Your Compost for My Soil
Short Story
The shifting of weight and the rocking of the boat broke Shepherd from the dream. The light of dawn was creeping through the shades. His inner clock would have woken him in another minute or two. He still felt a little cheated. The dream was peace. The dream was all.
Shepherd pulled on some shorts over his dark, lean frame while he wondered who could be visiting him so far from anyone or anything. He walked down the hall to the screen door. A large shipping crate sat on the bow of his small houseboat.
The delivery barge was already a hundred yards downriver. Shepherd raised his hand, and the robot manning the craft, four long arms shoving down into the water as oars, waved one of its many shorter appendages back at him.
Shepherd knelt and inspected the box. It was covered in shipping codes from more than ten worlds. It had traveled light years to be dropped at his door. Printed on one side of the box was the logo for Shepherd Industries.
He lifted the crate and carried it back inside the houseboat to set it by the kitchen table.
He then went about his chores for the day. He smiled when he thought about how this had been his dream. In his sleep, he was taking care of and taking data on these plants. Doing the work that he knew he was born to do. Now, he was going through the same steps with the same peace that it always gave him. He pondered that moment of frustration upon waking. There was really no reason for it. He was only shifting from one aspect of the dream to another.
He lightly ran his hands over the green. Tasted the minerals of the soil.
The plant specimens looked perfect. A few more cycles, and he would present his findings to the non-profit. These crops were healthy and sustainable. They could provide sustenance to thousands of worlds in need.
He glanced over at the package every so often. It was an annoyance, A chime in the middle of the dream.
Shepherd typed his notes into the tablet. He would need to wait until Nammu was further from her twin suns before he could send any information off-planet. Communication here was limited.
This made him think again of the box.
He stepped back to the bow of the ship and placed his index finger on the DNA scanner. Once the crate mechanics recognized him, the top slid open. Inside was a tiny computer chip resting atop a sealed red bag.
Shepherd touched the place behind his ear and felt the opening there. It had been many years since he had removed the chip that was placed in his head as a child. He took the new chip from the box and slid it in.
A hologram of an unknown woman appeared in front of him.
“I am sorry to inform you of the death of Bertram Shepherd - The sixteenth of his name. He has included a gift for you here. Something he says you asked for the last time you spoke. I am…”
Shepherd cut off the message.
His father was dead.
They had never seen eye to eye. He could not even stand to be in the same room with the man. He felt small tears form in his eyes.
Shepherd remembered the last conversation with his father, standing in the man’s office high in orbit above Earth.
“You will finish your frivolous studies and return here,” his father had demanded. “You are my namesake. Your destiny is to follow the family path.”
Shepherd had summoned his resolve. Had imagined the dead metal room enveloped in the plant life of a vibrant ecosystem. “Father,” he said. “You should see the suns set on the water of Nammu, feel the green alive in your hands.”
His father had looked at him with true anger in his eyes, “If you walk out that door, you will never walk back in.”
Shepherd had never heard his father say something so beautiful. He smiled.
His father’s anger turned to hurt, and Shepherd felt a moment of regret.
He turned to go.
“You will inherit this responsibility when I die, no matter what you think you want.”
Shepherd looked back for a moment. “Give the glory and the burden to one of your chosen underlings. This is not for me. If you want to leave me something, send me your compost for my soil. There is more use, more love, and more honor in the giving. Nourishment instead of trammel.”
Shepherd smiled again as he looked around at the gathered plants and felt the slow rock of the river below him. Then, he took the chip from the slot behind his ear and placed it on the table. He went to the box and opened the bag it contained.
Reaching in, he cupped a small handful of the compost, raised it to his nose, and breathed it in. Did he smell the slight musk of his father there, the tinge of his unmistakable scent?
Shepherd said a small prayer to the nature around him as he walked to the edge of the boat. He thanked his father for the final gift. The most important gift that the man had ever given him. Then, he dropped the small handful into the river. It was an honor that the dead man finally deserved. To dwell among the deep places. The dark quiet of Nammu’s womb.
He sniffed the clear air of the lazy river afternoon. Then, he moved back to the row of aquatic plants that surrounded the boat.
He was Bertram Shepherd. Now, the only of his name. Yet, his father was there with him. He would be in every sprout that he nurtured, every fruit that he labored for. A man who took so much would now help feed thousands of worlds.
It was time to get back to work, but he no longer toiled alone. His father was a part of the dream now, and all was at peace.
This story came from a conversation with some of my creative writing club members about the dystopian outlook of most science fiction. I asked them if they had heard of Solar Punk. A genre that I had read a little about but never tried to write. According to Wikipedia, Solar Punk is “a literary and artistic movement that envisions and works toward actualizing a sustainable future interconnected with nature and community.”
I don’t know if my story would completely fit the genre, but that was the inspiration for it.