The Water Lily Soul

Working in the conservatory that housed the Water Lily Pond was one of the far more desirable jobs on the entire plantation. It was a serene and calming place with the large pads beautifully stretched across the still water of the pool. The dank humidity that clung to the windows muted the sound outside and she found it deeply soothing to open the heavy glass door and feel the warmth inside billow over her. As she would squeeze her body in between the gap she always felt safest as the door weightily closed behind her. It also meant she was mostly left alone these days. Her work was good, and she rarely complained about anything. Her battle-weary Line-Commander was the only one who would ever appear and, even then, with suitable disinterest in anything other than fulfilling his own directives.

The building was vast – A giant square of glass panels encased in white painted iron work frames. Some of the paint had chipped away exposing areas of flecked orange rust that added a haunting splendour to the ancient structure. But it was impossible to overlook the exquisite Lilypad pond that was the entire purpose of the building’s existence. Deep and luscious, it spread across the entirety of the floor space leaving only the smallest of walkways around its outside. The inky water visible between the spaces of the leaves hid all the supporting structures underneath. The beauteous Lilies themselves faced up to the roof of the greenhouse - occasional bulbous yellow flowers dotted amongst the verdant green leaves with red flashes of colour lacing their sides. It was the kind of ornate palace to nature that visitors would have flocked to in the past. Except, of course, there was nothing natural about any of these plants at all.

Towards the back was her office a ramshackle collection of decades old equipment housed around a tiny desk. It was from here she controlled the conservatory and all the synthetic plants within it. The irony of her job title of Botanist was not lost on her overseeing a room full of “Plastics”, as they were loosely known. But even with the simplest of equipment she could design the most beautiful of plants all from tiny synthetic building blocks. Whist others made rudimentary fields of rice, or corn, using nothing but her imagination she had filled this once empty concrete shell. Filling such a blank canvas with creations purely for their beauty was rarely sanctioned but it was essential, if highly secretive, work. And hers was some of the best - her artistry would be used to inspire the lower-level Designers to produce more attractive food for the populace. Farmed en masse these synthetic foods were made to look beautiful enough to trick the brain into believing its quality when it was so far removed from its original source that it was basically inedible. But if it looked good enough to eat…well that kept people happy enough to work. That and the sedatives included inside most basic items. She had long since discovered which foods to avoid and considered herself free of that element of control over her life. Even her own wondrous creations were not immune from the damning effects of man’s involvement - whilst ultra-violet light helped to power their leaves even low levels could cause immediate irreparable damage. Another quirky irony in a system designed to create beauty at the expense of anything meaningful.

Debris showers in the region were uncommon. It was why the conservatory had been located there far away from any of the usual trade routes – the colossal ships often trailing flotsam in their wake. The powder-blue coating of the roof, primarily intended to limit the amount of UV rays passing through, also made the thick glass extremely strong. But this building was rapidly approaching severe levels of neglect and cracks had begun to appear more regularly of late. So, it was troubling to feel the tremors of an extremely nearby engine begin to rattle the panes. As the tell-tale pitter patter of objects began to rain down larger ones hit the roof with alarming force. The shattering of one of the central panels under the increasing hailstorm felt inevitable as the very structure of the building trembled under the vibrations from above - the passing ship casting its shadow down imposingly.

As silence fell on the cavernous room, she crawled out from her curled up position underneath her desk. Immediately it was obvious that a large section of the roof had given way directly above the centre of the pond. The iron work ceiling was torn, and shards of glass hung dangerously down. Most worryingly great shafts of sunlight poured down onto her plants below. They had already begun to glitch terribly some curling up, some sinking below the surface, and others spasming and twitching as if in the throes of great pain. To save them she would have to move extremely quickly to get to them in time. And that’s when she noticed it. One perfectly calm flower bathing directly at the heart of the beam of light now pouring through the exposed void above.

As her gaze lingered on the distant plant, she nimbly lifted herself up onto the side of the concrete lip of the pond. The outer circle was shallower but already the cool liquid inside was up to her chest causing her to briefly pause. Pushing forwards was tough work lifting the heavy leaves aside as she did so. The sunlight piercing down from overhead was radiating heat and the glitching plants were twitching and recoiling away from its warm glare. Working quickly, she took the stricken plants and bunched them up away from the damaging rays. Clearing a space for herself she turned to fully appreciate what had caught her attention from afar. The delicate leaves were clustered asymmetrically on one side of the plant clinging softly to the edges of an open pad much smaller than those around it. A single flower had bloomed on the end of a long stalk and had turned its face up towards the sun pouring down from the cracked glass in the ceiling. There was something so effortlessly beautiful about this Water Lily. And why was it not reacting like the others?

Her heart was racing: “It’s real!” her internal monologue screamed inside her. “This plant is real!”. Nothing was real anymore. But as her fingers lightly toyed with the spongey flesh, she became alarmingly aware that this species before her was as alive, and as genuine, as anything she had ever hoped to have seen in her lifetime. Reaching down into the dark water she fumbled around to feel its roots and soon felt the touch of a metal chain, dampening her initial excitement. Extricated from its tethering in the silt coated bottom of the pond she was shocked to see a bright flash of colour appear before her as her hand moved towards the surface. Entwined within the entrails she discovered what was unmistakably a golden necklace with a large heart-shaped locket dangling from its chain. Pulling her thick gloves off she placed it in her palm. Instinctively she knew – this was real too.

Back at her desk she stared in utter disbelief. Having teased the locket open she discovered a data chip inside and was now contemplating her next move. Anything but reporting all of this immediately was tantamount to suicide. But in autopilot she found herself putting the chip into the reader on her desk. Having watched hundreds of hours of his training videos before she was calmed to see the familiar face of the Old Botanist. He had always been a soothing presence and had always been impressed by his composed and fatherly nature. But here he was rattled, alarmed, and clearly terrified.

“My time is short” he said nervously glancing around “They have discovered what my intentions are and are coming for me shortly. You see my work here is not entirely from my imagination. Yes, I create what we call “life” here piecing together the synthetic blocks to form the desirable beauty here. But what’s the point? Or more precisely what’s the point when we can still create real life? If you are watching this tape, then I know you have found my necklace. It was my Grand-Mothers long before the mass rollouts of plastics and production as the means to an end. Before control. Before the death of beauty, and life, and freedom for all. But this necklace was created with care, with artistry, by someone whose very soul went into their work. I soon discovered that attaching such an item to carefully programmed plastics could somehow transmit energy back into those synthetics and give them life. A re-birth if you will. A giving of a soul. We can still have real life but that means choices, and freedom, and being in control of our ourselves. But now they know. And they are coming for me.” As he glanced around once more the tape suddenly clicked off, but the sound briefly remained. The faint rumblings of an engine could be heard in the background.

He could create life. We could still create life. All she had ever known was synthetic creations made be people like her. All anyone had ever been taught was that natural reproduction had ended centuries ago by drought and overpopulation. It was a wonder we had survived at all, they said, the miracle of synthesis keeping us alive. Since she had begun to avoid the sedatives, she had become more aware. But the entire system was purely designed to control everything? That wave of reality crashing down on her made her nauseous. But it was deep in the pit of her stomach how hearing approaching footsteps made her feel.

There was no point in running. It was too late. Frozen, but accepting, she awaited her fate. The Line-Commander, and several of his troops, were marching towards her around the curvature of the pond. He was smiling as he towered over her still staring at the screen in front of her.

“Why thank you, Alyssa” he drawled with unmistakeable glee shocking her greatly with the use of her name. “We have been trying to find this for some time. He told us all about this, you know, they always talk in the end. But he never said where it was before he died. But you folks always must tell someone, or leave something behind, and it just had to be here somewhere. We just needed someone here long enough to show us the way. Perhaps someone with an overactive imagination who has also stopped taking their medication? What? Do you think this was all a coincidence? Do you think that ship just happened to pass the day you made such an incredible discovery?” Barely able to take it all in her mind reeled at each new piece of information. The Old Botanist had been here? She assumed he had worked here long ago. But now…

Silently they had moved alongside her. Their grip as they lifted her from the floor hurt her arms as they grasped her tightly. Her legs fell and hung clumsily beneath her as any fleeting vestiges of opposition drained away. A brief wave of cold fear surged through her body before settling in a hard lump in the back of her throat. She knew once she left that room she would be taken to die – just like the Old Botanist before her. Drawn to the dappled sunlight that seemed to bashfully fall through the crack in the old buildings ceiling, she turned her face to meet it, just like the flower at the centre of the pool had done before her. Doing so her fear left her body and a small smile creaked across her lips. Her eyes closed shut sealing that last perfect vision of reality, they could never take away from her.