Shira’s Green Child The pain from my left shoulder jolted me awake, calling attention to the deep gashes that were bandaged by my frozen blood. I struggled to stand up from the icy steel flooring thanks to my rigid, aching scapula and glanced over at my laptop. A red light blinked below a familiar smiling face. I squinted to see who it was, but by the time I could begin to make out the first few letters of their name, the light died out. I didn’t even know why I bothered to look. I was surprised any of them managed to survive this long. Dammit, why didn’t you listen to me? My sensors didn’t indicate anything out of the ordinary at the time, but I could feel something was off. The air was too still and the fauna too sparse for the time of year we arrived. I begged Captain Shira not to lead another excursion in these conditions in spite of what we were being told, but she just gave me that classic confident grin of hers and assured me everything would be okay. The blizzard proved her wrong. I gazed around the room in hopes of finding supplies. I could hear the menacing howl of the wind from outside as I examined the scattered screws surrounding a fallen metal scrap that I deduced must have knocked me unconscious. After about an hour of searching, I lit a fire and took stock of all I had found. Rations of food and water to last the crew about two weeks, a radio with no batteries, my laptop, seven weighted blankets and the potted plant Captain Shira tried to grow. It infuriated me to even look at that plant. Against all my scientific evidence saying a plant like that couldn’t survive in temperatures anywhere near this cold, she tried nurturing it anyways. My biting criticism was interrupted by a faint chirp emanating from the camp’s entrance. I peeked through the door to see a magnificent crimson breasted robin, shivering in the frigid wastes. I quickly scooped him up and carried him inside. I observed the peculiar bird, trying to determine its species. By all accounts, it was a male robin, but at these temperatures, it would be impossible for him to survive. I concluded that he must be a new species and hurriedly opened my laptop in hopes of snagging a photograph. I set him near the flames to revitalize him and grappled with my laptop’s webcam to get a clear shot. The moment he began to rise, I snapped a picture and began analyzing its behavior. Curiously, it watched me as well with its shiny, beady eyes that seemed to convey a sense of warmth. Perhaps gratitude for his rescue? But could a robin even convey
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complex emotions such as gratitude? What biological purpose would it serve? Over the next three weeks, I had fallen into a habitual routine as most organisms do. Decide what to scrap to keep the fire lit, feed myself and the robin I eventually named Nobu, write in my journal to pass the time and keep me sane, and go outside in case anyone was looking for me. In addition to this, I decided to continue caring for Shira’s plant. As much as it pained me to watch over, it kept a part of her with me. But, as expected, the plant never seemed to germinate. Why did you choose me, Shira? There were so many others that were just as qualified as me, if not more so. Maybe I should have matched your conviction. Then maybe you’d… I was interrupted by a large squawk from behind me. Nobu had begun to fly in an odd circular pattern, something I’ve never seen him do before. I scurried toward my journal to jot this down. He divebombed toward the fire, rushing past the flames and shot out of the campsite through the small crack in the roof that I had previously tried to patch up using the fallen piece of metal that struck me. In the commotion, he knocked over the pot and scattered its contents across the floor. A clump landed right on top of my journal, and poking out from within was a tiny, bright green stem. I picked it up, peering at its light green stalk as it greeted the world above. My fingers danced delicately along what I presumed to be the formation of a leaf. It was soft to the touch, like a newborn child, and would bend at an infinitesimal amount of pressure. I placed it back in the pot and, using the slim ray of sunlight squeezing through the roof, began to cultivate the green child. Laying next to it, I thought I could hear a distant whirring. I was rescued later that day. I informed the agency of what had happened and they sent out a search party to recover the bodies. Soon, each of the team members had a proper burial and were commended for their dedication to the advancement of science. I never saw Nobu or another robin like him for as long as I lived. But I never gave up looking. Story by Derek Pena Illustration by Matina Mahasantipiya Design by Erin McLoughlin
