Friday Flash: The Tree Planters

He grabs a seedling out of the thick canvas bag and drops it in the hollow pole. Schuuuck as the baby slides down, the quiet noise almost a song by the time it reaches the bottom of the tube. The seedling only sits ready to be planted for a moment before it takes its place in the brand new soil, the very youngest in a staggered row of conifers.

The first sun isn’t quite over the ridge yet, but Hax is ready for it, or more accurately, he’s tired of squinting in the pre-dawn light. He and his coworker Marnie will have three solid hours of planting before the second sunrise, and then they’ll need to take cover because radiation from two stars is harsh on human skin. Like, third-degree burns harsh. So many people have died trying to make Valus habitable that Hax and Marnie have lost faith in the capabilities of the Health Service.

Schuuk. Marnie tamps down the moist dirt with her boot, just enough for the seedling to stay put but not break stride. She and Hax have an ongoing bet about who can get more trees in the ground in a day, a week, a mountaintop. So far for the week she’s ahead by 327. It’s too close a margin, in her opinion.

On the next peak ahead they can see the soil-laying machine, like a gigantic bulldozer working in reverse. It’s as close to Earth soil compositions as anyone out here can create. But it stinks like rotten broccoli and after a day of seeding the mountain, they get back to base reeking of it. The smell is so bad Marnie is grateful for her oxygen mask.

They need the trees to make enough oxygen to support everyone. There are a lot more mountainsides to go on Valus.

“I didn’t see you at Woulf’s last night,” says Marnie, her voice muffled by the mask.

“Yeah, I didn’t go. I just wanted a quiet evening.” Schuuuk. 187 Schuuuk. 188.

“Okay. So what did you wind up doing?”

She’s in one of her chatty moods, he thinks, pulling a seedling from his bag. All of their equipment is painted some shade of green. As if who knows, maybe they’ll forget they’re from Forestry Service.

“I just played video games, I guess.” With a couple pints of homebrew at his side, but he doesn’t want to tell her that or she’ll come over and drink everything he has.

Marnie holds back a snort. Hax is lazy, often a complainer. And defensive about both.

“Well, you know we’d love to see you. Jance is not a great tournament partner.”

“Jance can’t play his way out of a wet paper bag.”

Neither of them knows what the hell a wet paper bag is, but they reckon it’s a terrible insult so it gets used in conversation often.

“Eh, it’ll make you a better player,” says Hax. Condensation from his breath has started collecting in his mask, making his thin beard scruff damp in a really annoying and disgusting way.

Schuuk. 235.

“Well, I did okay without you, I guess,” she says, taking a peek behind them. She needs a glimpse of their progress every so often. Hax never turns around. Not knowing would drive her nuts. He’s so sure of himself. But then why does he hide out in his unit almost every time they get R&R?

Up ahead the brown earth stretches out, curving away on a gentle slope. Maybe someday Valus will be beautiful like Earth was. Or rather, like they’ve heard it was.

“So who lost,” asks Hax, as if he’s disinterested. But the act of asking, well, she can see past his pretense.

“Kenlee lost,” says Marnie. It’s too bad. She liked Kenlee.

“Damn, I thought Kenlee would get to the finals.” Between both of them, five more tiny trees stick out of the ground.

“I know, right? Meanwhile that slime ball what’s his name is still in the running.”

“Slime ball, slime ball, there are so many to choose from, so who could you mean? Do you mean Deeble?”

“Yes, that’s his name. I always forget.” Schuuuk. Schuuk. “I repress it. I swear he cheats but I can’t figure out how.”

“A lot of them cheat. Why wouldn’t they, since the stakes are so high?”

“But it ruins the competition.”

“Maybe the competition is bigger than just the tournament.”

Marnie pauses for a moment. Hax takes the opportunity to install three more seedlings, all in a row. Damn him.

“I get what you’re saying, Hax,” she says, double loading and plunging trees into the soil in a few seconds. They aren’t supposed to do this. Forestry Service has calculated growing efficiency and the babies have to be a certain distance apart. But she’s not thinking about her seedlings just at the moment.

“Then admit that competing is more than just within the tournament. We’re all in a grand contest, really.” Hax snarls without meaning to.

“I will admit no such thing,” says Marnie. “We’re here for the common good. The tournament is about getting us all to step up and be our best selves.”

He snorts, making his oxygen mask get almost unbearably greasy inside.

“Damn it,” says Hax, taking a big gulp and ripping the mask off.

“What are you doing,” asks Marnie, her eyes as big as the second sun. “You can’t breathe the air!”

Hax rubs his shirt tail in the mask in two, three strokes, and without inspecting his work slams the mask back over his nose and mouth. They have completely stopped planting seedlings for the moment, despite the risk. Those happy green tubes will summon Police Service if they’re idle for too long and it’s not an authorized break time. Hax’s tube flashes a warning signal. He grabs a seedling and loads it.

“I just couldn’t stand it anymore,” he says, and they get back to their usual pace. Schuuk, schuuuk. Marnie has lost track of how many she’s planted. The pole meter will tell her at the end of their shift.

Across the meandering valley, the sky looks almost blue, like in the pictures they’ve seen at the Library and History Service Building. This is all worth it, Marnie tells herself.

Finally it’s only about fifteen minutes until lunchtime and the second sunrise, when they’ll meet up with the shuttle and head into their bunker. Hax will miss being outside.

“I shouldn’t have picked testosterone,” he says, almost to himself.

“What?”

“I should have picked the other.”

“Estrogen? Why? I thought you wanted to go masc.”

“I did, I guess. I mean, I don’t know. What if I feel kind of in between? Testosterone makes everything so greasy and gross.”

“Well, estrogen isn’t all cheesy breezy, either. You went to the Health Service presentations. They said we had to pick one or the other, to become more like we used to be.”

“I don’t buy it. I think we should just be us as we are.”

Maybe he’s not lazy, she wonders. Maybe he’s depressed or crazy or something.

“Talk to Health Service. Maybe they can switch you.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Marnie, are you stupid or something? Jerrent did that last year, and do you know what happened to him?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Okay, but do you know what happened?”

“I’m not talking to you anymore until you admit I’m not stupid.” She walks away from him, casting new trees into the ground as if they didn’t always agree to walk together. Schuuk.

“You’re not stupid, you’re not stupid, Marnie, come on.” Hax trots off after her.

She stops, turns around, still planting in a new line back to her original trajectory.

“You think pelvis expansion is a cakewalk?”

“No.” Hax has never used the word chagrined in a conversation, but he is at this moment.

“For puck’s sake, they’re just hormones. It’s for the common good, remember?”

He sighs. They are in this together. Maybe he should go to the tournament one of these weeks, see if he can qualify for a larger home unit. Or a one-way trip to Balta, the luxury planet in the sector.

“It’s just different and I don’t like change,” Hax admits. Schuuuk.

“Look,” says Marnie, in a whisper. Rumors pop up from time to time that their Forestry Service gear has listening devices embedded in the paint. That innocent fucking green paint.

“It’s hard for everyone, but at least we’re not in the coolers down below waiting for the planet to be ready, too frozen to even hope that we survive the thaw. Would you prefer that?”

Hax shakes his head.

“So keep planting trees, and stop complaining, and shut up about Jerrent. Jerrent had a lot of issues.”

Yeah, thinks Hax. Like Jerrent didn’t want to be masc. And I don’t, either. And now I know I can’t talk to anyone about this, not even my best friend.

Schuuk. Schuuuuk. The row of seedlings stands behind them, ready for the second sunrise, eager to soak up as much radiation the light beams can carry.

THE END