Silent Running by Harlan Thompson Page A

modules containing solar lamps.
    “Boy, oh boy!” he exclaimed and, leaping from the car, began piling solar lamps on his vehicle. “Okay,” he said at last, “let’s go, Huey. Dewey, you keep on loading the other modules on the cars.”
    With Huey beside him, Lowell drove swiftly from the cargo hold, through the tunnel, and into the dying forest.
    “Wait, wait!” He couldn’t help calling to the dying trees. Leaping from the car he began stringing solar lamps around. He put them in his garden, among the vegetables, and ferns, and bushes, and along pathways leading into his beloved trees.
    The forest looked terribly drab and deathly.
    Lowell swiftly began stringing solar devices together, hooking them up to a master power source in the dome. This done, he went to help Dewey, and together, with Huey looking on, they drove load after load of cargo to the far end of the dome. Here they piled them according to their labels. Hundreds of modules stood stacked there for later use.
    Suddenly, all was in readiness.
    Lowell walked over to a switch and looked around him. For the moment, all thought of Neal and the Berkshire had been crowded from his mind. Now, he could only think of his forest being saved . . . saved if he, Lowell, could save it.
    “Okay?” He looked skyward to a towering spruce wilting, its branches browning, its trunk shriveled, and scaly.
    Huey’s engine whirred. Dewey’s motor idled evenly.
    “Now!” Lowell exclaimed. His hand flipped the switch, activating the power source that threw on all the solar energy sources.
    Suddenly, the forest burst with light. It became illuminated with a brilliant warmth. Birds, animals . . . even insects . . . seemed to react to the light.
    Lowell forgot about “Six hours” and Berkshire.
    He turned to Huey and Dewey.
    “How about that!” he shouted. “It’s going to work!”
    Lowell’s eyes deepened with thought.
    “And if it does . . . ?” something within him asked. “What then?”
    “Yeah, what then?” Lowell repeated, while the ugly future seemed to spread out like a printed page before him.
    But the forest, reviving under the lights, again crowded out all thought of Anderson, Neal, and the Berkshire.
    He turned to Dewey and Huey and together they ambled into the deep forest, with the lights shining about them.
    Lowell touched a tree trunk, already warmed, already responding. He knelt to touch a flower, now withered, that would spread its petals and bloom once more.
    At length, they came back to the cars, and Lowell also came back to reality.
    He led them to a grassy bank and sat down cross-legged with a drone standing to his right and left.
    “Dewey!” Lowell sighed. “I’ve taught you everything that I know about taking care of the forest here.” Lowell paused to look around him, then went on, “And—that’s all that you have to do from now on.”
    Dewey bleeped softly, and nodded.
    Lowell went on, his voice husky with emotion: “That’s all, just—maintain the forest.” He flung an arm out. “Now, these lights here will do the job that the sun does. They provide everything. I—” Lowell’s lips trembled. “I just can’t do it anymore. You see . . . things are . . . things just haven’t . . . worked out for me.”
    Lowell paused a long time. His hand moved gently to touch Dewey’s metal shoulder. He fought for control. Finally, in a hoarse whisper, he said, “Take care of yourself, Dewey!”
    For a long time Lowell sat in the forest. Birds sang in the trees. Rabbits hopped across the grass. A falcon lighted on his arm, its clean symmetrical brown and white wings folding against its body. Lowell stroked its neck. It pecked his arm, then flew away.
    Finally, Lowell turned to the little bronze-colored drone.
    “Huey,” he said gently, “you’ll have to come with me, because you . . . you’re just not working well enough to help Dewey.”
    Suddenly Neal’s voice came, stridently seeking Lowell out:
    “BERKSHIRE TO VALLEY FORGE .