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This fanfiction article, Flower Story, was written by Underlord1271. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
BREAKFAST: BAGEL
LUNCH: MUSHROOM SOUP, LAB CHICKEN
DINNER: REHEATED RAVIOLI
OTHER: PROTEIN BAR
DREAMS: N/A
NOTES:
“Almost done, just wait one second,” I said.
I felt around the desk a bit, pushing all the flexible papers I could feel out of the way. I only looked down from Rose when I couldn’t find her growth chart. I had just put it down, so I don’t even know where it could have gone. Not that it matters, really. I can just beam all the data from our visits into her dad’s brain now. Still, I do prefer paper. Even if it’s obsolete. But none of that really matters, so I walked my fingers back to the nasal speculum I prepped earlier.
“Alright. I’m going to put this OVER your nose, but nothing will go UP your nose. I promise.”
Rose is ten now. Isn’t that something? If I look back, it doesn’t really feel like I’ve been here too long. But two years now. It’s funny how kids help you keep track of time. Adults? They don’t change much. But kids can look (and act) completely different overnight.
Anyway, I had to check how the SSI inside her nostril was doing. It’s damn neat, really. You could barely even tell that her septum had been replaced by a wall of steel nanorobots. The nosebleeds finally stopped, too. I’d complain about how long it took to actually give her the implant, but she’s actually been great. In hindsight, it’s understandable to refuse to talk when a planet with twice the amount of gravity you’re used to is popping blood vessels in your nose without a care in the worlds. So credit where credit’s due, I guess.
“Well I’ve got great news for you. The implant is all done. How do you feel?”
She told me that she could barely feel it. That’s good. 5 words out of her is good, really. Last time I’ll see her, which makes me sad for… well, obvious reasons. But it’s good.
Anything I can do to help.
The weather on Eirene was relatively normal. 19 degrees, a light breeze. Reterraforming, working the way it’s supposed to: as well as it can. Not quite as hot as the Alcaraz fields used to be, but I didn’t mind. Not like I ever had a reference point. Not like I ever even traveled to begin with.
I made my way to the food tent. There were some good options, some chicken and stuff. Can’t remember. Decent lab imitations. I got some of that and some soup and made my way over to the canteen. Lots of other UEGAID there, different men and women talking. And chewing. Which I hate. Lots of crunching and gross wet sounds and shit I didn’t want to be bothered with, so I sat in the shade close to the fields. Though some of the crunching might have been the glass. It’s easier to hear when its beneath your feet, but you can see it in the fields. Grass growing over and through it, but you can still see it shining underneath. Nature was healing itself, all sparkly and new.
I had only just sat down when I heard my name.
“Scuderia? Ben?”
Not a lot of people knew me, here. I turned around, expecting it to be one of the lab assistants or someone. But it wasn’t. Of all people I could have seen in space, it was Jason White.
That is not a name I’ve thought of in years.
“Shit,” I nearly spat my food out. “Wheaty?”
He sat on the opposite side of me and started to talk.
“Goddamn. You look… different. Shit. You grew out your hair? How are you?”
I looked him up and down. His hair was gone, just a buzz now. He stared at me, eyes locked on mine, but looking at something different. He couldn’t ever get rid of his eyes, though, no matter how hard he tried. They’ll always belong to the Salem Mass Farming Project, where he grew up.
“I see your medjawn. You got a degree? I know it’s been a while but I still remember you talking about that.”
I took a sip of my water.
Yes, of course I got a degree.
What else could I do?
“Drexel. BME. Only one left.”
The silence was palpable. Or maybe just awkward. I couldn’t tell.
“Hoagies out here are shit, huh?”
“Yes. Yes they are. Wheaty, are we… what are you doing here?”
He took something out of his clothes- a uniform, now I had time to inspect him. A flask.
“Peace Corps. Rolled out here last week.”
I let him drink to the sound of blowing wind and distant conversation. I continued after he finished whatever was in there.
“When did you enlist?”
He looked into my eyes again, amber meeting brown. After a moment of this, he tapped his fingers on the table. He inhaled deeply. The culmination of all of this was a resigned sigh as he looked back out over the field.
“Wheaty, are we… are we alright?”
He practically threw the flask onto the table.
“I’m great. How are you, though? You know. Since you died.”
There it was.
The words I was afraid of.
“I didn’t die.”
“May as well have. Shit, Ben. You disappeared. Didn’t even say goodbye. Too smart for us, I guess. Take the fucking standard and fly as fuck-far away from us as you want.”
“Well I’m sorry I didn’t want to waste my fucking life getting high with you, Wheaty.”
The flask had spilled now. The wind scattered its final contents off the table and into the shimmering grass below.
“New tattoo, huh?”
“Wheaty…”
“You know she died waiting for you? She died of lung poisoning waiting for you. In her bed, when there was still too much shit in the air to see sunlight. She didn’t care about that, though, as long as she got to see you. Then you never showed up.”
I began to cry.
“Wheaty, I’m sorry.”
He picked the flask up and drank more.
“I didn’t want to leave you. I didn’t. But I didn’t know what to do. I thought you were dead. I thought all of you were. And then the missiles came, and I…”
I couldn’t continue, so I looked up. Wiping the tears from my eyes. This time, though, his didn’t meet mine. They were locked on the fields, away from me.
“I got the standard back. 4100. Drexel shouldn’t have taken me, but they did. It was her dream, Wheaty. She always talked about wanting to help people. I really thought… I really thought she was dead.”
He exhaled, slowly.
“She was.”
“What?”
“We gave her all our radiation meds, she should’ve pulled through, but… she didn’t. It was a week after.”
“Wheaty, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, I guess. I try not to think about it. I’m sorry, I lashed out. It’s just… been a long time. It isn’t easy on you either, is it?”
“No. Sometimes I feel fine, but… it still hits me every now and then. Sometimes weaker. But it’s always there.”
“You should be proud. I gave you shit for it, but it is what we all wanted. Escape. I just… didn’t think any of us could do it. I just… wish I could’ve been able to say goodbye, is all.”
“You should have, Wheaty. It’s my fault. And I’m sorry.”
The breeze had picked up now, and we were both staring at the field. The tall grass blew, making waves across the flat world until it met the horizon. Under it, pockets of glimmering light as the sunbeams shot out from a lowering sun and caught the glass underneath. I stood up to avoid the glare.
“It reminds me of home,” he said. “Reminds me of Jersey.”
“When do you leave?” I asked.
“Two days,” he said. “We were just the prelims crew to get everything set up.”
“Where are you going after?”
He paused.
“I don’t know. Not home, though. Nothing left. Everything is rebuilt, but… everybody is gone.”
“I’m sorry, Wheaty. I really am.”
“It’s okay, Ben. I’m happy for you, really. I lashed out. But I’m glad I got to see you again. I’m glad you aren’t dead.”
We were both standing, now. His eyes weren’t on the field anymore.
He hugged me.
“She’d be proud of you too,” he said.
“Rose would be proud.”
And again, the tears came back.
He took his flask, stuffed it back into his uniform, and turned to walk into the field.
Then I wiped my tears away, and I got back to work: anything I can do to help.