The next two weeks passed in a haze of summer heat and windless days, the drone of crickets and cicadas an ever-present soundtrack in the background. Anna practiced flying every chance she could. The more she flew, the more her body adapted to a completely different set of mechanisms and movements. She learned about air currents and how to ride the afternoon updrafts. If you could read the changes in temperature and humidity just right, air had a noticeable texture. No longer confined to a flat plane, even her vision began to change as she learned to better judge distances and angles and shadows.
Flying became a game in which every surface was a challenge. She learned to land gently on tree limbs or leap from fence post to fence post or ricochet off barn walls to gather momentum. She practiced flying through the woods—learning to speed up in a clearing and roll, pitch, and yaw like a bird to avoid tree branches. She sat on the uppermost branch of an old elm for a good part of one afternoon and watched how a group of starlings would dive, roll, and quickly ascend to defend their nest from a Cooper’s hawk.
She would fly with Mara when she could, primarily in the late evenings or after the farm had gone dark and Anna could sneak out quietly from her bedroom window. Herbie could sense when she left—even when she was invisible—and let out a friendly bark, thinking this might be some new kind of game. Anna loved the nights. The valley would open up before her with a scattering of lights like a miniature set for a film. The lake reflected moonlight, and the woods were dark and impenetrable. But for all their searching, there still was no sign of the creature, and the sightings around town had stopped. Both began to wonder if it had found its own way home or disappeared altogether.
During the day, Anna would swim at the lake with her friends, jumping off the boulders along the shore to cannonball into the waters below, then drying off on those same boulders under the heat of the sun as puffy white clouds passed by.
Now that she was part of the Armstrong and Gloria Regenerative Farms Research Center, Mara was given a renovated shed near the edge of the grounds to set up her own office and lab. The floors were concrete but clean, and the walls were recently covered in drywall. Wooden tables, freshly cut by a CNC router and assembled by hand, lined the far wall and filled the room with the bright smell of cedar. She set up a server farm with components ordered online and installed a simplified version of SID on the local network. She built a modified version of a fabricator and hacked a mobile phone that allowed her to directly access her iCom without drawing attention, all the while cursing the antiquated tools she was forced to use.
In the afternoons, she would walk with Jack. They held hands, awkwardly at first, but as the week wore on, the initial fumbling and walking out of sync gave way to a natural cadence. Conversations focused almost entirely on the farm and research. Each day was the same. Mara would ask a series of increasingly complex questions until she reached the limit of Jack’s understanding, and then she’d take a mental note for later. Now the question was how much she could reveal—and in what order—to help Jack and his team further their research. If she were to make the most of this future, like Anna said, she would start here on this farm.
During this process, she learned as much about Jack as she did about his work—his enthusiasm and optimistic view of the world—and found it contagious. Jack learned as much during all their sessions as he did his entire time in school. Dr. Gloria started making jokes that Mara may be a spy. But it was Gladness who came closest to understanding the truth.
An Angus cow was giving birth in the western pasture, and Dr. Gloria asked Mara and Anna if they wanted to join Gladness on the hilltop to watch the process unfold. By the time Dr. Gloria dropped them off near the shade of an old red oak at the edge of the property, the black Angus cow was lying on her side. Her eyes were open wide and her breathing labored. Gladness observed the Angus from a short distance. She looked up and smiled at Mara and Anna in acknowledgment, then returned her gaze back to the cow.
“Why is she out here all by herself?” Anna asked.
“It’s part of their nature.”
“It looks distressed. Aren’t you going to do anything?” Mara asked, concerned.
“Oh no, not yet. It’s a she, by the way, and her name is Suzie.” Gladness smiled, her eyes bright. She gave the cow distance, and everyone else followed suit. “This is all part of the bonding process. As that little one moves around inside her, hormones are released that trigger the maternal instinct. You jump in too quickly and you just mess things up.”
“How long does poor Suzie have to be like this?” Anna asked.
“As long as it takes, my dear,” Gladness said as she absently swatted at a buzzing fly. She had been through this dozens of times before in Tanzania and had developed an intuition when the cow was in true distress and when it was just the natural cycle. “But the water sac broke about fifty minutes ago, and from the way mama is breathing and the contractions, I’d say the little one should make an appearance within the next ten minutes. Fingers crossed.”
“How little is the little one?” Mara asked.
“Seventy-five to eighty pounds, most likely,” Gladness said.
“Thirty-four to thirty-six kilograms. That’s incredible. How can her body possibly support that?” Mara asked. It was less of a question to anyone else and more of a thought she said out loud to herself.
Gladness chuckled.
“Well, Bovids, or cows, have been doing it this way for millions of years and it usually works out just fine,” Gladness said. “I see you’re more comfortable with the metric system. Most Americans still have troubles.”
“The imperial system is a relic of another time, a mistake that took far too long to address,” Mara said absently, her focus on the strange process unfolding before her.
Gladness tilted her head and a quizzical look crossed her face.
“I’m usually very good with accents. But for the life of me, I can’t place where yours is from,” Gladness said.
Mara knew she needed to be more careful with this one. It took some control to not respond too quickly or defensively.
“It’s a product of a lot of travel, I guess. To be honest, I’m not quite sure where I come from anymore,” Mara said with a hint of a smile.
“Isn’t that just the way it is nowadays?” Gladness said as she shook her head and sighed. She paused a moment before going on. “I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversations with the others over the past couple of weeks.”
“You mean my persistent questioning or lack of understanding?” Mara tried to laugh it off.
“Oh, no. Just the opposite. I’ve never heard anyone with such a command over so many different subjects. You talked about soil conservation with Li. Botany with Faye. Amazing, really. You seem to know a lot about many things—except for maybe the mothering behavior of the Angus cow, that is.” Gladness winked at that last part.
Just then, Suzie’s eyes opened wide and she let out a tired bellow. She began snorting through flared nostrils followed by a series of labored breaths. Whatever line of questioning Gladness had planned was suddenly put on hold, and her full attention was now back on the cow in front of her. She took a cautious step forward. Perfect timing, Mara thought.
“Something’s happening,” Anna said excitedly.
Suddenly, two small hooves emerged from the cow for just a moment—then receded. Suzie let out another bellow.
“Oh my god! Were those the baby cow’s feet?” Anna asked.
“I certainly hope so,” Gladness said.
For the next couple minutes, small hooves would appear then disappear as Gladness coaxed the cow along with a soothing sing-song chant of “That’s a good girl.” Mara and Anna stood transfixed, their faces a mirror image of each other’s as they not only watched but felt part of what was taking place in front of them. They grimaced in empathetic pain when Suzie bellowed, and their eyes opened wide in awe when more of the calf appeared. They giggled and exchanged glances. Even their breathing was in concert. Without thinking, Mara reached out her hand and Anna gripped it in return. Minutes passed as Suzie continued to bellow intermittently—then a nose poked through, then the head, and then suddenly the full calf appeared; its small body lay covered in afterbirth on the ground.
The jet-black calf looked so small and fragile in the dirt. Its eyes were open, but the rest of its body lay unmoving. Anna stepped forward to make sure it was alive, but Gladness motioned for her to stop.
“Give them time,” Gladness whispered.
The calf blinked and then its lungs expanded as it took its first breath. It lifted its head in its first attempt to stand. Seconds before, Suzie looked too tired to move. But with this first sign of life from her offspring, she was quickly back up and cleaning her newborn calf with her tongue. With each passing moment, the calf gained strength, just as her mother gained strength in return.
“I think I’m more exhausted than Suzie,” Mara laughed.
She exhaled for the first time in an hour and relaxed her shoulders and arms. Imprints from her tight grip still showed white marks on Anna’s hands.