taught to do, which was to think of death as little as possible, and to think of it, when you did, as a worthy and valuable aspect of government. Death prevented suffering. It cured suffering. When imposed by government, it increased fairness, by making sure that no one used more resources than she deserved. It was good, when meted out by wise leaders. It made society run smoothly. Or so she'd been taught.
None of that mattered now. She was in darkness, facing a blinding light.
She thought she heard a kind voice inviting her to remember something from a class she'd had on ancient worldviews, and to reconsider the advice to despise it.
She wasn't sure she could. She wasn't sure she should. She'd had the same temptation before, in good times, while soaking in the beauty of the world. Having practiced batting the temptation away then, she batted it away now.
She thought she heard the kind voice asking her to seek The Truth, behind the light, and accept help in understanding what she was up against, and why it mattered. Instead she tried to hide from it.
That failing, she tried to pretend it wasn't there.
That failing, she trembled, and cried out to the cave to collapse on her, as if layers of rock and dirt could shield her from what was coming.
The dugout not complying, she tried to pretend that nothing mattered now.
Renzo was feeling pretty good about how things were going. No one had asked him about the herder. The cattle had followed their noses to untrammeled spring grass, leaving the haystack behind. He wondered about them from time to time, but on the whole he liked that they'd taken themselves out of eyeshot. It removed the intermittent, illogical sense of responsibility for them that had bothered his conscience. All in all, it looked like his plan was going to work out. He'd even burned the photos and note, finally, so now that worry was gone, too.
But then a helicopter landed by the haystacks, deposited a new Collie, and left. It was a rainy day, and the woman sat on a hay bale. And sat. And sat. Her large hat brim and scientifically designed coat kept her from getting soaked, but there still seemed no reason for her to just sit there.
After dinner, Renzo peeked down the hill again. She was still there. Unfortunately, she seemed to see him. She didn't wave or anything extravagant like that, but Renzo couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen him, and perhaps was wondering why he'd looked down at her, when it wasn't necessarily his business to do so. He decided that the best course of action was to go down and see if she needed help. Needing help would explain why she just sat there. Perhaps she was tangled in twine from a hay bale, or something like that. That seemed unlikely, but it seemed at least possible. When he got to her, she looked at him with the dull acceptance that was almost universal in breed schools, but slightly less common out in the field. Apparently it didn't occur to her that he would come down if it wasn't his duty to do so.
She was older than Julia, perhaps even close to the cutoff age of 50. There was a strong physical resemblance, but this woman seemed a distortion of Julia, instead of a relative.
Feeling it his duty to initiate conversation, Renzo said, "Greetings, Citizen. I am Citizen Officer Renzo, Birdwatcher. My headquarters are just up the hill."
"I know. I was properly briefed. I am Citizen Herder Vitamin."
"Are you here to replace Citizen Herder Julia?"
"I am here to count the cattle, when they come back. Cattle always come home in the morning and in the evening to be milked."
"I hope you are right, probably you are right – I am a birdwatcher and not a herder, and do not pretend to know such things – but they have not been here for days. And these are beef cattle, not dairy cattle. Perhaps the helicopter pilot put you down in the wrong place?"
Vitamin laughed. "Helicopter pilots never set people down in the wrong place. If you are testing me to see if I know that sort of thing, you might as well save your breath. I have scored well in tests for thirty years now." She pulled out her Informer and pulled up her test scores. "See?" she said, pushing it into his face.
"Very admirable scores," he said.
She pulled the Informer back, and pulled up another list of achievements. "I have excellent credentials in my specialty, too," she said. She again thrust the Informer in his face.
"Very admirable credentials," he said. "I will be going now, unless you need help with something."
"I do not need any help."
This wasn't quite good enough for Renzo, now that he'd acquired a taste for helping people. "If you experience difficulties with the power supply, I have been trained in restoring power to remote facilities," he said.
"It is fully charged. I will have no problems," Vitamin assured him, again flourishing her Informer.
"At herder headquarters, I mean," he said, pointing at the hut across the river.
"Oh, I am not going to go into that jurisdiction! I am only going to count the cattle and then I will be picked up and will go back to breed headquarters."
"Carry on, then, Citizen," Renzo said, taking his leave.
He'd found multiple locations by now from which he could watch the haystack area with little chance of being seen by somebody there. To his dismay, none of his otherwise splendid locations struck him as being safe from helicopter pilots, who might report him acting strangely if they saw him covertly watching Vitamin. Nor, for that matter, did he find it enjoyable to watch Vitamin, who continued to sit in one place, confident that the beef cows who had never been milked, who had moved on to grass, would nevertheless 'come home' to the years-old haystacks to be milked. She was dull, and old, not at all like 'his' herder. Still, for a while he pretended to have scientific surveys to do along the river. But pretending to be busy didn't seem to be doing much good. It also seemed to open him up to questions as to why he wasn't at his cabin, where he was expected to be this time of day. So he went back to his cabin, to be on the safe side. He snuck out just before dark, only to see Vitamin still sitting on the same hay bale. There were no cows in sight.
He wasn't sure he had time to get down to the cave and back before it got too dark to be walking outside. Not unless he ran. Running would look suspicious. He couldn't bear the idea of looking suspicious, not now that he had so much to lose.
He went back into his cabin, and paced. He had a stack of food on the table, ready to take to Julia. Afraid that Vitamin might walk up the hill – he'd had a herder at his door before, after all – he put the food away, resolving that he'd give Julia double rations in the morning, to make up for missing her evening feeding today.
He looked around the cabin, to make sure there wasn't any trace of anything suspicious. Satisfied that he was ready for an inspection, he crawled into bed. He woke three times during the night, but stayed in the cabin, it being beyond explaining why he would look down the hill in the middle of the night.
In the morning, he opted for an early bird count. Vitamin was still at her post. There were still no cattle in sight.
Renzo began to despair. If she didn't leave soon, he'd have to risk a trip to the cave, regardless of the danger. Otherwise Julia might starve, and that was one of the precise fates he meant to prevent by keeping her hidden from officials who might mistakenly declare her an experson.
He heard a helicopter. He'd never been so glad to hear a helicopter approaching. It landed near Vitamin, who climbed on board with no hint of frustration at not having been able to count any cattle. The helicopter flew away. Renzo counted to two hundred. There was no sign of the helicopter coming back. He went quickly to his cabin, gathered up a triple portion of food (reasoning that he should leave extra at the cave, in case he was ever thwarted again), and hurried to the hiding place.
Julia was on the ground in front of the dugout. She had dragged herself out into the sunshine. She was dead.
Renzo didn't want to touch her body, now that it was dead, but he resolutely dragged it to the river and rolled it in, to get rid of the evidence. He watched it until it disappeared from sight. He washed his hands carefully – one should always wash
one's hands carefully after handling a dead animal, scientists said so – and gathered up his food and went home.
He threw himself back into his work. Every duty was done right on time, with exemplary exactness. He cleaned his cabin like it hadn't been cleaned in decades. He tidied up the trail to the observation point. Having done that, he abruptly decided that another spot, one that (just coincidentally, of course) didn't provide a view of anywhere Julia used to work, would be a better survey base. He'd let his hair grow a bit too long for breed standards. He took scissors and remedied that shortcoming. He mended his uniform. He did extra surveys, plant as well as animal.
The cattle came back. Insanely, he automatically looked to them for clues on where Julia would be. It shocked him that he'd forgotten, even for an instant, that she was dead. To his relief, the cattle soon grazed their way out of sight again. Now and then for a while after that, though, he would recollect their passing through, and ponder how they could look so healthy, with no herder to watch them. He thought cattle needed constant care. It bothered him that they seemed all right.
Perhaps Julia's life had been worthless?
This was an unfortunate thought, in more ways than one. He began to wonder if his own job was worthwhile. He began to suspect that it wasn't. Birds would come and go, regardless. His puny