Maxwell's Equation

Maxwell sat at his desk, the pale light from his computer monitor accentuated his pallid complexion. The remains of last night's gin tinted his bleary eyes red. His temper rose as he reread the comments made about his screenplay by the moronic boobs at WebTainment.com. The more angry he became, the more his balding head became splotched with purple. Why had they hired him if they insisted on decimating his manuscripts!? Maxwell gazed out the office window of his Minnesota home, mulling the email over in his mind.

Was it just these idiots, or was everyone in LA that stupid?? Why must I deal with people like that? Why must I deal with people at all? Finally, the pasty feeling in his mouth was overcome by his annoyance.

“Stupid Bastards! I've never seen anyone duller in my life! What ass-holes!” Maxwell swore.

“Max, dear, is something wrong?” Lydia's songbird voice drifted into his office.

“Damn it Lydia! You know I hate to be bothered when I'm working!” Maxwell shouted.

“Oh, I know, honey, but I just wondered if there was some way I could help. I hate to see you so upset” she replied, entirely undeterred by his outburst.

Maxwell began storming around his office, still muttering curses, knocking his coffee mug off his desk. Lydia entered, anticipating something of this nature, and stood in the doorway awaiting Maxwell's orders. He looked at her standing there. The blue of her gingham dress matched her eyes perfectly, and her blond hair curled neatly at her shoulders, framing her fair complexioned face, and deep red lips.

“See what happens when you disturb me?! Don't just stand there! Get something to clean up this mess!” Maxwell commanded.

“I'm sorry dear, I'll be right back.” Lydia apologized, as she swept out of the room.

Maxwell ignored the coffee, which had been cold anyway. It had been knocked cleanly off the desk, and was soaking into the carpet. It was now Lydia's problem. He turned his attention back to the manuscript. He had begun swearing under his breath again when he noticed Lydia had crept back into the room, and was busily working on the coffee stain with a high vacuum cleaning pump and carpet steaming attachment.

Unable to resist the temptation, Maxwell stretched a rubber band along his index finger and aimed it at Lydia's behind. There was a sudden elastic snap and brief sizzle as the rubber band exploded from the tip of his finger. It flew bullet-like towards the fleshy part of her behind. His aim was perfect, yet just before the elastic missile struck, Lydia's hand swept back past her rump, and snatched the rubber band in mid air. She didn't look up. She just continued working on the coffee stain.

“Now, Max!” Lydia chided. “You really are keeping me from cleaning up this mess.”

Max threw himself back in his chair with a moody pout on his face.

“Aw! C'mon Lydia! I've had a bad morning! Can't you let me have just a little fun?!” Max whined.

“Now, Max, darling. You know you have to concentrate on your work, and stop being so distracted” Lydia replied in a mother-like tone.

Maxwell was not discouraged.

“How am I supposed to concentrate with you waving that lovely ass around?”

Lydia, looked up from the coffee, which had practically vanished from the carpet. She smiled invitingly at Maxwell.

“Oh, Max, honey. You know you have work to do! You mustn't think those sorts of thoughts when you're trying to work.”

“You're absolutely right Lydia, and you know what the best way to drive those thoughts from my head is, now don't you?”

Maxwell slid out of his chair, and crawled on hands and knees over to Lydia, who was still working on the coffee stain. He slowly ran his hands up her thighs, beneath her dress. Lydia giggled a little.

“Oh Max! Stop it! Your hands are cold!” She said, toying with him.

“C'mon honey. You can finish that later!” Max wheezed lasciviously.

“Maxwell!” Lydia exclaimed as he pulled off her panties.

They tumbled flat to the floor, and began wildly pulling off each others clothes. Maxwell boorishly rutted her like a wild animal, taking about as long. He kissed her disinterestedly on the cheek to complete the act, and pulled himself off of her.

“Get me a rag to wash off with, dear”, Maxwell commanded impassively, his mind turning to other things..

Lydia gathered her clothes and went to fetch a warm wash cloth. Maxwell flopped back into his chair, feeling like he could look at the email, now that he had calmed down. He began reading the email where he left off. The communication was quite blunt and Maxwell soon became agitated again. He practically didn't even notice Lydia washing him off with a warm rag, until she handed him some clean clothes. Maxwell looked at her, anger simmering in his eyes.

“Those idiots want to see me! Actually talk face to face! Can you believe it!” Max complained to Lydia.

“Oh dear, that is bad.” Lydia commented, helping Max into his underpants.

“Don't patronize me Lydia! This is serious! They say they won't pay me for my manuscript until we talk over the differences in person.”

“Well, Max, you might remember that the last manuscript you sold them took three months to iron out the 'artistic differences' between you. I think they are just trying to hurry the process along a little. Realistically, it would benefit you as well, you see, you would collect payment more quickly.”

“Who's side are you on anyway?!” Max shouted.

“Now Maxwell! Try to see the logic of it. I know that you feel a professional attachment to your work, but these people understand the mass market. There are certain elements that have to be included in order to maximize their advertising revenues. I'm sure they've done their homework, and are targeting a very specific audience. That will make it necessary for them to manipulate the plot elements to keep the interest of the target audience. You will just have to be reasonable with them. That way you both can make money.”

“But I don't like people Lydia! I'm no good with them. They're always so demanding. Always have to have everything their way!””

“Max, save your artistic endeavors for your novel. That's the place you will be able to express yourself most freely. Think of this manuscript as part of the business plan to get your novel finished. “

“I don't want to see them!”

“Maxwell! Stop whining. You know I am right, so just make the appointment, and I'll fly you there. You only have to talk to them for a couple of hours, then make a few changes, and collect your money.”

“Alright! Fine! You're right as usual. I'll shower and get dressed and we'll hop in the jet shuttle, and go see them.”

“That's the right attitude! Only, we should go in the morning, there is a front over South Dakota. It would be dangerous to fly through it today. Make the appointment for tomorrow,” Lydia cautioned.

“What! Now you want me to back out?! No! I've made up my mind. Besides I have plenty of confidence in your electronic reflexes. We'll be fine. I'm going to shower. Please get the jet ready for the trip. Maybe we could stop over in Aspen on the way back, and enjoy the weekend.”

“You are so impulsive Max! Why can't we just go in the morning?” Lydia asked.

“Lydia, I'm ordering you to get the jet ready. Now go!” Maxwell demanded.

Lydia nodded and left to prepare the jet, and Maxwell began feverishly hammering out a discourteous flame-mail response, advising them of his visit.





Maxwell waited impatiently as Lydia loaded their things into the jet. She advised him of the impending weather troubles they were likely to encounter, but he refused to listen. He was angry enough to consider using the override code to force her to stop, but she must have sensed his mood, and desisted warning him, since it would do no good anyway.

It was nearly noon when Lydia pulled the transport up into the clear blue Minnesota sky. She glanced at the weather screen on the console. Maxwell noticed how she narrowed her eyes and tapped the arrows on the screen to widen the field, looking for any changes in the front that might allow a safer passage. Maxwell leaned back and closed his eyes, leaving the piloting duties to Lydia. Within minutes he was asleep.

The jolt of the transport suddenly dropping several hundred feet woke Maxwell. The sky was black behind the cockpit windows. Lydia worked the controls with mechanical precision, yet the craft still shook and jerked.

“What's happening?!” Maxwell asked groggily.

“We're in the middle of the storm, Max” Lydia replied coolly.

“God! It's horrible!” Max exclaimed.

“I did try to tell you Max” Lydia replied calmly.

“Can't you fly over it! Or around it?” Maxwell asked, watching the rain streaking the windows.

“We shouldn't be out here at all.”

“How much longer 'til we're through it?”

“It depends on the wind, but I'm guessing 15 or 20 minutes.”

Maxwell sat silently, wondering if he had made the right decision. The transport continued to toss and roll, as if to confirm his mistake.

Without warning, there was a simultaneous blinding flash and thunderous bang. The transport was flung wildly, rolling over. Maxwell braced himself, one hand on the panel in front of him and the other on the glass of the ceiling window.

“God almighty! What's happening?!” Max cried.

Lydia didn't answer. The transport plummeted down. Maxwell could feel the vibration as the crippled airframe twisted toward the ground. Lydia held the yolk with one hand and wildly tapped buttons on the console between them. Maxwell began to sweat, realizing a crash was now imminent. The transport fell out of the clouds and the dark landscape loomed before him.

Lydia fought to regain control of the craft, but the engines had seized up, and although she did manage to keep the craft from spinning, she was powerless to pull out of the dive. Features of the landscape became visible, as the transport sped to the ground.

“Good bye Max” Lydia said moments before the deafening thud of the impact.

Everything went suddenly black.

Maxwell woke shivering. He felt the coarse soil pressed against his face, and the wet of the rain soaking his clothes. Thunder rolled overhead, and the rain fell as rocks against his back. His mouth was filled with dirt, and the warm salty taste of blood. He lay there a while stunned, and afraid to move. Unable to assess his injuries, his body still filled with the numbness that accompanies serious trauma. His legs had tangled in something, a piece of the wreckage, his seat perhaps. When he tried to move to free them, a sharp pain stabbed at his left knee and shin. He also became acutely aware of the odd angle at which his right arm lay across his back.

Maxwell attempted to lift his head from the dirt so that he could visually inspect his injuries. The dark world spun, and he was swept with waves of nausea. Mustering his strength, he spat out the dirt from his mouth, and vainly cried for help. The words were deformed by his bloated lips, and several missing teeth. Maxwell screamed on while he had strength, and shortly, his head fell again into the mud.

Some time later, Maxwell awoke again to the sound of voices, but was unable to turn his head to see who had found him. The words were unfamiliar to him. He assumed it was the result of his trauma. He could still hear the wind and rain, although it didn't seem to be pounding him as it had before.

The wreckage was lifted off of him, and his rescuer placed him on some sort of stretcher, wrapping him in an odd smelling blanket of sorts. Maxwell was too weak to talk. He merely closed his eyes, and waited to be taken to receive medical attention. He heard an odd grunting noise, and was vaguely aware of the sensation of being pulled overland on the stretcher. The ride was uncomfortable, but in his weakened condition, he quickly fell unconscious once more.

Maxwell awoke several more times. Once when he was moved from the stretcher into a shelter. It was dimly lit, and Maxwell was having difficulty focusing, which together made it impossible for him to discern much about his surroundings. Another time he was vaguely aware of being examined. A strange woman tried to feed him something like bitter soup. It tasted awful, but it felt warm and seemed to relieve the chill he was feeling, so he took some. She wore her long black hair in braids which hung down beside her round, brown cheeks. The white of her almond eyes, and ivory teeth, shone brilliantly against her dark skin. She was not beautiful like Lydia, but she looked kind. Lydia?! What's become of Lydia? Maxwell wondered. He tried to speak, but the woman shushed him, and he didn't have the strength to persist. Someone had splinted and bandaged his arm and leg. His wounds were cleaned and he was again wrapped in a luxuriously warm blanket. His leg felt stiff and sore, and his whole body was aching now, as though he had just been worked over by a prize fighter. He welcomed the sleep which came immediately.

When Maxwell finally fully woke, he found himself alone in what appeared to be a tent. He lay on the floor, on some sort of animal hide. The fur was soft, but it did exude a strange odor. Not unpleasant, but different from what he was accustomed to. It was wild, and earthy. A bronzed man towered over him as he lay on the floor, which he now realized was dirt covered with skins, and blankets. Mostly coarsely woven fabrics from some unknown fiber, they contained a simple animal motif.

The man stood as though carved from a single piece of granite, arms crossed, and feet comfortably shoulder width apart. His clothes were made from rough cloth and leather, and his black hair hung down onto his broad chest in neat braids. His broad face and deep brown eyes watched Maxwell with a curios expression that made him feel uncomfortable. He was lean, muscular and very proud. Maxwell expected him to speak, yet he stood absolutely motionless, surveying Maxwell's broken body.

The pain in his legs and arm, coupled with general aching eventually drew Maxwell's attention from his host. He began to moan, to cry almost. He had never known such pain. The bronzed man watched him with a shadow of disdain on his granite face.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?!” Maxwell whimpered.

The man remained silent for a while, then finally spoke.

“You cry like a woman.” he said simply.

Maxwell turned away. He didn't want to talk to this man any more, until he remembered Lydia. He had to know what had become of her. She would certainly tend to him, and get him proper medical attention.

“Where's Lydia? What have you done with her?!” he asked accusingly.

“Lydia? You mean the android who was with you in the craft? She did not survive. I retrieved many of her parts from the crash, but I am sure she will never function again.”

Panic set in. Maxwell tried to pull off the animal skins to make an attempt to leave, but the searing pain foiled his efforts. He eventually gave up, and collapsed back onto the bed.

“Why didn't you take me to a doctor? I'm hurt damn it! Can't you see that you oaf!”

The man stood above him motionless.

“Sleep now. You are not ready to leave.”

The man turned to leave, but he paused at the flap of the tent, turning back to Maxwell.

“I will send Fire Thunder, and she will give you food. When you are stronger, well will talk.”

In a little while, the round faced woman appeared again with an earthen pot of thin stew. Maxwell was angry and wanted answers, but clearly she would not provide them. Besides, he was also hungry.

Maxwell spent a week in the care of Fire Thunder, who tended to him without speaking. Maxwell assumed she was mute after many attempts to pry information from her. He ate, rested and regained some strength.

Finally, Fire Thunder brought him clean clothes of leather and crude cloth. She surprised him by speaking.

“Ta' Shunke Witko wishes to speak with you. I will bath you and take you to him.”

Maxwell watched her suspiciously, as she helped him undress and wash. She brought him a crutch, and helped him out of the tent. Maxwell squinted at the bright noonday sunlight, stepping out of the tent, which he could now identify clearly as a tee pee.

They were camped on a hill overlooking a great plain nestled among jagged pink granite peaks. Tall amber grass washed below him like gentle ocean waves, and the cloudless blue sky extended forever above him. A gentle breeze blue smoke from the remnants of a small fire into the air. There were several tee pees in the immediate area, as well as a number of dark skinned people occupied with the daily tasks of camp life. A short fat woman with a leathery face was adjusting strips of meat hung over a smoldering fire. Another group of younger women were sitting on mats chatting and busily constructing various garments, and a few baskets. Maxwell spotted Ta' Shunke Witko laboring over a long piece of wood. He appeared to be shaping it with some sort of simple hand plane. He did not wear a shirt, and his broad brown back glistened with sweat in the sunlight. There were several young boys transfixed by his work. They stood silently, with intense looks on their dark faces. Fire Thunder spoke, startling Maxwell.

“Ta' Shunke Witko will speak to you now.”

Maxwell only just then realized she was speaking.

“I thought you were mute? Why didn't you say anything earlier?” he asked, annoyed.

“He thought it would be best if he talked with you first,” she replied, still smiling and unfazed by his tone.

“Come. I'll help you,” she continued, gently taking his arm to steady him as he hobbled over to Ta' Shunke Witko.

The boys looked up as they approached. Ta' Shunke Witko immediately noticed that they had stopped paying him attention, and he too looked up.

“Good Morning Maxwell. You are certainly looking better today” he said amicably.

“That's a miracle!” Maxwell quipped.

His voice sounded comical. He lisped the words badly, having not yet mastered talking around the hole left by the forcible extraction of several of his front teeth.

The boys giggled at him a little, and Ta' Shunke Witko scolded them with words that were foreign to Maxwell. The boys fell instantly silent, and shuffled a bit looking at their feet. Ta' Shunke Witko waved them away, and the left obediently.

Maxwell and Ta' Shunke Witko regarded each other. Ta' Shunke Witko drew a deep breath, and spoke.

“Fire Thunder has taken good care of you.”

Maxwell looked maliciously into Ta' Shunke Witko's dark, clear eyes.

“I'm sorry about the boys. They are young, and still have not learned proper respect”, Ta' Shunke Witko said.

“They're the least of my problems! Why haven't you taken me to a hospital?” Maxwell asked.

“You didn't look like you could spend three days on horseback to get there.” Ta' Shunke Witko replied coolly.

“Besides, Fire Thunder is a doctor. She has cared for me and my family all my life.”

“You arrogant ass!” Maxwell exploded.

Ta' Shunke Witko raised an eyebrow, not expecting the outburst.

“If I weren't disabled I'd kill you!” Maxwell hissed.

The women who had been chatting, now stopped, and were staring at them, along with the rest of the camp that was in earshot.

“Well! I expected some frustration on your part, Maxwell, but violence? Really. I saved your life, or is that fact lost on you still.” Ta' Shunke Witco spoke to him with the same tone he used with the children.

“Get me a doctor immediately!”' Maxwell complained.

“I know you are in pain, and you are tired of the stew Fire Thunder has been feeding you. We will eat a proper meal tonight, as you are obviously now well enough to partake.”

Maxwell was purple with anger. He steadied himself gingerly on his bad leg and swung the crutch at Ta' Shunke Wiko's head. He dodged it easily, and Maxwell tipped sideways with the follow through. Ta' Sunke Witko deftly grabbed him by the shirt, and Maxwell gazed at him, trembling and obviously expecting retribution for the attack, but Ta' Shunke Witko's huge tan arm held him firmly, preventing Maxwell from toppling to the rocky soil.

“Rest, Maxwell. You are distraught. Tonight we will feast in your honor” Ta' Shunke Witko said calmly.

Maxwell's head was pounding and his leg was throbbing with pain from the near fall. He was overcome with fear and anger, and so, remained silent as Ta' Shunke Witko recovered the crutch, and handed it to him. Maxwell hobbled off to his tent, and lay down in his bed.

“Feast! Ha! I bet he'll poison me, the bastard!” He muttered to himself, some of his bravado returning now that he was alone.

Maxwell brooded until he fell asleep.



It was dark and a little cold when Maxwell awoke. His stomach growled. There was noise outside his tent. Maxwell supposed it was this, that woke him. It sounded like singing, and although he was loathe to admit it, something did smell delicious outside. He sat up on the furs that made his bed, and wiped a bit of drool from his chin. He had slept hard. He had obviously been more tired than he had realized. Maxwell shivered slightly, and pulled a blanket from his bed around himself. He clawed for his crutch, and slowly pulled himself up on it, intending to go outside.

He tossed aside the flap at the opening of his tee pee. Nevertheless he still had to stoop to make it through the opening. This proved particularly difficult with a crutch under his left arm. With some effort, Maxwell made it through the door, and stood, beholding the scene.

It was surprising how much the animal skin of his tee pee absorbed the sound and light. The volume of sound jumped significantly when he raised himself from the opening. Firelight painted the camp, as the dancers paraded around the fire pit, casting haunting shadows on the surroundings. A gentle breeze folded the fragrant odor of burning hardwood into the otherwise cloudless sky. There was another smell too. One Maxwell couldn't place as easily. Heavy and rich, he expected if he stuck out his tongue he would be able to taste it on the air. The rich fatty smell of roasting meat. He had never eaten much meat, and didn't immediately place the smell, but his mouth watered instinctively, nonetheless.

Maxwell watched the scene, awestruck, as the drums pounded his ears, and the dancers, clothed in elaborate animal costumes, quickened the pace of their performance. It was captivating. The dancers, clad as animals and hunters, he supposed, chased around the fire, faster and faster, to the crescendo of drums. Maxwell watched, mesmerized. Having reached fever pitch, the dance suddenly stopped. It was followed by gleeful shouts from the onlookers. Maxwell didn't understand the words, but the meaning was clear from the fire reflecting in their eyes, and broad smiles on their faces.

As he watched the crowd, Maxwell caught sight of Ta' Shunke Witko, striding towards him. He wore a warm smile across his broad, dark face. His black hair fell in a single braid down over his right shoulder. A single eagle feather was tucked in near his part, falling down to his left shoulder. Ta' Shunke Witko clapped a strong hand on Maxwell's shoulder. With his other hand, he motioned for quiet. Slowly the crowd settled, and waited expectantly for Ta' Shunke to speak. The light of the fire flashed in Ta' Shunke's eyes, as he watched the crowd.

“Human beings! I have an important story to tell you. A man has come to us. He has fallen from the sky. He came from beyond the sky, and he is our guest. I have carried him here on my horse, from the place where he fell. He is injured, and Fire Thunder woman has cared for him. He does not know our ways, so we must treat him with understanding when he acts strangely. Now I want to introduce to you, the white man, Maxwell”

The crowd erupted with shouts and howls, jumping and cavorting wildly. It seemed a strange and uncouth response to what had been a rather eloquent introduction. Ta' Shunke lead Maxwell through the people to a spot near the fire, where three old men were seated. Each of them wore their silver hair in long braids. Fire Thunder was seated behind them. They all had wooden plates containing meat, potatoes, some sort of stuffing, what appeared to be a tortilla, or some similar flat bread. The men were talking animatedly, but stopped suddenly as Ta' Shunke Witko, and Maxwell approached, their cold brown eyes trained, distrustfully, on Maxwell.

Ta' Shunke Witko addressed the group, and there was a brief but lively discussion. Maxwell could not understand a word of what was said. It was beginning to annoy him. It was perhaps the fact that he was beginning to trust Ta' Shunke Witko, that made him the easiest target.

“Would you please stop that gibberish! What in god's name does all that mean anyway? Surely it can't convey much meaning, after what it sounds like!”

Everyone in the immediate vicinity hushed, hearing, and obviously understanding Maxwell's words above the din of celebration. Apparently unaware of his newfound audience, Maxwell blundered onward to disaster.

“I mean really. Are those even words, or merely grunts? They can't possibly convey the fine shades of which proper English diction is capable, surely.”

The old man who sat across from Maxwell and Ta' Shunke Witko could not contain himself. Although Ta' Shunke Witko tried to wave him down, he would not be still.

“No! NO Ta' Shunke Witko, I will not be still. Our ancestors knew these white devils for what they are, soulless demons! How dare you insult your host! You owe him a blood debt, and still you speak to him as though he were a savage! I tell you it is you who are the savage! We are not simple people as you suppose! Most of us have advanced degrees from prestigious universities, Harvard, and Princeton. We have chosen to reject your world as barbaric, and crude, and sought refuge in the ancient ways of our ancestors. The same ancestors from whom you stole land, and culture. Our people were gracious hosts to you and you betrayed our trust. Do not assume that you are above all that your simple mind can comprehend. We are human beings! Oglala Sioux! And we have lived in this land since before your great grandfathers knew how to build ships to invade it. Do you know who it is you disgrace?! Your host is Ta' Shunke Witko, named for his ancestor, the great Ta' Shunke Witko, known to your people as Crazy Horse! “

Fire blazed in his eyes as the old man spoke. Ta' Shunke Witko, looked embarrassedly at the ground. Finally he spoke in a hushed voice.

“Grandfather, do not forget who you are. This man is ignorant of our ways, and he is our guest. You cannot punish a child for things of which he does not know or understand.”

The old man was quiet. The dark, weathered skin of his face drooped in a frown. Though he had more to say, his lips remained pursed.

“Maxwell, this is my Grandfather, Akecheta, and the other elders, Enapay, and Wanageeska.”

Maxwell merely smirked indignantly.

“Sit, and eat with us” Ta' Shunke Witko said.

Maxwell sat, and Ta' Shunke Witko motioned to Fire Thunder to bring food for him.

“So let me get this straight, you've given up modern conveniences, so you can parade around in the wilderness and play Indians?” Maxwell wasn't used to being tactful. Androids aren't programmed to be offended.

Wanageeska spoke.

“Maxwell, I think you misunderstand our enterprise. We have grown tired of the distance your society has placed between people. You consume things and give nothing back. We believe it is not good to live in that way. It causes you to forget those things that are truly important. It will eventually lead you to forget how even to provide for yourselves. It will lead to collapse, and ruin. Your people choose to cloister themselves away in their homes, and avoid contact. You have forgotten what it is to have community with one another. In time of great need, you will not be able to work together to solve the problems which you yourselves have created. Our ancestors lived in concert with each other, and with Nature. We were stewards of the earth, and all that was therein. Our small band is rediscovering those things. They are things our ancestors knew, and they are preserved in our traditions. It is not play.”

“Oh, please! It goes against common logic! If I have to share all that I have, then I'll have less, not more!”

“You have much to learn”, said Enapay.

The drums began again, drowning out further attempts at conversation. Maxwell watched the dancers, their brightly colored costumes flashing in the firelight. He had to admit to himself, it was entertaining. He ate hungerly and enjoyed the festivities, which continued for hours.

Slowly, as it got late, people began to wander back to their tee pees. At last Ta' Shunke Witko rose, and spoke to Maxwell.

“We must sleep now. Tomorrow we will begin our journey back to your people. Come with me Maxwell. We will sleep now.”

Ta' Shunke Witko held out a strong arm and helped Maxwell to his feet. Maxwell collected his crutch and rose with Ta' Shunke Witko's help. He was loath to admit it, but he could not lie to himself. It had been an enjoyable evening. Maxwell was tired and he did look forward to going home, and for once, he had a feeling he had scarcely known. He felt content. Maxwell stood and hobbled off to his tee pee, with the help of Ta' Shunke Witko. The buffalo skin bed was soft and warm. Maxwell closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the camp heading off to bed. There were hushed voices and the rustling of canvas, and skins. Fires were doused and the wet smell of extinguished logs wafted through the night air. He fell quickly asleep.

It was barely light when Maxwell became aware of Ta' Shunke Witko standing above his bed. Maxwell stretched on his skins, and his leg immediately began to throb, reminding him of his recent injury. He winced with the pain, but Ta' Shunke Witko merely watched.

"Are you ready to return to your people?" He asked Maxwell.

"Good God! What time is it anyway?" Maxwell asked, blinking in the darkness of his tee pee as he tried to make out Ta' Shunke Witko's dark form above him.

"The sun will rise soon, and I must make double your miles, so we will soon make a start" He replied.

The animal skin bed was warm, but no match for his expensive mattress at home. Maxwell's body ached from the rough accommodations. He stood slowly and painfully, while Ta' Shunke Witko stirred life into the pile of ashes in the center of the tee pee. He carefully arranged some additional kindling on the smoldering ashed and blew them into flames, which both warmed and illuminated the tee pee. Maxwell pulled himself erect and sat shivering in the flickering light; he was unaccustomed to waking before the sun was well into the sky.

Ta' Shunke Witko turned to Maxwell and said, "I've gathered your things and packed them on the horses. I'm sorry there was not enough room to take all of your android. I have salvaged the CPU and storage array. You should be able to have it installed in a similar model if you choose. That should keep the memory in tact..

Maxwell smiled wryly, in spite of himself, at the discordant words Ta' Shunke Witko spoke. A savage man, dressed in animal skins, talking casually about androids, and CPU's! None of this seemed to make any sense. Thank God he would be rid of these primitives soon, and back to a sane existence with Doctors, proper food, and medical treatment.

With some great effort, Maxwell pulled himself up from his animal skin bed. The air in the tee pee was cold and damp, and save for the radiance of the fire would have been unbearable. Ta' Shunke Witko led him out of the tee pee and over to a waiting horse. It was a great struggle to mount the animal. Maxwell had to balance himself on the crutch, and slowly slide the foot of his good leg into the stirrup. He would have missed it entirely were it not for Ta' Shunke Witko's strong hands guiding his foot into place. Then with further help from his host, he guided his good leg across the animal's back, and adjusted himself in the saddle.

The rising sun painted a rosy stain across the eastern sky, as Maxwell's horse obediently followed Ta' Shunke Witko's mount. Maxwell fidgeted uncomfortably in the saddle, wincing a little at the discomfort of being jarred by the animal.

"You had best sit still, or you'll likely fall out of that saddle," Ta' Shunke Witko warned.

"I still don't see why you couldn't have called someone! This is going to be unbearable! How long do I have to endure this torture?!"

Ta' Shunke Witko similed.

"Are we there yet? You really are a child" He mocked.

Maxwell vainly searched for something to throw at him, but it was clear that insults were all he had to hurl. Besides, he had already discovered his host was impervious to them, so Maxwell gave up and remained quiet.

They road on in silence across the dusty plain, through the tall grass, that blazed in the red dawn sunlight.

Gradually, the red sky faded to orange and the world around him blossomed in the colors of dawn. The grass through which they road waved gently in the breeze, evoking thoughts of prairie schooners. Maxwell understood now how the term came to be. They road on in silence for hours, and he found himself increasingly captivated by his surroundings. He was accustom to viewing nature from behind glass, in a comfortable environment, but it was now beginning to occur to him that a pane of glass filtered out far more than merely the wind and cold. The elements added to the experience, and enhanced the natural beauty around him. This place felt powerful and real, and for the first time, Maxwell began to understand what attracted these people to live here in the wilderness.

The sun had climbed well above the horizon when Ta' Shunke Witko finally spoke.

"You must be getting hungry. Let us stop and rest a while, and eat something", he said.

As though it were a hypnotic suggestion, Maxwell felt his stomach tighten and growl.

Ta' Shunke Witko dismounted, and helped Maxwell in a controlled fall off of his mount. He would have been angry over the undignified process, but he was too preoccupied by the pain in his limbs to care. He propped himself up on a rock, and just whimpered a little while Ta' Shunke Witko dug in his pack, producing a couple of pemmican cakes, and a wineskin bottle.

Maxwell looked at the pemmican with some amount of disdain, while Ta' Shunke Witko took a seat next to him and began munching on the pemmican.

“This place used to be filled with buffalo when my people lived here centuries ago, before the Europeans colonized North America”, he said.

It sounded to Maxwell like the beginning of a history lecture. He knew there was no stopping it, so he began to nibble the pemmican cake. To his great surprise, it had a pleasant astringent fruity taste, not salty as he had expected.

“The European colonization wasn't all bad for us. Our lives improved greatly with the introduction of the horse by the Spanish in the 1600's,” Ta' Shunke Witko continued.

He talked on about the history of his people, how they lived, and their traditions. He was an accomplished orator and despite his irritable disposition, Maxwell soon found himself listening to the lecture with some interest.

“Tell me more about you and your little band of savages”, Maxwell asked.

Ta' Shunke Witko laughed at the word.

“It is all a matter of perspective I suppose,” he replied.

“Most of us were teaching at various Universities and had an interest in our native heritage. I was a professor of American History at Harvard, and Fire Thunder was a colleague of mine in the Medical School there. We two were outcasts in our community. Our interest in our native culture caused us to seek out each others company. We desired not merely to know how our ancestors lived, but to experience it! This of course made us pariahs in our academic circle. We simply did not fit in to a society where people prefer to surround themselves with androids rather than other humans. We met Wanageeska, who after hearing about us, left his position at Princeton to discuss a plan with us. He had been researching Sociology, and had concluded that modern society was on the road to extinction. In a world where one is surrounded by unfeeling automatons, people have begun to lose the ability to work together for the common good. He believes, and we agree with him, that over time, our society will be completely unable to provide for it's basic needs, because the individual has become so self absorbed that the cooperation necessary for survival has become a lost skill. He described for us the alarming trends he had discovered. Declining birth rates, and a drop in the pursuit of higher education all seemed to point to an eventual collapse of modern society. Already natural disasters go un-noticed in many parts of the world, with devastating consequences. Are you aware that the world population has been decreasing for the past 50 years! What will you do when there is no one to produce your food, or electricity, or vehicles or even androids?

As for us, we were fortunate in that the depopulation in part has enabled us to pool our resources, and purchase the land on which we now live. We have learned the lost art of cooperation, and we will survive, because we have answers to those questions. We will together, produce our own food, and teach our children. Why our population has grown three fold over the ten years since we have begun this experiment.”

For once, Maxwell was speechless. His listened as they finished their breakfast, and Ta' Shunke Witko helped him back on his horse.

They road on together through the prairie for several days. Each evening, Maxwell found himself listening raptly to the stories Ta' Shunke Witko told him. Even the pain in his limbs seemed to be abating.

Finally, they came to a small town, where Ta' Shunke Witko left Maxwell at a hospital, along with the remains of Lydia.

Maxwell left Ta' Shunke Witko with a terse good bye, and checked in at the emergency room. He was looking forward to a bath, and proper bed.

Maxwell was cleaned and examined, and left in a sterile room for observation overnight. In the morning a doctor accompanied the android nurse into Maxwell's room.

“Ah, good morning Doctor”, Maxwell said when they entered.

The doctor merely grunted, and did not look up from the chart.

“Well, you seem to be in passable condition, considering your ordeal”, said the doctor, finally.

“Do I”, Maxwell asked somewhat surprised?

“I have replaced those ridiculous contraptions on your arm and leg with proper casts. It would appear that the bones were adequately set, so there is nothing more I can do for you other than to prescribe some medication for pain. Your limbs should require about another four to six weeks to heal completely. You should see another doctor at that time to have the casts removed and to make sure your bones are entirely healed.

Per your request I've had the nurse send the remains of your android in to be installed, if possible, in a similar unit. It should arrive at your residence within a week. Now if you have no more questions, I shall send the paperwork to the desk for you to be discharged. You are free to go.”

The doctor turned to leave, but Maxwell interjected.

“But how shall I get home?”

“How should I know?! Hire a transport”, the doctor replied, and muttered something under his breath as he left the room.

“Your clothes were not salvageable, so I've replaced them. The new ones are in the closet. Shall I help you dress”, the android nurse asked?

It was odd to Maxwell, but he found her tone even more mechanical then the rude doctor. He thought for a moment. The doctor had seemed rude, and that troubled Maxwell all the more.

The nurse helped him dress and in a few hours, he found himself hobbling up the steps of his home back in Minnesota.

The house was very quiet, and confining. Maxwell tried to watch a program on TV, but nothing seemed to hold his interest. He was hungry and disappointed that Lydia was not there to get him something to eat. Finally, he sat down at the computer and ordered some dinner to be delivered. He also discovered that the executives at WebTainment.com had assumed that he was no longer interested in the project, and had given the work to another writer. Oddly, this seemed to please him.

Over the next few days, he felt compelled to write the narrative of his ordeal.

“This should make a fine webisode. I'm sure I can sell this to those idiots,” he said to himself.

Though he knew he was lying to himself. He knew that to make it palatable to his viewers, he would have to vilify Ta' Shunke Witko. He could almost hear the feedback.

“Couldn't they be canibals? Any you repair the android yourself, and she helps you sneak across the plain with the savages at your heals?”

He was sure that would be the response.

The sound of the front door made him jump.

“Lydia,” he exclaimed as the android approached!

“Actually, Maxwell, I'm Lana. I'm Lydia's replacement, but I do retain most of her memories.”

“Lana”, Maxwell repeated, somewhat stunned.

“If you'd like, Maxwell, you can call me Lydia. I can see you've been without an android for a while”, she said surveying the mess that had become of Maxwell's house since he had been back.

“Shall I clean this place up now, get you some food, or would you like a little sexual play before I get to work”, she said smiling seductively.

Maxwell looked at her in horror. She looked nearly identical to Lydia, and her voice and mannerisms were identical. But she was not Lydia.

The thought of mechanical intercourse seemed revolting. For no reason, he suddenly felt tears begin to well up in his eyes, and he realized that he was, in fact, alone.