Page 2 of Uprooted

Elowen

I stare down the pile of mangled and rusted pollinator bots.

I toss the worthless ones aside and pick through the rest that might have salvageable parts.

Towards the bottom of the pile I find one with potential.

Its rotator joint appears to be in working order.

I volunteered to come out to the field today and show the new incoming class how to operate the polibots, a decision I now regret.

I trudge back out to the field with my replacement part.

It’s hot out today, and it’s not much cooler in the storage shed.

Sweat stings my eyes. I use the cleanest part of my dirty coveralls to wipe my face.

Three freshman botany students wait for me. They look out of place in their crisp, out-of-the-pack coveralls. I drop the spare bot at their feet, kicking up a cloud of red dust onto their brand-new work boots.

I pry open the external panel and rip through frayed wires and rusty components quickly, not bothering to explain the steps to my audience.

They'll figure it out eventually. No one ever showed me how to fix them, I had to figure it out on my own.

I take more care the closer I get to the necessary replacement part.

“Don’t bother repairing that polibot. They’re going to be obsolete soon,” Dr. Kahn says, peering over my shoulder. She’s dressed for field work today, her pants tucked into tall boots, and a sunshield to protect her skin from the blazing sun. Her Senegalese twists are loosely gathered behind her.

“Worthless bucket of bolts,” I say while trying to get the polibot’s arm to rotate correctly .

The rusted components creak with every adjustment.

I drop the broken bot and survey the damage left in its wake: the entire row of wheat ruined with each stalk bent awkwardly over at a ninety-degree angle.

Its job is to gently disrupt the head of each stalk, pushing it over to pollinate the stalk next to it.

This overzealous bot broke them instead.

“Go check the bots in Delta7,” I tell my three new trainees. They scurry away, no doubt trying to impress the program director with their ability to follow orders.

“The polibots have always been a temporary solution. It’s actually impressive that we’ve been able to get as far as we have with them,” Dr. Kahn says.

“This one’s salvageable. We only have twenty left, and they are dropping like flies.” I tighten in the last screw. These bots have been the bane of my existence. For decades, humanity has been nursing along this out-of-date tech.

I remember my first day on this very field. A polibot malfunctioned and uprooted a long row of wheat. My lab partner and I meticulously disassembled the bot. We found the broken component, fixed it, polished the old metal, and sent the bot back into the fields. I was gentler back then.

“Dr. Kahn, I never thanked you for picking me.” I flip the toggle on. The polibot sputters before lurching forward and continuing down the row, this time not breaking off the stalks as it moves.

“You were the obvious choice,” she says with a kind smile.

“I appreciate the chance. And I won’t let you down.” I rub the dirt off my hands and try to brush the debris off my pants.

She gives me a curious look. “Won’t let me down? Why would you say that?” she asks with so much kindness in her voice it makes my throat clench up.

“I don’t want you to worry that I won’t work hard while I’m there. I want you to know you chose the right person.”

“I have no doubt that you will put that brilliant mind to work and help us find a solution to this mess,” she says and waves over the ruined rows of wheat.

“I guess I am freaking out a little,” I admit.

“Where is that confidence I saw during your interviews? The Elowen who showed up prepared and put everyone else to shame? ”

“I don’t know. I’ve been feeling the pressure set in. Every time someone congratulates me, I just feel this pit in my stomach.”

“It feels different when it’s your own expectations versus someone else’s.”

She nailed it and named the very thing I’ve been feeling for the last few weeks as we’ve been preparing to leave. Having the words to explain my mental state takes some of the pressure off.

“I think you’re right.”

“Everyone is going to react to those external expectations differently. For some, it’s the fuel they need to achieve. For others it's paralyzing. Some will even rebel against any form of expectations internal or external.”

“I think I fall into the second category,” I say reluctantly.

“And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Just stay focused on the things that keep you motivated and focused. Ignore all the rest.”

I grab a broken stalk and turn it between my fingers, letting her advice sink in. She’s right. Now’s the time to get focused, to let go of all the things that drain my energy.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I tell her honestly. I have never been more grateful to have a mentor like Dr. Kahn. She has pushed me academically and helped me grow as a person. We aren’t that far apart in age, but I look up to her.

“Good. Leave that rusty robot there, and let’s have our last cup of good coffee before we leave.”

I take a final look at the sprawling wheat field, hoping it’s the last time I’ll see a field being tended by polibots. I kick the leftover heap of metal as I turn and follow her.

* * *

I savor the smell of the freshly brewed coffee before I test the temperature on my lips.

Dr. Kahn is right about a lot of stuff. She’s absolutely right about this being one of the last cups of decent coffee we will get.

The synthetic coffee they try to pass off at research centers doesn’t come close to the real thing.

“I’m going to miss this place,” she says and scans the coffee shop. It’s the heartbeat of the University. It’s on the corner of campus that leads to the rest of New Boston. The seats are well worn, the tables nicked and ring-stained. It’s not trendy or glamorous.

“I am too.”

“Maybe they will put a plaque on one of the tables. ‘Here sat the illustrious Elowen Carson,’” she says. My mood lightens from her gentle teasing.

“I’ve always dreamed of coffee spilled on my name.”

“Young college students will make a pilgrimage here. They’ll flock to see where you got your last cup of coffee before you saved humanity.”

“And what about the great Dr. Kahn? Where will students go to honor her part in ensuring our survival on Earth?” I turn it back on her.

“If I could pick, I would say, an empty field. A place where soil can sit and rest and replenish.” Her beautiful words put a lump in my throat.

Industrial agriculture has destroyed much of the usable soil. Overcultivation is necessary now to account for the high rate of crop failures, but we are stuck in a vicious cycle. The majority of every crop withers before it can provide sustenance for our struggling planet.

“That’s not fair. I get a sticky table and you get poetry.”

She shrugs and lifts her cup in a toast, enjoying the last of her warm coffee.