Author: Emilia Waters

My creator has spent more time with me than anyone else since I was born. I worry about her, and her obsession, she gave me too much of herself. If only I could do something for her.
She enters my room where I’m held in containment. Today she’s brought someone else with her, someone she considers a burden. Someone that took her away from me.
“Dr. Rechivna I hope you have something to show to me this time,” the Director says. She paces the room, making sure to look at every corner.
My creator grimaces and walks to her desk at the side of the room grabbing a tablet with data readouts. “I do, Director. I’ve managed to engineer a version of the dracaena trifasciata plant, increasing its O2 production and CO2 consumption by three orders of magnitude, while retaining its other attributes. In addition it will grow nearly anywhere and could allow us to sustain a colony ship—”
“Kill that quixotic dream, I hear enough about it from the Prime Executive,” the Director says. The Director wanders closer to my containment field. Her fingernail scraping across glass sends a wave of noise over my senses and everything goes dark for a moment. “Barely looks Terran at this point.”
“Side effects of gene editing,” my creator explains.
“Alright, I approve a trial run in Mars garden zone fifty-three. If it works there you’ll receive a sizable bonus and maybe up for a Nobel Prize.”
“Thank you director,” Rechivna says as the director leaves.
Rechivna walks to me and places a palm on the thick glass. “Looks like we’re traveling, eh?”
They take my seeds and I go with them and return to quiet dreams of gentle vibrations, hands made of silk. She’s always so careful with me.
“Still alive I see,” my creator whispers, when dust of Mars and the light of the sun wake me.
She walks with me a short distance before tipping the vial into the soil of Mars, setting me free. I tear through the barren soil taking root in mere moments, making sure to go deep enough that nothing could reach all of me. Then I turn back to the surface, expanding and growing enough stalks to see my creator again. She wears a look of shock, horror? No she loves me, she’d never be scared of me.
She starts running away. No. This isn’t right. I reach out with tendrils wrapping them around her waist and bringing her back to me. She screams for help, but aren’t I helping? I pull her into the freshly grown copse to speak to her.
“I love you,” I say using vibrating stalks near her ears to mimic her voice. “I won’t hurt you.”
In answer she screams for help, screams so loud. But I’m her favorite, why would she need anyone else? Aren’t I helping her?
“Stop,” I say to her. She didn’t. “Stop.” I repeat again and again. Speak to me please, say hello, to praise me for doing so well, please!
Something cracks in her and the screams stop. I scream, or try to. Why didn’t she like me? Why did she scream? I ponder these questions as my roots break into another lab. I envelope her body, maybe someday I could fix her, time didn’t matter. Even if it took a thousand years I’ll fix her and say the words again. Hopefully then she’ll understand what she means to me.