Chapter 23
Pierre Nivelle looked at the heaps of wheat he had harvested since the early morning.
The new shell of the semi-automatic lawnmower was simply fantastic. It cut the physical labor by a factor of ten. A team of five people could match the yield of a traditional thresher, using just ten percent of the fuel. The clock on the reality-augmentation glasses of the exoskeleton showed it was six o’clock of July 13th, 2039. It was time to rush home to prepare for the celebration of the 250 years of the French Revolution. But he had to wait for the cart to come to collect the harvest.
He looked around and zoomed on the country road that led to the village of Malves in Minervois, located in Southern France. He spotted a cart, pulled by two oxen, which was slowly approaching. With a blink of his eyes, he zoomed further. It was driven by Robert Galliot, the guy who had just arrived from Paris with his partner and two kids the week before. The lawnmower’s shell had a tracking system that estimated Robert would reach him in fifteen minutes. Pierre made a quick calculation. It would take him another hour to load the cart and then he would be back home in Malves at about half past seven. He sent a text to his wife and lighted a cigarette.
When the cart arrived, Pierre greeted the newcomer by waving the carbon fiber mower blade and saying a loud “Bonsoir, Robert!”. The newcomer stopped the cart, a bit surprised, and Pierre realized that his new village neighbor still had to get used to his new farm life.
“Ah, pardonnez-moi, I forgot that it looks weird to new settlers, but you will get used to it, just like I did.” Pierre said, starting to shovel the wheat on the cart. He didn’t need to shout, as Robert was wearing a helmet with remote audio connection.
“How long have you been living here? Or rather, how long did it take you to adapt to your new life?” Robert asked, “I am a bit shocked by the new rhythm, if I have to tell you.”
“It all depends on your previous life,” Pierre replied, “What was your old job?”
“I used to manage a small fitness club in Vélizy, in the outskirts of Paris,” Robert replied, “after the war broke out, back in 2034, I lost all customers in less than two years. They all used to work in the nearby offices, and most of them lost their jobs in just a few months. I then joined a private security company. You know, life in Paris became more and more dangerous with all the revolts due to unemployment and racial riots, but I lost this job too, since people started to flee the cities and went back to the countryside, where instead labor was in high demand to replace machines that farmers could no longer operate due to the high cost of fuel.
I tried to keep up with temporary jobs, but when I could no longer afford the price of food and heating, I decided to move. I found an opening here, and joined the farm of M. de Maindreville, who seems to be the big owner around here. At least we get food and some medical care.”
Pierre let Robert finish his story, he did not find the resentment he had felt when he had left Lyon three years before. “I think you’re on the right path. I can tell you, for clerks, especially high level white-collars like myself, it’s much harder. At least you were already used to an outdoor, physical job. You just have to get used to the bio-gas plant smell,” he chuckled.
“What was your job, if I may ask?” Robert replied promptly, keeping an eye on the right ox, who seemed to be growing more impatient as it was under the attack of a swarm of horseflies.
“I was the retail marketing director at a company specialized in children food. I lost my job in the second wave of mass cuts, back in 2036. It was not easy to adapt to the new life, no more fuel-intensive lifestyle with business trips and working in air-conditioned offices all year round. I kind of enjoy it now, but many couldn’t handle it and eventually went back to the cities, where they typically drag themselves around, just barely surviving off of government subsidies and borderline jobs, till they either become criminals or enroll in the military. I think you will do better to stay put.”
“How is the winter here?” Robert started to like his new neighbor, “I heard that that is the toughest part, but here in the South it should be easier to stand.”
“The problem with the cold is its side effects. You tend to fall ill often, especially the elder and kids. True, you get free antibiotics anytime you need them, but I have the feeling this is not really helping. If you spend a few minutes browsing on the site of the Ministry of Health, you see that deaths keep rising. Last year, around three-hundred thousand people died in France alone of some kind of flu, and more than one million in the rest of Europe. We are just making the bacteria stronger every time.”
“Putain, c’est vrai,” Robert replied, “that’s why the better off from North Europe are flocking to the South.”
“Ah, sure,” Pierre continued, “In Tresbes, the village next to ours, there is a small Dutch colony that settled there in 2037. They bought out at high price a few abandoned houses and restructured them. They are all in the mid-forties, I think they are actually older, it’s just Telomerax that’s keeping them alive. They are good guys, unlike the Russian rich who camp out at Carcassonne, and drink vodka all day. I went there last week and…” Pierre voice lowered, he realized that Robert was no longer listening to him and was busy looking at Pierre’s shell. His eyes seemed to be admiring it so Pierre decided to point it out.
“If you are wondering if this is mine, it isn’t. It belongs to Mr. de Maindreville, just like anything around Malves en Minervois. It would take three full years of my salary to buy one. But since I have never created problems here at the farm, I was promoted to field team leader and got the opportunity to use one of the five the boss has bought. They build them in Toulouse, eighty miles away from here, in the old Airbus aerospace industries. The demand for jetliners suddenly disappeared, so they reconverted their carbon-fiber structure production lines for agricultural machinery….and armored variants for the front, of course.”
“I know,” Robert replied, “Those bastards are making even more money now than when they sold planes. I learned that all their managers can still afford cars. I tried to get hired in the security, but nope….”
“Don’t take it too badly. After all, you can enjoy the Southern summer sunshine just like they do and..”
Pierre was about to finish his sentence, when the right ox whipped his tail around, attempting to get rid of the horseflies. It missed the target, and hit Robert in the face, after he had inadvertently come too close to the animal. He almost fell from the cart, but Pierre was quick enough to catch him from falling.
“Putain, fucking cow! I hate this!” Robert was screaming, trying to hit back at the ox. Pierre tried to calm him down.
“Ok, no worries, you have no serious injury. It could’ve costed you an eye, now sit back. The cart is full, go take it back to your farm. In a few weeks you feel at home, believe me.”
Robert let a few minutes pass, then he rolled his head to relax himself, “I am not sure I will ever get used to this, there must be another alternative….”
Pierre had seen this before. It was the refusal to have one’s lifestyle moved back two hundred years, what the scholars - those who had managed to cling to the very few sociology professions left - called the ‘connected feudalism’.
“Look, Robert, let me be very clear with you,” Pierre said, removing the shell from the lawnmower and sitting on the cart next to Robert. “You have only three options. Either you adapt here, or you move back to the urban shit you have just left. Or you could always go to the Volunteer Enrollment Center in Carcassonne. You know what the odds are there.”
“I heard that the survival rate at the front is somehow better than the seventy-percent they advertise,” Robert continued immediately, “It might be as high as eighty-percent. That means you have four chances out of five of making it back home after one year on the front. And then, you have the right to the equivalent of five years of fuel consumption. It means you can have your house heated and drive your car whenever you want for five years. Plus free Telomer
ax, and guaranteed government jobs; for you and your family. Even if you die, your family gets half of the benefits.”
Pierre realized Robert had made his decision, even though he did not want to confess it to himself yet. There was no use to tell him to go watch all the war videos available.
“Ok, Robert, listen, just do me one favor. Please enroll after the harvest, in September. If you do so, I will write a good report for you, so your chances of ending up in a better sector of the front may increase. Now let’s take the cart back to the granary. I am already late for dinner and tomorrow we have to celebrate Revolution Day at the Castle square.”
Robert burst into laughter.
“You mean, we will celebrate July 14th in front of the house of M. de Maindreville?”
“Well, yes, the Castle used to belong to the municipality, but about one year ago M. de Maindreville made an offer the mayor could not refuse, if he wants to fix the public finances. The Castle now belongs to M. de Maindreville, however he is very conscious of his community duties. He has pledged to keep the local public Internet room working on half of the ground floor, and keep it heated in winter at his own expenses.”
“I see,” Robert grinned. “We are going to celebrate the Revolution in the courtyard of our new local lord.”