The Sopaths (14 page)

“And I will call you Abner,” Bunty said. “Instead of ‘dear.’ You can call me Bunty, similarly.”

“We seem to have it,” Abner agreed, bemused.

They reached Sweetpea in midafternoon and drove into a convenient motel. But when Abner sought to register at the front office, the clerk shook his head. “You are the Pariah organizer,” he said. “There are better accommodations awaiting you at the Sweetpea Hotel.”

“Oh, we don’t seek anything special,” Abner said, taken aback. Normally they were anonymous despite being open about his name, Abner Slate, because few in the larger community paid much attention to Pariahs, and generally avoided them anyway. “We can’t afford anything fancy.”

“The cost is covered by the town,” the clerk assured him. “We want you to feel welcome here.”

Abner distrusted this, but didn’t want to make an issue. “Then we will gratefully accept, hoping it is not a case of misplaced identification. We’re really pretty ordinary folk.” What a whopper!

Soon enough they were ensconced in a luxurious suite complete with hot tub; kitchenette stocked with wine, beer, crackers, and chocolate milk; and a television in all five rooms. The children plunged into the hot tub while Abner and Bunty showered and changed. “It does seem like mistaken identity,” Bunty murmured. “Somehow they got the notion that we’re important.”

“I hope there isn’t a horrendous bill when they discover otherwise.” They were being careful to be completely normal in their mild confusion, because if there was a reason for this treatment, it might be that the local authorities had caught on to their real mission. There was no sign of any electronic spying devices, but of course there wouldn’t be.

In due course they all dried and changed into their good clothing, ready to contact the local Pariah chapter. Nefer was one of the children, perfectly emulating the excitement of the other two. None of them said anything important.

The phone rang. Abner answered it. “Mr. Slate, this is Mayor Jonathan Jones of Sweetpea Pariah. May we come to your suite to talk with you?”

“By all means!” Abner said warmly. “Maybe you can explain why we are being treated so much better than we deserve.”

The man laughed. “Perhaps. Fifteen minutes?”

“Sure.”

“If you need to use the bathroom, do it now,” Abner told the children sternly. “We don’t want to be fidgeting when company comes.”

“We won’t fidget,” Dreda promised.

“Much,” Clark said. “We’d rather watch that adult channel.”

“No,” Bunty said firmly. It was all part of their act for the cameras. The children were as curious as the adults were about this unusual treatment.

Jonathan Jones arrived promptly and was ushered in to the audience chamber. He was a large, bluff man with an ingratiating smile, a typical politician. Abner disliked him on sight, but suppressed his reaction as unreasonable.

Jones got straight to the point. “I instituted a local Pariah chapter because the sopath question is serious and we want it competently handled. We have no native sopaths here, but we do have survivors who fled from our neighbor town Sauerkraut. They can certainly use your help, and you will be meeting them soon. But I have a private concern.”

“We will keep your secret,” Abner said with a smile.

Jones did not smile in return. “I said private.” He glanced meaningfully at the children.

“Our children are part of our family,” Abner said. “They are survivors. They have experienced the worst. We do not hide things from them.”

“You are unusual.”

“We are united.”

Jones looked uncomfortable, but proceeded. “I assume that your itinerary will take you next to Sauerkraut.”

“It does,” Abner agreed.

“Do not go there. It may be dangerous for you.”

Well, now. “How so?”

“They have many sopaths there. In fact they pretty well run things. They desire to remain anonymous. If your visit threatens to compromise that anonymity, they would hardly hesitate to kill all of you.”

Bunty made a sharp intake of breath, and the children began to cry. All part of the act. They knew that sopaths were dangerous, especially when challenged.

“I did request privacy,” Jones reminded him. The man saw his caution vindicated.

“But we mean neither you nor them any harm,” Abner protested. “All we want to do is help their local Pariah chapter get organized.”

“Please do not play cute with me, Mr. Slate. You want to know what’s going on there. They can’t afford to be exposed. Unless you can convince them, or allow me to convince them, that you do not intend to report to Pariah, entering Sauerkraut would be suicide. I will answer any questions you have, to the best of my ability, on the condition that our situation is not publicized.”

“You are protecting the privacy of sopaths?” Abner asked.

“We have an understanding, and get along well with them. In fact, we handle the connections to the outside world, as they lack responsible adults. In return they provide labor and other services.”

“Services?” Bunty asked, frowning.

“Maid services, mainly, by their teens. Sauerkraut has some older ones, but younger ones participate too.”

“Sopaths?”

“They work for pay, just as others do.”

“Others call it prostitution,” Bunty said. “Just how old and young do they come?” Because of course the maids had to be underage. That didn’t bother sopaths, but should have bothered the employers.

Jones spread his hands, embarrassed. He glanced at the children, but they did not move and neither Abner nor Bunty yielded. “Our children know about sopath sex,” Abner said.

Jones shrugged and continued. “They are generally uneducated, and proffer what they can. Some are, um, aesthetic. There is a market. We do not inquire about the details.”

“We are beginning to appreciate why you don’t want your association of towns publicized,” Abner said dryly.

“We are dealing with sopaths,” Jones repeated. “They are not ordinary folk. We relate in what ways are feasible. It is mutually beneficial.”

Abner was growing increasingly annoyed. The man was a stuffed shirt, covering for a reprehensible trade in young flesh. But there was no point in trying to make an issue. They were indeed sopaths, who had to be dealt with on their own terms, or killed.

“If I may,” Bunty interposed, flashing a smile to melt the hardest heart. She was good at that. “We have a policy of not prying into sopath details either. But I am curious how you as mayor could have been victimized by a sopath.”

Jones grimaced. “No secret. My son was an incorrigible brat. I thought he would grow out of it. I did not know about sopaths then.”

“We, too,” Bunty said. “My son burned down our house.”

“We were driving to a key meeting. He refused to remain in the child harness. I rebuked him, then spanked him when he sassed me. I thought that would be the end of it, but when I resumed driving, he tore loose and attacked me. It was like having a vicious wild animal in my lap. I lost control of the car and we crashed. The boy was killed. So was my wife.” He shook his head. “
Then
I learned about sopaths, thanks to Pariah. I hate them all.” He took a breath. “But there are practical considerations, and the sopaths of Sauerkraut are disciplined and useful. As long as they remain that way, we tolerate them. In fact we do not need the participation of the national Pariah. We did not invite you here.”

So the lavish welcome was indeed a way to try to buy them off, so they would depart without prying further.

“Nevertheless we of the national Pariah are dealing with sopaths too,” Abner said. “We do understand. We are not here to expose titillating interactions. We want to tackle the larger picture, the very existence of sopaths, hoping to find a way to stop further sopath births. We will depart without awkwardness if you can clarify certain questions, so as to make further exploration unnecessary.”

“Ask,” Jones said tightly.

“How do you arrange to have no sopaths born in Sweetpea?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Mr. Slate, we simply do not know. We are blessed, and hope it remains that way. There is no secret method, no treatment or drug. We indulge normally, and no sopaths are born.”

“What of the visiting sopath maids?” Bunty asked. “Don’t some of them get pregnant?”

“Some do,” Jones agreed reluctantly. “Those that are old enough.” Which meant that those who were not old enough were also having sex. Abner understood, knowing Nefer. Age was no barrier to a sopath.

“Sopaths can’t raise babies,” Bunty said. “They would have no human love or patience, and the babies would soon die of neglect, or be beaten to death for crying. Do you allow that to happen?”

Jones looked distinctly uncomfortable. “We do not. Any who become pregnant here are allowed to remain here until they give birth. Then we take the babies and care for them.”

“And these children of sopaths—souled or sopath?”

“Souled, always.”

“So it’s not the parentage,” Abner said. “It must be the place.”

“So it seems,” Jones said. “We cannot explain it.”

“And babies born in Sauerkraut?”

“Sopaths, almost always. Few survive long.”

“Now this is significant,” Abner said, excited. “This is the first we have seen of locality. Sopaths are normally born randomly, as we understand it, depending on the thinness of the available global soul supply. Why is it different here?”

“We do not know.” Jones gestured with frustration. “But if the world knew, they would overwhelm us with pregnant visitors wanting to avoid the chance of giving birth to sopaths. We would be overrun, and our way of life destroyed. Surely you can appreciate our need for privacy.”

“We can,” Abner agreed. “But you can appreciate our need to solve the mystery. If there is something about Sweetpea that guarantees souls, and if we could discover it, we could make it available to the world and stop the sopath menace.”

“There is nothing. We have searched. We are completely ordinary, geographically, as is Sauerkraut. There is nothing in the ground, air or water.”

“But there is something,” Abner said. “We have to discover what it is.”

“Something different between the two towns,” Bunty said. “We must identify that difference.”

“Which means we have to move on to Sauerkraut,” Abner concluded.

“They are no more eager to have the world know than we are,” Jones said desperately. “The rush would expose them and destroy them also.”

“They want to keep on birthing sopaths?”

“No! Sopaths don’t want more sopaths. In fact they don’t much want pregnancy, either. They endure it here only because we provide the prospective mothers with excellent care for the duration, and they don’t have to work. We do it for the sake of their coming souled babies.”

“They don’t use contraceptives?” Bunty asked.

“They don’t have the patience for them. They just want to do what is fun, or what pays, and ignore any likely consequences. They are completely irresponsible.”

“And what of your residents, who are using them for sex,” Abner said. “They don’t take precautions either?”

“They are supposed to. Some have religious objections.” Which was perhaps a sufficient answer. The residents of Sweetpea might have souls, but they were no more responsible than anyone else. No more moral, either. Their religion forbade them using contraception, but not fornicating with children? Indeed, there was nothing special about this town.

“But if we solved the mystery, wouldn’t the sopaths benefit too?” Bunty asked.

“They may not care to look that far ahead.”

Which was the problem with sopaths. “I believe we will have to go on to Sauerkraut,” Abner said. “But we appreciate your warning. Now let’s get on to organizing your local Pariah chapter.”

“Can you at least commit to not spreading the word about Sweetpea’s lack of sopath births?”

“Pariah already knows,” Abner said. “But we have no interest in complicating your existence. We will let that aspect be, if possible.”

“Thank you. I will guide you to the assembly, which is ready for your attention.”

Soon they were in the gym where a number of people had gathered: men, women, children. A typical Pariah group. They applauded politely as Abner’s family entered.

Abner introduced himself and his family, and his mission to organize them into a chapter in touch with the national Pariah organization, and the family sang a folk song. That put the survivors in the mood, as it always did, because of Nefer’s magical voice. It was routine, and they were responsive. It seemed the mayor spoke only for himself in not wanting wider participation.

Then Abner plunged in to his real mission. “I understand that no sopaths are born in Sweetpea, and that all of you are refugees from Sauerkraut, where many sopaths are born.” He saw many nods of agreement. “You are a larger group than I usually encounter, so I will introduce my family, then we’ll break into two groups so that we can give attention to twice as many people in the time we have. Tomorrow we’ll be moving on to Sauerkraut.” He spoke casually, but was watching carefully for reaction.

He got it. “Don’t go there,” a woman said. “There are no Pariahs there. They are controlled by sopaths, and they can be vicious when crossed. We know.” Several others nodded agreement. They had encountered not only sopaths in their families, but sopaths in the town government, surely a horror. Their best course had been to flee.

“I’m sure you do,” Abner said. “But we are on the trail of a mystery: why are no sopaths born here in Sweetpea, and many born in Sauerkraut? We need to find out, and if we can’t get the answer here, we must go there.”

She was silent. The others looked nervous. They really were wary of Sauerkraut, for good reason.

He gave general advice on forming a full chapter and ad hoc temporary families, then split the family. Bunty and Clark would work with those interested in setting up a charter school, while he, Dreda, and Nefer would advise on instituting a nondenominational religious service.

When he had his group, he demonstrated how to do a hymn. This was where Nefer performed solo. She sang angelically, enchanting everyone present, as she always did. It motivated them to have choir.