The Cold Snap

Snowberry sat in silence, glancing out the epidermal window at the asteroid’s frozen expanse. A realm of ice and rock, dimly lit by the pale blue bioluminescence of the weak cosmophyllon leaves sprouting atop the towering remains of the plumule met her view. Beyond it, a sea of stars, cold and dark, reminded her of how alone she was. How she was cast adrift in an unforgiving expanse, expected to fulfil her niche like the Druids before her.

It had been a month since seeding, and by all necessary metrics, their mission had thus far been a success. As the roots of their pod dug down towards the asteroid’s core, accumulating nutrients from frozen layers of ancient gases to fuel the mining habitat’s expansion, the preliminary extraction had begun. Enough resources had been acquired that the true leaves atop the plumule had begun to sprout, and, within a few months, their return towards the solar system would begin.

But not everything had gone as expected. Even in the most balanced system, branches break, scab, and must heal.

“Snowberry,” Ironwood spoke as he pushed past the grass barrier separating the three living dens from the habitat's pith. “If he hasn’t awoken yet, he isn’t.”

The Seral Druid shifted her gaze back, looking at the bed of moss and leaves that held the body of Tranquil. When the seed had made touchdown with the asteroid, the Druid was still connected with the vascular system via his mycelial link. The strain of seeding was immense, more than a Druid's body could withstand when in direct connection with the pod, and he knew that. Lesser Druids would have died immediately upon impact, but the Primeval had withstood. His body still functioned, capable of uptaking nutrients and maintaining a stable condition, though his mind appeared lost.

“What if we reconnect him with the mycelium?” Snowberry responded, looking up to Ironwood. “May-maybe the seed can reconstruct the connection.”

“I’m not a mycelial Druid, are you?”

“I know the basic—”

“Then you should know that forced integration can cause more damage to an ecosystem than slow, tailored connections. Seral Druid Snowberry, we should put him into metabolic stasis. In his current state, his ecosystem is simply consuming resources we need.”

“But without his mycelial control, it'll be impossible to integrate and stabilize the ecotone between our habitat and the asteroid's. Currently, the hyperaccumulation of metals is affecting the overall nutrient uptake. We’re risking a full nutrient lockout if he doesn’t restore the fungal network.”

“Not right away, we’re not.” Ironwood insisted, walking forward and placing a hand on Tranquil’s shoulder. “We need to put him under. The stasis may help him to—”

Snowberry leapt from the stump she had been sitting on, crossing the room to shove at the Druid. But Ironwood was dense, his form unmoving as she swung at his chest. And as she struck, her thuds hollow and resonating, she realized how little she could do to stop him.

“Ironwood!” She screamed, her voice a shrill cry. “If we put him under with no confirmation of cognitive resilience, he could be lost! With no way to awaken, you’re dooming him to a slow, agonizing decomposition!”

“Then at least when he reached his end, we could plant him on Earth and allow his cycle of rebirth to begin anew.”

“We don’t know that he’s—Ironwood, stop!”

But it was too late as the roots from the edge of the bed reached up, their spindly forms lashing out and binding Tranquil’s limbs. Snowberry watched as the Primeval’s form slowly disappeared beneath the mass of roots that consumed the exterior of his body until all that remained within the bed was a dense knot of roots and vines.

Reaching out, Snowberry touched the woven form. She closed her eyes, attempting to send her consciousness through the plants to Tranquil in an effort to grasp at his mind. But as she did, there was no response. With no thoughts to reach back to hers, all she could sense were the plants that now slowly consumed his body. She felt the symbiotic cycle that he had been placed in, one that rested in the realm between life and death, constantly recycled the energy it extracted, returning it as a sustaining drip of nutrients. The Primeval Druid, who had been cultivated for their seeding and subsequent extraction, was gone.

“What have you done?” She replied, looking back to Ironwood as he stared down at the roots.

“Nature hates a vacuum.” He responded, his words cold as he glanced out the window at the void of space beyond. “Without Tranquil, I hold the next layer in this canopy. Prepare yourself for metabolic stasis. We will awaken in three months time to ensure bloom and reassess our succession.”

Ironwood walked out of the den without another word, leaving Snowberry alone in the silence once more.