Len thought about it herself for a while, then said, "If that's what you believe, why don't you tell people to go to the stars because that's what God wants them to do—and don't start explaining to me that your God doesn't want anything. I understand that. But most people won't understand it."
"The people of Acorn did."
"And where are they?"
That hurt like a punch in the face. "No one knows better than I do how miserably I failed my people," I said.
Len looked away, embarrassed. "I didn't mean it that way," she said. "I'm sorry. I just mean that what you're saying just isn't something people are going to understand and get enthusiastic about—at least not quickly. Did people join Acorn for Earthseed or in the hope of feeding their kids?"
I sighed and nodded. "They did it to feed their kids and to live in a community that didn't look down on them for being poor or enslave them when they were vulnerable. It took some of the adults years to accept Earthseed. The kids got into it right away, though. I thought the kids would be the missionary teachers."
"Maybe they would have been, if they'd had the chance. But that way didn't work. What are you going to do now?"
"With Jarret's Crusaders still running loose? I don't know." This wasn't entirely true. I did have some ideas, but I wanted to hear what Len had to say. She had been interesting and thoughtful so far.
"You're good at talking to people," she said. "They like you. Hell, they trust you. Why can't you just preach to them like any other minister? Preach the way Jarret does. Have you ever heard any of his speeches? Most of them are sermons. Newspeople have a hard time opposing anything he wants because he's always on God's side. Guess whose side that puts them on?"
"And you think I should do that?"
"Of course you should do that if you believe what you say."
"I'm not a demagogue."
"That's too bad. That leaves the field to people who are demagogues—to the Jarrets of the world. And there have always been Jarrets. Probably there always will be."
We walked in silence for a while, then I said, "What about you?"
"What do you mean? You know where I'm going."
"Stay with me. Go somewhere else."
"You're going to Oregon to see your brother and find your child."
"Yes. And I'm also going to make Earthseed what it should be—the way we humans finally manage to grow up."
"You intend to try again?"
"I don't really have any choice. Earthseed isn't just what I believe. It's who I am. It's why I exist."
"You say in your book that we don't have purpose, but potential."
I smiled. She had a photographic memory or nearly so. But she wasn't above using it unfairly to win an argument.
I quoted,
"We are born
Not with purpose,
But with potential."
"We choose our purpose," I said. "I chose mine before I was old enough to know any better—or it chose me. Purpose is essential. Without it, we drift."
"Purpose," she said, and with an air of showing off, she quoted:
"Purpose
Unifies us:
It focuses our dreams,
Guides our plans,
Strengthens our efforts.
Purpose
Defines us,
Shapes us,
And offers us
Greatness."
She sighed. "Sounds wonderful. But then a lot of things sound wonderful. What are you going to do?"
"I'm no Jarret," I said, "but you're probably right about the need to simplify and focus my message. You can help me do that."
"Why should I?"
"Because it will keep you alive."
She looked away again. After a long silence, she said with great bitterness, "What makes you think I want to be kept alive?"
"I know you do. But if you stick with me, you'll have to prove it."
"What?"
"As a matter of fact, if you stick with me, you'll have all you can do to stay alive. Ideas like those in Earthseed aren't going to be popular for a while. Jarret wouldn't like them if he knew about them."
"If you have any sense, you won't draw attention to yourself. Not now."
"I don't intend to draw huge crowds or get on the nets. Not until Jarret has worn out his welcome, anyway. I do intend to reach out to people again."
"How?"
And I knew. I had been wondering as we spoke, scrambling for ideas. Len's comments had helped focus me. So had my own recent experience. "I'll reach people in their homes," I said. "There's nothing new about door-to-door missionaries in small cities like Eureka, for instance. In L.A. you couldn't do it. We may not be able to do it in Portland either. Portland's gotten so big. But on the way there, and in the larger towns around Portland, it might work. Small cities and big towns. People in very large cities and the very small towns can be—will be—suspicious and vicious."
"Free towns only, I assume," Len said.
"Of course. If I managed to get into a company town, I might be collared for vagrancy. That can be a life sentence. They just keep charging you more to live than they pay you for your labor, and you never get out of debt."
"So I've heard. You want to just knock on people's doors and ask to tell them about Earthseed? I hear the Jehovah's Witnesses do that. Or they did it. I'm not sure they still do."
"It's gotten more dangerous." I said. "But other people did it too. The Mormons and some other lesser-known groups."
"Christian groups."
"I know." I thought for a moment. "Did you know I was 18 when I began collecting people and establishing Acorn? Eighteen. A year younger than you are now."
"I know. Allie told me."
"People followed me, though," I continued. "And they didn't only do it because they were convinced that I could help them get what they wanted. They followed me because I seemed to be going somewhere. They had no purpose beyond survival. Get a job. Eat. Get a room somewhere. Exist. But I wanted more than that for myself and for my people, and I meant to have it. They wanted more too, but they didn't think they could have it. They weren't even sure what 'it' was."