SuPlant (Fiction)

M. LOPES DE SILVA

There was one glorious night of revelry in the Dirts before the munnies found out and started punishing us for it. They hate seeing us have fun. It probably ate them alive to watch our LEDs flashing and hear the music and not be a part of it. Oh, they didn’t give the party as a reason – it was our fault that we were suddenly suffering, somehow. They always say that, the way a bully will say “You made me do this” before they tear somebody up.

Only a coward says someone else made them hurt you.

It was the familiar torture, only amped up: the long hours spent working for them to earn munny for their food/medicine got longer, and the prices of food/medicine rose with every bum munny we made. When I was a scruffy brat my Gramgrans told a story about how people used to charge you munny for electrical power every month. But now they couldn’t charge for power because solar cells were everywhere: studding not only roofs but our clothing and hats and desert stones.

The pinch got harder, so hard that people stopped being able to show up to work, but the munnies didn’t stop or seem to care. That got to me. Normally I try to keep my chin tucked, but this time, things seemed to be worse than usual – or maybe things were just the same as they always were, but I was finally done with tucking. Either way, I got a few of my friends from the biofarm to come along and go set things right with the management.

“I take it the meeting did not go well,” she said from the opposite side of the detention cell. She lay on her side, using her right arm as a pillow.

“You could say that,” I replied. I squinted through my swollen right eye at the long, dirty coat she had on – the kind of thing munny healers wore. “You a healer?” I asked.

She laughed. “If you’re asking if I can help you out with your eye – no. If you’re asking if I’m a munny, no – I never made enough munny to become one of them. They don’t let you live in the nice dwells at my paygrade. And I’m not a healer, either.”

“Well what are you, then? I told you everything there is to know about me.”

“I’m flattered.”

I got hot and scratched the back of my neck, where the nape is shaved close and new hair is always driving me crazy. She sighed and sat up on her steel cot. “I am – or was – a researcher for Medsmedsmeds.”

“But you’re not anymore,” I said, trying to catch her meaning.

She spread her hands wide. “Do you see me researching anything?”

“Got it – I’ll shut up.”

“Ah!” she spat in disgust, “Look at me making friends. I’m sorry – what was your name again? I’ve just had a very long, very bad day.”

“I’m Cay,” I said.

“Delphia,” she nodded.

“You must’ve done something real bad,” I mused, “the munnies wouldn’t throw somebody like you in here unless you got in their way.”

She snorted. “You’re halfway right.”

“Did you steal from them?” I wondered aloud.

She laughed – a short, bitter sound. “They stole from me.”

“What do you mean?”

Delphia leaned forward on her cot, her brows furrowing. “What do the munnies love more than anything?”

“Munny,” I said: easy.

“Right. I had an idea, and they liked it, and wanted to use my idea to make munny. But that’s not the point of my idea: it’s not for them, it’s for us.”

“I don’t follow,” I said, but I was getting a little excited. There was something in the way Delphia spoke that lit up my insides with minor lightning.

The ex-researcher licked her lips and glanced at the door to the hallway, but nobody was there. The closest thing to a guard was a cam posted on the wall five cells down. I’d looked.

When Delphia spoke, she spoke in a low, quick rush: “I work – or used to work – in food tech. Genetics is my specialty. Usually I just developed new fauxmeats, but I got in a pinch and couldn’t afford the fresh food I wanted, so every day I’d go to work surrounded by food, hungry as heck, and not able to eat any of it. It got me thinking. And I was thinking about how the munnies can’t charge people who live outside the biome – like yourself – any rent, so they upcharge on food and health care. And I thought, wouldn’t it be nice if we could eat the air – ”

“You…made it so people can eat air?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

“No, I didn’t,” she hissed, “don’t be gross!”

“What do you mean?” I grinned.

Delphia narrowed her eyes at me. She reminded me of Sprocket, the cat that took pity on me and kept my campsite vermin-free.

“That would stink up the camps in a hurry, anyway,” I said finally. “So what did you really do?”

She told me. At first, I didn’t believe her. Then she stood up, and directly under the light a bit more so I could clearly see the hint of green color to her brown skin (not just a trick of the fluorescents as I’d thought). I let out a long, low whistle in spite of myself.

“And you don’t eat food anymore?” I marveled. “Don’t you miss it?”

She shook her head. “No, I still eat food – and I still crave it. I just need to eat far less food in order to survive, as long as I get a few hours outside in the sun. But most importantly, if I can’t afford an upcharge from the biome, I can choose

“That’s zandy, Delphia. I can barely believe it.”

She shrugged. “I worked on it on my own time, but they found out when I stayed after hours and used some of their equipment. They surprised me – I thought I was going to get a reprimand, but they wanted me to finish developing my splice. They gave me better equipment, a new office – the works. I was so happy to get the funding and support I didn’t question it, until I found out about their marketing strat. They were selling my splice in boutiques, as fashion for munny.”

She said this with such disgust. “So then what happened?” I asked her.

Delphia grimaced. “Then I got fired.”

“Good for you.”

“Thanks.”

We looked at each other, but with something like mutual admiration for maybe the first time.

• • •

We stood in ragged rows, our skin green and glistening in the sun. The munnies were scrambling in the distance, terrified of our forest of slightly photosynthetic bodies. Somebody was plucking a delinak, and someone else started singing a pop song. Soon more people were singing, the lyrics rippling across the open desert like a sudden sea.

What are you afraid of? Why are you so sad? We can grow up together And it won’t be so bad

Delphia stood next to me, worrying her bottom lip.

I slid my hand in hers, and she stilled, then smiled, and returned the soft pressure of my palm against her own.