Botanicaust

by Linsey, Tam

  “Oh, how awful!” Tula knitted her brow. “Are many of you effected? You and Dr. Kaneka seem fine.”

  Dr. Rice stiffened. “Oh. We’re working on some secondary enzymes. But our supply is … unsteady.” She peeled back the leaf compress. “Ugh. Look at these Mgunga leaves. What an invention.”

  Tula watched the poultice as Rice tossed it away. “We call it yuvee. It predicts incoming ultraviolet surges.”

  “Yes, yes, the fluorescence is a useful byproduct if you spend any time outside, I suppose.” Dr. Rice cinched Levi to the chair and rotated him to access his shoulder. “The Mgunga tree was engineered to fix nitrogen levels in cropland. Do-gooders trying to reduce the use of chemical fertilizers. Planted it all over the Midwest. The original species was from Africa, and lived on no precipitation. But give it a little rainfall and it explodes. Couldn’t get rid of it once it settled in. And the amarantox loves it.”

  “I was actually surprised by the variety of plants growing Outside. And the animals! I’d been led to believe nothing was left from before the Botanicaust.”

  Dr. Rice cut the binding on Levi’s chest and shook her head. “Nothing like before. I was married to a botanist before the Botanicaust. He was on the Amaranthine Team. The one that lost control of the amarantox.”

  Tula’s mind reeled. In school she’d learned the Botanicaust had been caused by climate change, in spite of scientists’ best efforts. Amarantox had simply filled a gap. “The amarantox was created on purpose?”

  “Not exactly. The plant was supposed to help us live forever. It has naturally high levels of a unique tocotrienol, which researchers attempted to enhance. They didn’t realize they’d also increased the plant’s defensive chemicals. It secretes compounds into the soil to keep competing plants from sprouting. When the drought hit, the amarantox took over and cross-bred with all the native amaranth, spreading the toxic genome throughout the continent. Crops couldn’t compete. The weed shrugged off targeted herbicides, and farmers resorted to broad-spectrum sprays, which only helped kill off the competition.”

  “Why not burn the fields? We keep the plants down that way.”

  Laughing, the doctor said, “Ah, mankind never changes. Where do you think the name Botanicaust comes from? Burning was no better than herbicides. Without vegetation to hold the soil in place, the land became a dustbowl. Until the amarantox moved back in. Needless to say, my husband was fired.” Dr. Rice set the diagnostic chair on autosurgeon to cleanse Levi’s exposed wounds then looked up. A quiver raced through Tula as she met the doctor’s blood red stare. “Your turn.”

  Haldanian Protectorate

  Under the fiber-optic light above his desk, Vitus held out a wrist to admire the lapis bracelet and matching ring — a gift from the new psychiatric intern who wanted to make a good impression. He was flattered. He’d never been able to wear lapis because the blue made his skin appear more jaundiced.

  Today the back of his hand remained a bright malachite green, even after ten days without treatment. And it wasn’t his imagination this time. The spectrometer had confirmed chlorophyll stabilization in his sample cells this morning. The longevity research was finally taking root.

  Vitus was on the cutting edge of conversion technology — a perfect test subject because of the natural senescence of his chloroplasts. Symbiotic fungi in his body should replicate telomerase ad infinitum, freeing him of the need for treatments forever.

  And his team wondered why he never let them give him the standard telomerase treatments. He snorted. Primitive. Only a handful of people knew about the project — the highest officials in the Protectorate, and natural born, every one. Oh, how he looked forward to rubbing this in the faces of all the people who had pitied his ripening.

  Once the research was perfected, Vitus would live forever. Then he would eradicate the cannibal weeds swarming the surface of the earth.

  He tapped his access code into his vidcom. While he waited for a response, he straightened the silver chain around his neck. He’d have to hint around that he needed lapis beads to match his new bracelet.

  The vidcom image popped to life on the glossy surface of his desk — a pale face with arterial red eyes. “Dr. Dedecus.” Kaneka’s voice greeted him with the usual superior impassiveness. For once, Vitus’ smile was genuine. He didn’t like Kaneka — those eyes disturbed him — but today he felt magnanimous.

  “Kaneka. Seems the latest combination of enzymes is holding steady. I’m forwarding the spectrometer and diagnostic data now.” Vitus settled back into his chair to give the Fosselite a broader view of his magnificent skin and rubbed his chin just to show the camera a flash of his new bracelet.

  He chuckled to himself. Not only would he have chloroplasts, but immortality. Even the Fosselites were a step behind him, physically unable to accept the introduction of foreign plastids into their current longevity treatments.

  The red-eyed doctor’s scrutiny showed no appreciation. “Mmmm. The scan shows excessive production of naive T cells. I need you to come here for a bone marrow sample.”

  Vitus twitched. He hated going to that cave the Fosselites called home. Not to mention the pain of a biopsy. “I’ll have my people send you a sample.”

  “I suppose that would work.” Kaneka paused. “But I had hoped to reunite you with one of your reversions.”

  “Why?” Vitus snorted. “Those weeds are dead to me.”

  Part of the deal with the Fosselites was to send them test subjects. The higher-ups chose to be “unaware” of this part of the arrangement. Vitus didn’t care. He was in the perfect position to facilitate the project. Rather than waste conversion resources already invested, he signed the euthanization papers and then sent reversions north. It wasn’t like anyone would miss them. What the Fosselites did with them was their business. Unless they succeed with one of those weeds and don’t give the cure to me.

  He sat forward, glaring into the screen. “You’d better not break our deal, Kaneka. If you’ve discovered something new…”

  An unnerving smile twisted the corners of Kaneka’s lips. “She’s asked for asylum. We’d like to know what she is worth to you before we decide her fate.”

  For a few heartbeats, Vitus processed Kaneka’s words. He hadn’t sent any reversions in months.

  Who -? His eyes widened as he realized whom Kaneka must be talking about. Shaking, he leapt from his chair, sending it skittering back to hit the wall behind him. He leaned closer to the pale image, nostrils flaring. “That weed actually reached you?”

  “She and her companion are a bit worse for wear.”

  When the Council voted to give her a trial if she came back, Vitus had stormed from the meeting. She’d obviously reverted. His disgust with the Board made him want to vomit. But they never located her, and Vitus found joy in visualizing her tortuous death in the desert. But she lives. If the Fosselites gave her amnesty, she’d have access to the longevity treatments. “She’s a reversion. I demand her euthanization immediately.”

  “She says she is one of your Conversion Psychiatrist.”

  Vitus’s lips contorted, baring his teeth. “Don’t you dare offer her asylum! Do you hear me? She lost all rights when she reverted.”

  “Dr. Dedecus, we don’t want any trouble over this. Now or later. Perhaps we should talk to your superiors —”

  “I want her to suffer!” Flecks of spittle dotted the screen on the desk. “I’m the one in control of reversions. If she gets longevity treatments, I promise you’ll never see another test subject again!”

  “I see.” Dr. Kaneka steepled his fingers below his chin. “Well, we do need more test subjects. The ones you send keep dying.”

  The Fosselite Mountain

  Tula opened an eye and checked on Levi from where she lay next to him on the bed. Her own room was next door, but she wanted him to wake to something familiar. His eyes moved rapidly beneath his lids, the dream grasping him firmly in its hold. His lips twitched, grimaced, relaxed. A good dream or a bad dream? She
stroked the back of her hand along his jaw. Her super sensitized skin prickled at the contact of his soft stubble, but she didn’t stop. What would it be like to kiss those lips now that she was free of her UV chemicals?

  She’d forgotten how bad telomerase therapy hurt. How many children had she talked through it? Told to be strong? Too many to count. The analgesics Dr. Rice gave her didn’t do a thing. And the treatment wasn’t even a full conversion. Mo underwent this every few months, and she never remembered him complaining. How did he bear it?

  She’d managed to keep quiet as the chemicals entered her bloodstream, burning their way across her skin and into her organs and tissues. And she’d found the strength to walk herself to their appointed rooms as an escort pushed Levi’s gurney. But now, with no one but an unconscious Levi to hear her, she murmured a little song she used to sing to the children to comfort them. It wasn’t working.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Levi opened his lids, his eyes immediately finding hers. She jerked her hand away from his cheek, but he caught it, his big, warm palm grasping hers with an urgency she found disconcerting. “Tula. I thought I’d lost you.”

  She shook her head, words escaping her.

  He pulled her hand against his chest and rolled to face her, his other arm drawing her close. She gasped, ripples of sensation — not quite pain, and not quite pleasure —coursing from his sudden touch. “Tula?” He eased his grasp.

  “I’m okay,” she assured him as much as herself. She tried to recall how long new converts complained about telomerase aftereffects. A few hours? She’d worked hard to distract the children as they recovered, offering candy and games, movies and whatever entertainment seemed to ease them. Many of the younger ones wanted to be cuddled. Mo never complained at all, just sat outside and let new UV soak into his skin. Maybe she needed to go outside.

  Levi carefully traced a palm up her back to cup the back of her neck, sending intense shivers to the tips of her fingers and toes. “Did she hurt you?”

  Tula blinked. “Who?”

  “That doctor woman.”

  Dr. Rice. “No. The medicine. It makes me…” She didn’t want to say hurt. Levi’s hands did not hurt. She liked the way he touched her. But she couldn’t think of a word to use.

  Instead, she closed her eyes and nuzzled back against his hand. His breath caressed her face, and she opened her eyes to meet his. His pupils were huge, and, for a moment, they simply looked at each other. Time stretched. She tilted her chin a little, licked her lips. His eyes followed the movement, then returned to meet her gaze. A slight pressure against the back of her neck invited her toward him. His mouth met her halfway, the soft press of his lips against hers making her eyelids close.

  That day beneath the blanket in the desert rose into her memory with a clarity she didn’t think possible. She thought the passion she felt every time she looked at him was from the chemicals. But she wasn’t drugged, now. Neither was he.

  They explored each other’s mouths like a gentle question. Her hand slid across the heated skin of his torso to wrap around his waist. Lower, she felt another heat against her, asking, insisting.

  His smooth, strong muscles trembled beneath her fingertips. She’d never wanted sex so much in her life. Desire was the only thing that mattered at the moment.

  “Tula,” he breathed against her ear. She mouthed his neck, tasting salt and flesh.

  “Please, Levi.” She nipped his ear, wrapped her feet around the backs of his knees.

  He sank into her and they moaned in unison. The entire length of his body pressed into hers. He kept enough weight on his elbows to keep from crushing her, but not allow one nanometer of space between them. With a slow draw, he pulled back and plunged again. Inside her, the tension welled upward, a wave preparing to crest, and she cried out for more.

  Levi latched onto her mouth, crushing her voice, continuing his drive. Their breaths became one, and she opened her eyes to find him staring into her face, the passion in his blue eyes a force not to be denied. His hands kneaded and stroked her sides and buttocks, slid under her to clench the back of her neck.

  Her head grew light as she wrapped her legs around him, straining him closer. When she came, he trembled, a shudder taking him the same moment a groan escaped his lips, vibrating against her neck and ear with a sensual timbre that resonated perfectly with the roar of her climax.

  They lay together, breathing, for an infinite amount of time. Their combined scent filled the room. He pressed his lips against her neck, not kissing, just touching, pushing so much love and energy into her soul that only happy tears expressed her heart. She didn’t know love could be like this. No drugs. Just pure and full and right.

  When he rolled onto his back, she wasn’t ready to break contact. She rolled to her side and lay her head on his chest. His heart thudded against her cheek as he wrapped both arms around her, her top leg resting on his thigh. Never before had she felt so whole and complete.

  She wanted this to last forever.

  Levi woke slowly, stretching beneath the blankets and then letting his body relax. His down mattress was softer than he remembered. He reached to the side in search of Josef, found a body, pulled it close. The waft of evergreen combined with the undeniable curve of a female hip jolted him fully awake. I’m not at home.

  Tula stretched, then snuggled into him, and his groin stirred.

  No, he thought, and shoved away. She didn’t wake, only whimpered, curling tighter into a fetal position. A soft song rose from her, and he propped himself on an elbow to catch the familiar tune. “Jesus loves me, this I know —”

  She was crying as she murmured the song, shivering in the throes of a dream. Levi trembled himself. How did she know that song? Grasping her upper arm, he rolled her onto her back. Her eyes shot open and she blinked, coming out of sleep, terror on her face.

  “Where did you learn that song?”

  “What?”

  “Jesus Loves Me.”

  She chewed her lip. “I … don’t know. I was little girl.”

  The quivering in his chest ceased, and his heart expanded. The name of Jesus on her lips was a sign. “You are one of us. A Child of God.”

  The tightness in his brow eased for what felt like the first time in weeks. He slipped a hand around her cheek to play with the fine hairs at the back of her neck. He would ask her to come with him. His quest for Josef paled when he thought Tula was in immediate danger. Waking, finding her safely next to him, all he wanted was to celebrate, to revel gratefully in her presence. They would not be separated again, no matter what. God meant for them to be together.

  He lay back down and pulled her against his chest. Her body fit his effortlessly, the co-mingling of their breaths like something divine. He inhaled deeply of her. She would help him get his request translated to the Fosselites. He would marry her, and hope his people could see her as he did. And if the Old Order would not accept her for the Child of God she was, he would take Josef and they would go form a life of their own. Perhaps cannibals like the ones who’d healed him would join them.

  His joy made him want to start his day, to live in happiness that he’d thought died with Sarah. He nuzzled Tula behind the ear and pushed the covers back. In response to his movement, faint light flickered on from tubes in the ceiling. Tula groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. Smiling at how cute she was, he rose and tucked the blanket firmly around her. Then he looked around the room.

  The only furniture consisted of the bed and a lone chair in one corner. On the floor next to the chair, the cattail bag he and Tula had carried across the desert spilled its contents across the tile. Over the back of the chair lay a set of brilliant green clothing. A door stood open and Levi spied a pedestal sink. He found the cannibal knife and headed to the bathroom.

  For five years he’d worn the beard prescribed for married men by the Ordnung, even after Sarah died. The beard was a shield. He hadn’t been comfortable as a single man. Now, he gawked at the stubble covering his he
ad and face, not quite a beard, but definitely not the clean-shaven face of a single man. He glanced over his shoulder at the bed. Which was it to be? Single man, courting a Blattvolk? Or should he resume the stoic acceptance of his widower hood?

  Rolling the knife between his fingers, he surveyed his face. Regardless of the rest, the mustache had to go. A pump mounted on the wall dispensed a froth of soap he lathered onto his upper lip and then scraped the knife across the hairs. Not nearly as effective as his razor, but God knew he made the effort. In the interest of appearing more mature in his dealings with the Fosselites, he opted to keep the beard.

  A towel hung from the door of the shower stall and he looked longingly into the cubicle. A slick, stretchy substance had been molded over the wound on his arm, which no longer hurt, but he was unsure if he should get it wet. The burn on his shoulder had the same covering. With a sigh, he sponged himself off and avoided the draw of a hot shower. He donned the clothing — short pants and a sleeveless shirt, just like the Fosselites wore. Had they given him green because of Tula? The fabric was unusually fine and stretchy. The sparseness of the shorts and shirt felt more like underclothes than something to wear in public, but certainly better than a ragged mat of cattails. The slipper-shoes they’d left fit well, cradling his travel worn feet.

  His stomach yearned for breakfast. Maybe he could find food and be back before Tula woke. He opened the door and peered into a narrow hall, but saw no one. A click sounded from a small grill to one side of the door and a woman’s voice issued forth. “Levi, welcome. Please to wait for escort.” The words were stilted, as if read from a book.

  Glancing at the bed, he bit his lip. Someone would be here soon. Would see that he and Tula had slept together. Samuel’s voice rang in his head. Fornication. He had to wake her. Get her dressed. He looked around again. No clothing. Why didn’t she have any clothing?