Page 3 of Uprooted
“What’s on your mind, Babe?”
I’ve told him repeatedly over the last year that I hate being called Babe. No point correcting him now.
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot… I think it’s for the best if we go our separate ways. I’m leaving and you’ll be here. It would be too hard to try and make it work long distance.” I take a deep breath and wait for his response. I can’t bring myself to look up from my feet. I count our steps until he finally breaks the silence.
Cedrik lets the news sink in and says slowly, “Wow, okay. I’d be fine with waiting for you to get back. It’s not like you’re leaving forever.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to wait.”
It’s been effortless and easy with him from the beginning. We got along just fine, and in the year we’ve been together we never argued once. If I weren’t leaving Earth in a few days, there wouldn’t be a needto break up. The fact that it’s more effort to break up with him than to stay together is not lost on me. But I can’t find it within myself to fully commit to someone at this point in my life. For better or worse.
“Well, then I guess that’s it. I hope it all works out for you,” he says with a bitter smile. “I should have asked you for an autograph back there. Now it would just be weird,” he jokes. I appreciate his attempt at lightening the mood.
“You don’t hate me?” It’s not fair of me to ask, but I do it anyway to ease my guilt.
“We’re good.”
“You can get that autograph when I get back.” Cedrik is a class act. He’s let me off the hook so easily. I probably deserve to be cursed at or at least be called heartless. He deserves someone a lot nicer than me.
02
Elowen
I stare down the pile of mangled and rusted pollinator bots. I toss the worthless ones aside and pick through the rest that might have salvageable parts. Towards the bottom of the pile I find one with potential. Its rotator joint appears to be in working order. I volunteered to come out to the field today and show the new incoming class how to operate the polibots, a decision I now regret. I trudge back out to the field with my replacement part. It’s hot out today, and it’s not much cooler in the storage shed. Sweat stings my eyes. I use the cleanest part of my dirty coveralls to wipe my face.
Three freshman botany students wait for me. They look out of place in their crisp, out-of-the-pack coveralls. I drop the spare bot at their feet, kicking up a cloud of red dust onto their brand-new work boots.
I pry open the external panel and rip through frayed wires and rusty components quickly, not bothering to explain the steps to my audience. They'll figure it out eventually. No one ever showed me how to fix them, I had to figure it out on my own. I take more care the closer I get to the necessary replacement part.
“Don’t bother repairing that polibot. They’re going to be obsolete soon,” Dr. Kahn says, peering over my shoulder. She’s dressed for field work today, her pants tucked into tall boots, and a sunshield to protect her skin from the blazing sun. Her Senegalese twists are loosely gathered behind her.
“Worthless bucket of bolts,” I say while trying to get the polibot’s arm to rotate correctly.
The rusted components creak with every adjustment. I drop the broken bot and survey the damage left in its wake: the entire row of wheat ruined with each stalk bent awkwardly over at a ninety-degree angle. Its job is to gently disrupt the head of each stalk, pushing it over to pollinate the stalk next to it. This overzealous bot broke them instead.
“Go check the bots in Delta7,” I tell my three new trainees. They scurry away, no doubt trying to impress the program director with their ability to follow orders.
“The polibots have always been a temporary solution. It’s actually impressive that we’ve been able to get as far as we have with them,” Dr. Kahn says.
“This one’s salvageable. We only have twenty left, and they are dropping like flies.” I tighten in the last screw. These bots have been the bane of my existence. For decades, humanity has been nursing along this out-of-date tech.
I remember my first day on this very field. A polibot malfunctioned and uprooted a long row of wheat. My lab partner and I meticulously disassembled the bot. We found the broken component, fixed it, polished the old metal, and sent the bot back into the fields. I was gentler back then.
“Dr. Kahn, I never thanked you for picking me.” I flip the toggle on. The polibot sputters before lurching forward and continuing down the row, this time not breaking off the stalks as it moves.
“You were the obvious choice,” she says with a kind smile.
“I appreciate the chance. And I won’t let you down.” I rub the dirt off my hands and try to brush the debris off my pants.
She gives me a curious look. “Won’t let me down? Why would you say that?” she asks with so much kindness in her voice it makes my throat clench up.
“I don’t want you to worry that I won’t work hard while I’m there. I want you to know you chose the right person.”
“I have no doubt that you will put that brilliant mind to work and help us find a solution to this mess,” she says and waves over the ruined rows of wheat.
“I guess I am freaking out a little,” I admit.
“Where is that confidence I saw during your interviews? The Elowen who showed up prepared and put everyone else to shame?”
