reservoir and other crop related issues. At one point, Susan gave Joan a significant look and Joan rolled her eyes before facing Mo.
"Sorry," Joan said. "I should have told you not to try and keep up. Hope you don't hurt too bad."
Mo spent a brief second toying with the thought of telling the other woman how she really felt, but ended up letting her off the hook; she needed to fit in here for a while, no make enemies. "No problem. Maybe this will finally get me in some kind of shape."
Joan smiled and then cleared her dishes. Susan clapped Mo on the back and then told her to head back out to the field and finish her row. That would be all she needed to do today. Mo nodded, then gulped down her lemonade before following Joan and Susan back outside.
Lisp pinged her as she was on her knees, shuffling up to her second head of lettuce for the afternoon. "It helps to have a distraction," he said. "Shall we keep talking?"
"Sure," Mo said. "As long as you and Erics keep it to a reasonable speed."
"Absolutely," said Lisp. "It was just so refreshing to talk with someone at full bandwidth. I forgot myself."
"Is that how you talk to other people with neural-laces?"
"No quite. I was still using the speech center of my brain with Erics. Making the virus send all of its information over in spoken language works as a kind of firewall. It would be difficult for it to corrupt anything with that lower bandwidth signal. Among others with my implants, we usually send our thoughts more directly."
"More of that 'just knowing'?"
"Correct. But back to our afternoon topic. I was hoping that instead of conversing with Erics on the esoteric topics of bio-electric conversion, that you and I could talk."
"Sure. What's on your mind?"
"As I find myself living with the woman, I'd like to know more about your mother."
"Salutations fellow low cropper," it said. Mo looked around, but no one was near. Then she checked her connection status. The icon for her full connection was still an 'X', but her local area connection showed as active.
"Lisp?" she asked.
"Yes. I'm over in the broccoli. May I offer some advice on your current task?"
"Of course."
"Slow down."
"What do you mean 'slow down'? I'm already the slowest worker in sight."
"True, but no one really expects you to keep up. They have all been doing this for months. Some for years. They've built up the muscles and the calluses. You have not. If you continue at your current rate, then you will be useless tomorrow."
"And why am I only learning this now?"
"Because Joan is not the most talkative of people. And very literal. She was asked to show you how to harvest lettuce. She did. Task complete."
"Great. I may have already burned myself out on the first two hours. I can hardly move."
"Yes. We've all noticed."
"Really? Who's 'we'?"
"Just about everyone in the low crop area."
"Why didn't all this 'we' tell me any of this earlier?"
"It only just came to our attention. The person in charge of radishes, Bruce, is over talking with Susan, who you met when you checked in. I assume that someone will rescue you in a moment. In the mean time, you might try kneeling instead of bending at the waist. Crawl even. No one cares and it will save your back."
Mo got down on her knees. The lettuce heads were now at waist level instead of knee level and much easier to reach. She shuffled her legs forward, putting two trenches into the soft loam as she moved down the row.
"Thanks," she sub-voc'd back to Lisp. "That actually helps a lot. Now, it's just the blisters and the heat stroke."
"You can pay me back by keeping me entertained while I pull these radishes from the ground."
"Sure thing. What do you want me to do? Sing? I've tried and I don't think you'll enjoy it."
"That will not be necessary." Just then the lettuce supervisor, Susan, tapped Mo on the shoulder and motioned her over to the cart. Inside her network, Mo asked Lisp to hold on. When she and Susan got to the cart, Susan sent Mo into the Club House telling her to rest until lunch when she could help set the tables. She, Susan, would figure out what to do with Mo after lunch.
When she got inside the Club House, Mo collapsed in a corner. Then she pinged back at Lisp. "So how should I entertain you?"
"You can start by telling me why your network is infected," Lisp replied.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, yesterday, when I first connected, I received a trojan file that tried to infect me with a virus. I assumed that you knew about it. Did you not?"
"Oh. That. Yeah. Sorry. I do, I just kind of forgot to turn it off. It was infecting a couple of homeless communities for me as a distraction and then I kind of forgot to kill the process once it had taken off. Give me a second and I'll do it now." Mo pulled up her list of active processes and killed 'Whight_saddle.strap'. "All good now," she told Lisp.
"There is a story behind that process. Tell me as my entertainment."
"Umm, okay. Sure." With the practice that she had received running her Mom through it the day before, Mo was able to deliver a more coherent plot thread to Lisp. It also took less time because she did not feel the same need to justify her choices to Lisp and he did not ask, merely listened.
"That is an interesting tale," he said once she had finished. "Are you in contact with this 'Erics' now?"
"Sure," Mo said. "It's been a quiet since we arrived at the Commune. It really likes having full connectivity, being only a node of a greater whole. But it should still be wandering around in my circuits. It's process thread is still active."
"May I meet it?"
"You're the one that just killed the infection."
"No," Lisp said. "Not that way. I want to talk to it through you."
"To what end?"
"I'm curious. I've never had the opportunity to talk to a virus or a bacterium before."
"I guess. Let me check with it." Mo muted her connection with Lisp and sub-voc'd to Erics. "Are you there? There's someone who would like to meet you."
"Yes, Mo. I am here. I've been listening in on your conversation. I also would like to meet this Lisp."
Mo joined the two conversations together with the flick of her wrist and twitch of her iris. Almost immediately, the flow of words between Erics and Lisp moved from fast talking but intelligible into a buzz. "Hey," she said. "Hey! You're talking in my head. You have to include me."
"Apologies," both of them said at the same time[2]. Lisp continued, "Erics was filling in some of the details and technical aspects of your adventure. In particular, I was curious about the bacterium-to-virus transition. I have not done any reading on the electrical properties of micro-organisms."
"Fine, but if you want to learn it all at full bandwidth, you might as well get infected. It will be much faster."
"True. I am seriously considering that approach." As he said that, one of the cooks came out and prodded Mo into setting the tables. Her back and legs complained as she got up having seized during her corner lounging. Setting the tables turned out to not be a quick task. Everything, including the utensils, was served buffet style, so all Mo needed to do was ensure that the napkin holders were full and that every table had a full set of condiments (ketchup, mustard, hot sauce, salt and pepper). Then the lunch bell, then the lunch rush, then eating and chatting.
Mo found herself sitting with the other low crop pickers including Susan, Joan and Lisp. Most of them were discussing the possibility of rain, how much they would have to spend to get water from the old Mann reservoir and other crop related issues. At one point, Susan gave Joan a significant look and Joan rolled her eyes before facing Mo.
"Sorry," Joan said. "I should have told you not to try and keep up. Hope you don't hurt too bad."
Mo spent a brief second toying with the thought of telling the other woman how she really felt, but ended up letting her off the hook; she needed to fit in here for a while, no make enemies. "No problem. Maybe this will finally get me in some kind of shape."
Joan smiled and then cleared her dishes. Susan clapped Mo on the back and then told her to head back out to the field and finish her row. That would be all she needed to do today. Mo nodded, then gulped down her lemonade before following Joan and Susan back outside.
Lisp pinged her as she was on her knees, shuffling up to her second head of lettuce for the afternoon. "It helps to have a distraction," he said. "Shall we keep talking?"
"Sure," Mo said. "As long as you and Erics keep it to a reasonable speed."
"Absolutely," said Lisp. "It was just so refreshing to talk with someone at full bandwidth. I forgot myself."
"Is that how you talk to other people with neural-laces?"
"No quite. I was still using the speech center of my brain with Erics. Making the virus send all of its information over in spoken language works as a kind of firewall. It would be difficult for it to corrupt anything with that lower bandwidth signal. Among others with my implants, we usually send our thoughts more directly."
"More of that 'just knowing'?"
"Correct. But back to our afternoon topic. I was hoping that instead of conversing with Erics on the esoteric topics of bio-electric conversion, that you and I could talk."
"Sure. What's on your mind?"
"As I find myself living with the woman, I'd like to know more about your mother."
[1] There were a lot of low crops at the Ken Caryl Commune. More than the fluctuating population of seventy to one hundred could hope to consume before they went bad. The surplus was sold. The commune was only that for the people living within it. To the outside world, they were an NPO that existed to provide for it's members. One of the earlier members had taken the time to get the whole placed certified 'Organic' (a term that was regulated by the USDA and took them close to one hundred pages to define). That allowed them to sell the surplus to the more upscale grocers and restaurants, charging a premium. Currently, the low crops were high on the list of those looking for 'Organics', so the KCC had delegated half of the front nine to their production.
[2] Neither Erics or Lisp had ever heard of 'Pinch-Poke-You-Owe-Me-A-Coke' and would not have known how to pay up even if they had.
[2] Neither Erics or Lisp had ever heard of 'Pinch-Poke-You-Owe-Me-A-Coke' and would not have known how to pay up even if they had.
