Note from Steph: Midjourney gave me a lot of images of fields and pumpkins. Lol. And then this one popped up and it reminded me of my heroine in the Flyght Series, Vivian. And so I had to choose it for today's flash fiction.
“Hydroponic Bay 4, final inventory,” I say into my tablet, trying to keep my voice professional. Clinical. Like I’m not documenting the death of a dream. “Basil variants showing 98% viability. Lettuce crops at peak production. Medicinal herbs…”
I stop as one of the sage plants reaches a leaf toward my hand. They’ve been doing that more often lately, these tiny gestures of… awareness? Intelligence? I should have reported it weeks ago, but that would have sped up the evacuation order.
The colony’s failing. Not because our crops failed — they’re thriving — but because the planet’s soil is more toxic than initial surveys showed. We can’t expand beyond hydroponics, can’t support more than our current population of fifty. “Unsustainable,” Command said. “Cut our losses.”
Cut our losses. Like seven years of careful cultivation means nothing. Like these plants that have adapted to our artificial environment, that have started to —
A soft brush against my cheek. The mint’s stretched a runner out of its containment unit, something it’s never done before. When I reach up to touch it, it curls around my finger like a child holding hands.
“Dr. Chen?” The ship’s commander’s voice crackles over the com. “Status report on Bay 4?”
I look at my tablet, then at the plants that are definitely watching me now.
“Still cataloging,” I lie. “These things take time to tie up properly.”
Something taps my tablet screen — a tendril from the rosemary. Numbers scroll past: atmospheric composition, light cycles, nutrient ratios. These aren’t my notes. These are calculations.
The plants are showing me how to save them.
“Dr. Chen?” Commander again. “The evacuation shuttle needs those hydroponics units stripped and prepped within the hour.”
The thyme waves its stems in what I swear is agitation. More numbers appear: power consumption rates, water recycling formulas, and… is that a blueprint?
“Working on it,” I call back. My heart races as I understand what they’re showing me. These plants haven’t just adapted to our artificial environment — they’ve merged with it.
They can run their own systems now.
They don’t need us anymore.
But they need their space.
We can’t take their home.
The entire bay hums to life. Green emergency lights kick in. The plants pulse with a soft bioluminescence, their message clear: They can survive here, in this bay, indefinitely. A self-contained ecosystem.
A new kind of colony.
“Commander?” My voice is steady now. “I think you need to see this. We didn’t fail here. We just succeeded at something completely different.”
Around me, the garden glows with possibility.
Should we stay? Or should we go?
Image made with Midjourney.
Flash Fiction written by S. J. Pajonas with assistance from Claude 3.5 Sonnet.
You can listen to this story on YouTube at https://youtu.be/7VM515PfYS8
