Farmboy - The Novel is a Dream Machine Site The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web

When it struck a victim who would eventually survive, that person would lapse into a feverish coma for a few days. Then, like Michael, he or she would awake momentarily, then fall into unconsciousness again for another couple of days. Nothing much could be done for the patients during this time. Whether each survived depended upon factors that the human race would not understand for many centuries. Most who would die, died within the first few hours, a day at most.

Bozo had directly innoculated Michael, so he came down with the fever within hours. Those who picked it up from other animals, took a week or two to get to this phase. Furthermore, because of the nature of the virus, children were most often spared its effects. Often, it was children that saw adults through the first stages of the illness. Of course, many people who might have survived, died when they were unable to receive adequate assistance. All in all, somewhat over ninety two percent of all living human beings died from the virus. The survivors, half of them children, slowly began to repair civilization.

This sounds like it would be nearly impossible, but eight percent of the world's population was almost a half billion people, larger than the entire population of the world at the start of the industrial revolution. So, while reconstruction was painful and difficult, it was not impossible. The plague destroyed no human knowledge nor any real property. The victims either died quickly and were buried, at first one at a time by survivors, later by the hundreds and thousands, bulldozed into giant pits.

At first, people concentrated on forming some sort of organizing entity, a government of sorts, at the local level. Someone had to decide what had to be done and try to organize people to do it. First, surviving neighbors got together and, after disposing of the dead, began to button down empty houses to prevent fires. The utilities, electricity, gas and water, were mostly still working, partly because these facilities had long ago been mostly automated, and because surviving utility workers, mainly in order to stave off depression at what was going on, hung around the plants and kept things going as best they could. Of course, the remaining people were close to despair and madness, but the mere fact that not everyone had succumbed and that there were so many children alive, kept hope alive and kept them going.

Of course, there were many fires and very few firemen left to put them out. Whole neighborhoods, unable to control the blazes, simply burned to the ground. The sky was clouded with smoke and ash for several months after the disaster began, but eventually the fires subsided. What was going to burn, had burned. Yet there remained sufficient shelter to adequately house everyone alive, and the continuing disasters brought those people together like never before in human history.

At first only minimal survival was practiced. Food was an issue, but there were many warehouses filled with food and when that supply was depleted, there were also many vehicles available and gasoline in storage tanks to fuel them, to allow forays into the countryside to garner food from abandonned farms and fields, or cooperating farmers.

Money wasn't of much use, as it quickly became apparent that it had no real value, but barter quickly supplanted it as the major means of commerce. Looting, if that word can describe the taking of deserted goods and property, was widespread. The seized materials were either quickly used, or traded for other more necessary items.

Within an amazingly short period of time, most cities were running again. Telephone service was restored. Along with the telephone, the Internet began to function again. It took many months for a significant portion of the world to be back online, but people could almost immediately communicate with people in their own city. A whole generation of teenagers and young adults had cut their teeth on the Net, and they helped enormously to get it functioning again. Next, a few radio and TV stations came back on line. City, then state and finally national emergency governments were constituted. This was all possible because it was easiest for people to just do whatever they had been doing before the catastrophe. Those that occupied niches that were no longer essential, like insrance agents or banking employees were quickly pressed into service carrying out more useful work.

Soon the survivors began to notice changes. The first to notice were the elderly. As their bodies became younger and sdtronger, they couldn't help but notice the change. Used to seeing ever more wrinkles and sagging in the mirror, they were suddenly noticing that wrinkles were disappearing, breasts and pot bellies were firming up, hair was growing back. This too softened the blow of so much death and destruction.

Those who had AIDS or cancer, but who survived the plague, quickly became aware that their illnesses had vanished. If this weren't miraculous enough, paraplegics and quadraplegics began to grow new spinal cord tissue and began to recover the use of their limbs. Scars disappeared and new skin replaced them. Nor would it be long before health workers discovered that the surviving human beings had gained many more capabilities, like the ability to regrow arms, legs and missing organs, that no animals above the level of salamanders had ever had before.

Most people regarded these events as miracles from God visited upon them in return for the terrible grief and suffering they had endured during the plague. It was not until some semblence of national communications was restored before scientists and laymen alike began to understand the scope of what had happened. Gradually the whole story was pieced together, but some of it, for example the drastically lowered birth rate, took many months to discover. It seems that sex and reproduction were not particularly high on anyone's list of priorities.

When Michael finally awoke from his coma, he was unable to bring himself to talk to Bozo for several days. The thought of what must be going on in the rest of the world appalled him, causing his stomach to churn uncontrollably during every waking moment. His phone line was out and the electricity was off. When he turned on the emergency generator, which he kept in case of storms, he could find nothing but static on his radio or TV. Bozo, as if he understood what Michael was going through, did not speak to him nor in any way interact with him, spending most of the time somewhere outside the house doing things that Michael could only imagine. When he did reenter the house, he stayed standing in the kitchen completely motionless, his robotic "patience" without limit.

Michael kept trying the radio and after a week or so, a few stations appeared on the dial for portions of the day. Not much except emergency bulletins were being aired. The Upper Midwest, being the first to be infected, was also the first to recover. As Minnesota, Iowa and Wisconsin struggled back into some semblance of normalcy, the rest of the world was exploding into turmoil. Some places endured much greater hardship than the United States, some much less, but it soon became clear that nowhere had been spared. Reports of the disaster were sketchy at best. But Michael, armed with the special knowledge provided him earlier by Bozo had probably the best idea of anyone on Earth of what exactly was happening. The hardest thing for him to endure, the thought that he tried not to entertain but which would not go away, was the certainty that almost everyone he had ever known was probably dead. This included his children, his few friends and acquaintences and, most likely, Martha. Michael was not as cold and calculating as Bozo, but he understood probabilities. Nine out of ten losers is lousy odds.

Michael decided to remain on the farm. There was no point taking part in the turmoil that was undoubtedly taking place in the cities and he needed time to think. He had enough food and supplies on hand to last him many months. Food harvested from his farm would extend the moment of truth a little longer. Having decided all this, he finally spoke to Bozo. "I have decided to stay on the farm." he announced matter of factly.

Bozo responded as if they had just stopped conversing a few moments ago. "This is probably a good idea. We need to make some plans." he said, equally matter of factly.

"What do we do next?" asked Michael.

"Nothing for about a year." said Bozo. "How do you feel?"

"How do I feel? How do you think I feel? Terrible!" Michael blurted, losing his temper despite himself. He knew it was pointless to be perturbed with this creature, but he just couldn't control his anger.

"Your health has not improved?" asked Bozo.

"Oh, sure. That way I feel just fine." answered Michael. In fact, he realized that he had never felt better. Despite his depression, his mind was clear, he felt strong and healthy.

"What then feels...terrible?" asked Bozo, hesitating slightly on the last word.

"My feelings, my emotions, my mental health." Michael answered a little too quickly thinking to himself, "How could I expect a fucking robot to understand how I feel?"

"These things are difficult for me to grasp." said Bozo. "As a machine, I do not have what you call feelings, emotions, mental health. I calculate and communicate."

Changing the subject abruptly, Michael asked, "What do you mean that we should do nothing for a year? I thought we were going to 'invent' cold fusion to save the world."

The irony of saving a world where nine tenths of the population had just died a horrible death completely escaped Bozo. Instead, he merely responded, "The Earth will not be ready for new inventions for about one year." That was that.

So Michael resigned himself to dealing with his own mental problems by dealing with the details of surviving for a year without any outside help. He did an inventory of both his food supplies and the sundry incidentals. His gasoline supply was adequate to power the emergency generator for quite a while if he didn't drive around too much. What was the point of driving around, anyway? He knew what he would find. The lights on the horizon at night told him that fires were burning all around him, mostly in the distance. He did wonder which if any of his near neighbors had survived, but figured they would find him just as easily as he them.

For a month he spent his days tending the farm as he had always done. At night, he would sit and do some yoga exercises he hadn't practiced since he was a young man. He found they gave his mind some peace. He also read and re-read every book in the place, some as often as three or four times. Anything to keep from pondering what must be happening to the world.

He avoided talking with Bozo, something he was to wonder about later when he realized just how much knowledge this creature possessed. But, he just couldn't bring himself to exchange "pleasantries" with Bozo. He understood intellectually that Bozo was no more responsible for what he had happened to the Earth than the generator was for what was being said on the radio. But, emotionally, he could not but regard Bozo as one of the worst mass murderers in history. Their conversation consisted almost entirely of questions and answers about the details of running the farm. Bozo could and did help repair machinery, could feed the animals, could and did drive the tractor, tilling the fields. Michael would ask him to do something, he would comply.

There were many questions that he knew Bozo could answer. Where had he come from? How did his sapcecraft work? How was he constructed? But, Michael could not bring himself to care. For now, he just wanted to be whole again.

He found he was no longer interested in drinking at night. There was still some Jack Daniels left in the last bottle he had purchased, but he hadn't touched it since his awakening from the plague induced coma. Michael's sleep was curiously dreamless, or at least he recalled no dreams. He took this as a sign of mental "illness." His body, on the other hand, was quite a different story. When he looked in the mirror, he saw that his gray hair had disappeared, his pot belly had shrunk, his features had softened. He looked and felt like a teen ager. No, much better than he had felt at fifteen or at any time in his life. He was so ALIVE...but he just didn't care!

Each day the radio was also coming more alive with information. The world, civilization, was pulling itself back together. The human race had been dealt a terrible blow, but it was recovering. Had he cared, he would have found comfort in the rapid comeback of humanity. But, he simply stored the information as it came out of the radio like he, rather than Bozo, was the robot.

Finally, one day the phone service was restored. Michael had gotten into the habit of picking up the receiver each morning we he arose and checking for a dial tone. One morning there was one. He immediately began to call every number in his phone book. His children, Martha, even Randy the rifleman. There were no answers.

A bubble popped in his head. The apathy that had overcome him these many weeks vanished as though it had never been there. Suddenly he found himself consumed with curiosity. One question after another sprang into his mind, a torrent of inquisitiveness broke over him like the dam bursting. He called out for Bozo, who quickly appeared, as though he had doing nothing but awaiting Michael's summons.

"We have to talk" said Michael.

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities