A Strain on Life

Professor Maynard paused from his work. Taking his glasses off, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. Breathing in deeply, he spied the clock on the wall.

Three thirty.

Suddenly his body ached, the muscles bunched from sitting far too long hunched over the microscope.

Pushing back from the bench, Leland Maynard, late of Berkshire University, decided it was too late to continue his research. Strain B dash seven five would have to wait until the morning to be catalogued. He reached for the power switch on the side of the microscope.

And stopped.

Something glittered at him from the small slide perched below the powerful magnifiers. Slowly he settled his right eye over the eyepiece. And was immediately amazed at the activity he was witnessing.

Vibrant greens, bright blues and dazzling yellows flickered through the membranous cells before him. A cacophony of color flickered and danced. Soon Leland realized the cells that mere moments before sat languid in their liquid, were splitting and crystallizing at an incredible rate. No sooner would one myopic cell spread and split, the subsequent offspring were doing the same. The display he was observing was so fascinating, instead of trying to determine the causes, he simply stared in awe.

So intent was he on the rainbow swirls and expanding number of cells, he failed to notice that the sample was literally expanding. And dripping off the slide.

A glittering green mass of moldy substance grew and tumbled over the armatures and onto the bench top. Inexorably, it wended its way toward his hand. The unsuspecting scientist watched the display through the microscope, the breath catching in his chest, while the growth continued.

His first hint that something was wrong came from a sting upon his hand. Leland attempted to jump away, startled, only to find his hand firmly secured to the counter.

"What the. . .?"

With unimaginable speed, the flickering mass spread up his arm and covered his body before he even had a chance to become afraid.

A gentle hum filled the air, as gold and purple and orange light fluttered around the throbbing tangle of mold where Leland Maynard stood. The lush pile swayed to some unheard melody, while a ripple flowed down its sides.

Then, slowly, the grassy carpet opened slightly on one side. The scientist's body was expelled through the slit and dumped unceremoniously to the floor.

Covered in a mucous-like substance, Leland stared, horrified, at the thing taking shape. Within minutes, it had taken on most of his shape and features. As the professor emeritus looked on, it slowly opened its "eyes".

The thing stared down at the stunned scientist, its eyes awash in greens and blues swirling madly. Its jaw line was an exacting replica of Leland's, down to the cleft inherited from his mother. The ears on the side of its mossy head stuck out, causing a section of Maynard's memory to recall how often he was teased as a child. Even the professor's wild hair was duplicated with topiary accuracy.

Then, as it reached a leafy hand toward the fallen man, it bellowed a cry that startled Leland Maynard. And he saw within its wildly spinning orbs an incredible sight.

"Whyyyyyyyyyy?"

The mewling cry, its pity matched in the sad eyes, tore Leland's heart in two. Somehow he had caused this. Somehow he had given pain and suffering to another. And no matter how unintended, he was still to blame.

Slowly, Leland Maynard got to his feet and moved toward the wall. The creature watched him and cried out again. A tear rolled from the scientist's own eyes. As he reached for the canister sitting sentry by the lab's sealed doorway, and turned the nozzle on, he mouthed a single word, not knowing whether the thing would understand.

"Sorry."

The flames burst forth and consumed the thing. And the smell of drying burning grass permeated the air. A fowl and pitiful scream that would echo in Leland Maynard's ears for the remainder of his life, pierced and reverberated through the laboratory.

Having drenched the thing in fire, the rest of the room ignited in a hellish blaze. The professor dropped the torch and ran from the room. Once outside, he watched as the building burned. Sirens could be heard faintly in the distance.

Inside, before the fire consumed everything, an unattended computer terminal issued its last statement.

"Strain B dash seven five," scrolled the green text across the black background. "Not suitable for terra-forming model. 78% chance of cataclysmic cellular mutation. Abort Strain B dash seven five through B dash seven five delta."

Outside, the heated air carried smoke and debris from inside the facility. And along with the ash and burnt dust particles. It carried something else.

Some distance from the fire and humans rushing about with hoses and axes, a single seed settled on the fertile grass, soon to be mixed with ash and water. Soon to be nourished. Soon to take root and be given life.

And far too soon for the comfort of humanity, it will demand an answer for which its predecessor did not receive.