Chapter Twelve

The sound of shuffling feet woke Syaoran from sleep mode twelve minutes past sunrise.

His systems automatically brought his neural networks up to their usual levels, and a burst of sensory information hit him with startling force. Suddenly, he could feel the crisp morning breeze on his skin, could hear the crunch of pebbles under boots, could see Kurogane looming over him, casting a long shadow through the bars of the cage Syaoran had been confined to overnight.

He checked his battery. Eighty-one percent.

"Get up," Kurogane said, opening the door. "Your first shift starts in fifteen minutes."

Syaoran dutifully unfolded his arms and legs, stepping carefully out of the cage. It was the same one he'd been held in before his trial.

Kurogane gestured for him to follow, then started for the center of camp, where fourteen people milled around, some picking at slices of bread fortified with bits of dried fruit, others sipping tea from steaming mugs. As they moved through the camp, a number of people paused in their morning rituals to glare at him, some standing up, postures stiff, others retreating.

One woman—Souma—did not move away. Instead, she finished her slice of bread and approached, her expression impassive. To his surprise, she addressed him directly. "I hear you've been added to my work rotation."

He bowed his head. "That is correct."

She let out a gusty breath, blowing several strands of hair away from her face. She looked to Kurogane. "All right. I've got him from here."

"Thanks." He turned away, stretching.

"And get some sleep," Souma called after him. "I know you stayed up all night doing guard duty."

"Yeah, whatever. Try not to let anyone kill him while you're out there."

"Tch." Souma rested her hands on her hips, then looked back to Syaoran. "All right, there are two things you need to know about my work detail. First, it's my work detail, which means I'm in charge. Before the Departure, I was a lieutenant in the police force. Before that, I was in the military, which means as far as I'm concerned, you're a new recruit. You do as I say when I say it, and we won't have a problem. Clear?"

He nodded.

"Second thing: the work we do is what keeps us alive. Tending the fields, digging latrines, feeding livestock—every bit of it matters, and if I catch you slacking off, you will face consequences. This isn't the old world where you could call in sick if you didn't feel like showing up for work. Out here, if you don't work, you starve." She paused, just for a moment. "Or your battery runs out. Whatever. Am I understood?"

He nodded again.

"Good. We're out in the fields today. Come on."

He followed her to a large tent at the edge of camp. Unlike most of the tents, with their sheer walls and flexible support poles, this one was made of thick canvas supported by a heavy frame. Where other structures could easily be moved, this one was clearly intended to be permanent, built to stand strong against wind and rain. Souma pulled the entry flap aside, gesturing for him to go ahead.

An array of tools lined the edges of the tent, some suspended on hooks attached to the tent's metal frame, others lying on tarps spread across the ground. He saw sledgehammers, shovels, rakes, and brooms, all neatly organized. In the center of the tent, three rows of shelves held smaller items—jars of screws, bolts, and nails; containers ranging from the sort of plastic pails a child might use to build a sandcastle to sturdy five-gallon buckets, some of which contained cords, ropes, even strings of lights, like those that might have once adorned evergreens during the holiday season; and countless other assorted objects that these people had scavenged from what little remained of human civilization.

Souma retrieved a wheeled cart from the corner of the tent and pulled it along the dirt path between the tarps. "Help me get this plow onto the wagon," she said, pointing to a worn device at her feet. Obediently, Syaoran crouched down to grab it, lifting it into the wagon. The blades of the plow had been cleaned since their last use, but he could still see bits of dirt wedged in the crannies of the device, and the scent of upturned earth and manure drifted faintly through the air.

"It seems late in the season to begin planting," he said, careful to modulate his tone.

"Arashi says we can get one more harvest in before it gets too cold," Souma said. "She grew up on a farm, so she knows her business. Grab that bag," she added, pointing to a burlap sack. The label woven into the fabric claimed it was filled with coffee beans, but another label sticking out from the top marked them as English Peas.

Between the peas and the plow, the wagon was already overburdened. Souma added several palm-sized packets of seeds into the cart, then started for the exit. Syaoran towed the wagon along behind him, following her outside, down a path worn into the dirt. As they made their way down the path, a pair of figures approaching from the opposite direction drew his eye. He zoomed in automatically, studying them.

The first man was tall—six-foot-two—with black hair, and wore a dark cloak over his shoulders. His eyes were mismatched: one black, the other a misty purple-grey. That one must be bionic, Syaoran thought. Advancements in the field of genetics had allowed for a wide array of eye colors, but the fact that the eyes did not match indicated one was a replacement.

The second man was four inches shorter and also dark-haired, with lean, almost feminine features. The shape of his face, particularly around the chin, was strangely familiar. Syaoran ran a quick comparative analysis and found this man's features almost identical to Kamui's. This must be Subaru, then, he thought. Kurogane had talked about Kamui's brother on the drive here, and he'd heard others mention the name as he'd awaited the verdict from his trial.

"So it's true," said the unfamiliar man as they drew close. "Fuuma said we had a new arrival. A Clockwork Automaton, hmm? Interesting."

"Get lost, Seishirou," Souma said, pausing in the middle of the path. "I've got work to do, and I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on him."

Subaru shifted his weight, eyes flickering to Syaoran's face, then away. Not hostile, Syaoran guessed. But uneasy. It was a gentler reaction than most he'd faced when Kurogane had presented him for trial, and it gave him hope that he might be able to earn the trust of these people, regardless of their initial reaction to him.

"I merely wished to see him for myself," Seishirou said, smiling benevolently at him. Syaoran felt his eyebrows pull together as he studied the man's expression. By all metrics, he appeared sincere, and yet his apparent warmth was so contrary to the other reactions Syaoran had received that he could not be sure of the accuracy of his analysis. "I missed his arrival while I was out scavenging. It seemed prudent to make introductions."

Souma sighed. "Seishirou, Subaru, this is Syaoran. Syaoran, this is Seishirou and Subaru. There. You've made introductions."

Seishirou ignored her, making an elegant bow. "A pleasure to meet you, Syaoran."

"And you as well," he said, returning the bow. Regardless of Seishirou's potentially deceptive smile, he didn't want to offend the man by rebuffing his attempt at friendliness.

"We should probably get going," Subaru said, ducking his head slightly when Seishirou looked at him. "We still need to report in."

"Ah, of course." Seishirou smiled again, nodding first to Souma, then to Syaoran. "Until next time."

Souma said nothing, moving so she bumped shoulders with Seishirou as she walked by. Uncertainly, Syaoran pulled his cart to the side, allowing them to pass, then hurried to catch up to Souma. Would it be appropriate to ask what was wrong? His databases suggested that would be the normal response, but his position in the group was so precarious. He couldn't risk a misstep, and this situation was too delicate for his current abilities. Better to remain silent and hope for another opportunity.

A few minutes later, he caught sight of a patch of greenery amidst the pale, cracked earth that dominated the landscape. His vision zoomed in automatically, cataloging the rows of plants, classifying them into subgroups. He saw corn, peas, beans, spinach, chickpeas, even sorghum, which would fare well in times of drought. Syaoran did several quick calculations, assessing approximate yields and comparing them to the calories and nutrients the people of this camp would require to survive through the less bountiful months. This alone will not be sufficient to last the winter, he thought, allowing his vision to zoom out to its normal focus. That could be problematic, if this last-minute planting did not produce enough to make up the difference. Was there another field elsewhere, meant to supplement this one?

Aside from the fields, there were a number of livestock pens. The first three contained goats, several of which were currently being milked. The fourth pen contained half a dozen pigs, huddled in the mud, occasionally twitching to drive off the flies that landed on them. One of those pigs appeared to be heavily pregnant. Beyond that, an indeterminate number of chickens clucked loudly inside a coop partially covered with heavy tarp.

Past the chicken coop, a small stable had been erected, housing a trio of horses, each heavily built. Souma led him to the first stall, where a gray-spotted mare stood, nibbling hay from a small stack in the corner. "Leave the cart," Souma told him, opening the stable door. Syaoran released the wagon's handle, watching as Souma coaxed the mare out of her stall with soft murmurs. After a few moments, the horse calmed, allowing Souma to fit a harness over her back."This is Dreamstrider. She spooks easily, so don't made any sudden moves or loud noises, and don't stand directly behind her unless you want her to kick your skull in."

Syaoran nodded, moving to attach the plow to Dreamstrider's harness. Before he could, Souma grabbed him by the shoulder. He went perfectly still, save for his eyes, which darted up to her face, analyzing her expression. A dent had formed between her eyebrows as they'd slanted, and she flexed her jaw slightly, glowering at him. Annoyance, he guessed. He bowed his head in contrition and stepped back, awaiting a rebuke.

Souma sighed. "They didn't program you with much common sense, did they?"

"My creators prioritized the accumulation of data as a means of—"

She made a dismissive sweep with her hand. He fell silent, chastened. "Look, I know this is outside your usual functioning, but you have to remember that you're dealing with a living creature here. Horses are skittish. You need to introduce yourself before you try touching them. Here." She grabbed his hand, lifting it up so that it hung in front of Dreamstrider's muzzle. The horse inhaled, then huffed out a breath before nudging Syaoran's hand with her nose, her muzzle velvet-soft and warm to the touch. After a moment, she withdrew, seemingly uninterested, and Syaoran carefully went about attaching the plow to her harness, simultaneously skimming through a handful of articles on horses.

"Huh," Souma said, frowning. "Usually takes her longer than that to get used to someone new."

Syaoran evaluated the statement and decided it would be wise to remain silent. After a moment, Souma led him to the edge of the field, where a section of soil lay fallow. Plant debris had been scattered across the field, likely from an earlier harvest, and a breeze carried the pungent scent of manure to the chemical sensors in his nose.

"Lead her from one end of the field to the other, then turn around to start another row," Souma said. "Come find me when you're done, and I'll show you how to sow seeds."

He nodded, leading Dreamstrider down the field. The plow cut into the soil wherever they walked, upturning fresh earth and leaving loamy furrows behind them. It was a simple task, but as he led Dreamstrider up and down the field, he caught some of the other members of Souma's work detail watching him. A woman with sleek black hair regarded him coolly as she milked the goats. A lanky man with unkempt hair plucked ears of sweetcorn from their stalks, scowling at him. He recognized Yuzuriha from the jury, working alongside Kusanagi as they hauled buckets of water from a nearby well to a large metal cistern at the edge of the field. Neither of them looked his way, but the tension in their postures when they passed near him declared their feelings quite clearly.

Averting his eyes, Syaoran instead turned his attention to the pipes attached to the cistern. Several branching pipelines, each controlled by a valve, stretched above the rows of plants, spaced several feet apart. An irrigation system, Syaoran realized, turning Dreamstrider around to carve another row of furrows into the dirt. It was obvious, looking at it, that it had been crafted from spare parts. Many of the pipes were mismatched, either in size or material, and when Kusanagi opened the valve on one of the pipes, Syaoran spotted several leaks at the joints so that, rather than drizzling onto the soil by the plants, the water flowed into the dirt between rows, wasted.

I could fix that, he thought, taking half a step in the direction of the pipe before remembering the task he'd been assigned. He still had twelve rows to plow to fulfill Souma's orders. Something to consider for later, he decided. The design of the irrigation system was flawed and inefficient, yes, but it was functional, and in any case, they likely didn't have access to the materials necessary to improve it. If I could return to the waste management facility, I could manufacture parts that would fit together. It was a foolish hope. Even if the people of this camp did decide to return to the facility to scavenge supplies, it was unlikely they would permit him to accompany them. He did not require a comprehensive understanding of human interaction to know he was untrusted here.

It took the better part of an hour to finish the area Souma had ordered him to plow. When he was done, he led Dreamstrider back to the wagon and unfastened the plow from her harness before going in search of Souma. He found her shucking corn near the chicken coop. "I've finished plowing the fields," he informed her.

She grunted, finished peeling the husk from the ear of corn in her hand, then stood and walked over to the wagon, tossing the sack of English Pea seeds toward him. He caught it, his joints straining slightly. His steel bones and synthetic muscles gave him the strength of a healthy adult male, and if necessary he could reduce the psychological barriers which prevented him from using his full strength, much in the same way a human could ignore their normal limits when flooded with adrenaline. Doing so, however, risked damaging his joints or muscles.

Keeping him from harm did not appear to be a priority here. Then again, most of the adults in this camp were more heavily built than usual, due to the labor required to sustain this camp, so perhaps Souma simply hadn't realized he could incur injury from catching a heavy sack of seeds. He followed her back to the field, where she showed him how to distribute the peas within the furrows carved by the plow.

Five minutes and twenty-two seconds after they started seeding the first row, he caught sight of one of the men he'd noticed before stalking over to them, pulling Dreamstrider along by the reins. At once, Syaoran straightened, alarm crackling in his circuits. Before the man could reach him, Souma interposed herself between them, hands on her hips. "What is it, James?"

James jabbed a finger in Syaoran's direction. "That robot forgot to put Dreamstrider back in her stable," he growled. Syaoran winced. "I caught her munching on the spinach! Do you know what spinach does to horses?"

Souma pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "No, I don't."

"Neither do I! For all we know, it could make her sick, maybe even poison her."

"I'm sure spinach isn't poisonous," Souma said.

"Maybe not to humans." He glowered at Syaoran, hands clenched at his side. Syaoran scanned his databases, but none of the articles specifically referenced the effects of spinach on equines. "You can't just leave a horse unsupervised like that. Why didn't you put her back in the stable?"

He hesitated, rapidly sorting through the guilt surging through his emotional network. Despite the vast store of information in his possession, it simply hadn't occurred to him to bring Dreamstrider back to the stable. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

James's teeth clenched with an audible click. "You're supposed to be smarter than other robots. Why don't you use that big brain of yours instead of leaving messes for everyone else to clean up?"

"That's enough," Souma said sharply. "He understands his mistake. It won't happen again."

James spat, deep ridges carved into his face as he cast one last glare in Syaoran's direction. "He'd better not," he grumbled, hauling Dreamstrider along behind him as he walked away. Syaoran looked down, a handful of seeds still clutched in his fingers. He hadn't even considered what to do with Dreamstrider after he'd removed the plow from her harness. I should have, he thought. It seemed so obvious in hindsight.

"Don't worry about James," Souma said, turning back to him. "He seems harsh, but he's a decent guy once you get to know him. Sort of."

Unable to come up with a suitable response, Syaoran merely nodded.

"We'd better get back to work." Souma grabbed another fistful of seeds. "We've got a lot to do before the day is over; we don't have time to stand around worrying."


Author's Notes:

So for those of you who are wondering who James is, he's one of the characters from Jade Country (you know, the one who accused the TRC gang of being involved in the disappearances and then pointed a shotgun at Kurogane). He wasn't named in the manga, but he seemed to fit well enough here that I decided to explore his character a little bit. He'll be important later.

It should also be noted that I've never actually worked on a farm, or even spent any significant amount of time on one. I've done what research I can to make these scenes as authentic as possible, but it's entirely possible that I've messed something up. So if any of you know a lot about farming or agriculture, please feel free to point out anything that I got wrong, and I'll do what I can to fix it. And thanks, as always, to everyone who has read and reviewed.