Analog Science Fiction and Fact - June 2013

ANALOG
Enzo realized he should panic. Transporting
unlicensed vegetable puree wasn’t prohibited—but
could lead to questions he didn’t
want to answer.
“Um . . . it’s something she’s trying out. A
bit bland, but lots of vitamins.” He desperately
spun the story, focusing his adrenaline with
hopes of preserving his career and the secrecy
of the impending soil. Captain Jerwin regarded
him with a questioning look.
Enzo hesitated, raised the glass of puree to
his lips, took a tentative sip and swirled the
woody pulp. The overwhelming taste of garlic
and strawberry surprised him, but he
smacked his lips in theatrical approval, held
up the glass and nodded.
“Delicious!” he lied. “Gotta go.”
Enzo resumed his dash down the hallway
before the Captain could respond. Cornering
into his cabin, he handed the puree to Antoniy,
who carefully placed small amounts
near the infant worms. Antoniy and Enzo almost
cheered out loud when their babies
found the vegetable mix.
The worms thrived on Olya’s compost
puree and the filtrate slowly turned from salsa
to soil. A diet of straight vegetable sauce
failed—the worms needed the filtrate for rest
and breeding. Antoniy decided the station air
filters needed more frequent cleaning and
now supplied twenty or thirty CCs of moosor
per month.
Distressingly, an increasing number of station
personnel were becoming aware of the
project and becoming willing co-conspirators.
“Enzo, please meet friend of mine,” Antoniy
introduced a newcomer to Enzo’s research
room and private quarters. “He comes
from Penza, much farming. He misses smell of
soil. I tell him I know of something he will
like, he bring vodka from Penza. Top quality.
We drink!”
Enzo had learned to appreciate fine vodka,
but this was some of the best he had appreciated.
Likewise, Antoniy’s friend agreed the
soil was the best he had smelled in months.
“Too bad about plants,” the Penzan farmer
said. “Space seeds are genetically modified for
hydroponics—lots of fruit, not much root. In
dirt, they sprout then die. Not enough nutrients.
Normal seeds also fail. Light is all
wrong.”
Enzo had had assumed the failure to sprout
was due to his lack of gardening skills. After
the conversation with the Penzan, he realized
the need for more agricultural know-how.
With hopes of gaining further insights, Enzo
supplied the staggering Russian with a starter
kit of filtrate, worms and puree.
Olya now included “Research” in her daily
food preparation schedule and “For Research”
became a regular, although clandestine, request
at the galley.
The success of soil creation offset the corresponding
social failures of Katya, Antoniy
and Olya. With hopes of patching up friendships,
Enzo carefully hid any evidence of
worms and threw a small party in his quarters.
“Antoniy tells me this vodka is from Penza,”
Enzo chattered to Dmitry, pouring him an
oversized glass. He poured an equal amount
for Antoniy, hoping the myth of Russians
holding their booze was inaccurate. For himself
he poured only a little, trying to maintain
his wits should things go out of control.
“Penza near my home town,” Dmitry cheerfully
agreed. “Make good vodka. Za druzhbu
myezhdu narodami!” Dmitry and Antoniy
emptied their glasses in a toss, and then
looked expectantly at Enzo. Enzo, being a
good host, followed their example.
Two more shots and the singing started.
Loud Russian vocalizations did not need the
intercom to echo through the station. The out
of control portion of the party began with
Katya entering the room.
Dmitry noticed Katya first. Antoniy faced
away from the door, teaching Enzo the correct
pronunciation of a Russian folksong.
Dmitry removed the foolish grin from his face,
replacing it with a sober frown.
“Enzo, you not say Antoniy here!” Katya
said, expecting a pleasant evening with Dmitry
and Enzo, rather than a weak attempt at reunions.
Antoniy stopped and turned. Not prepared
for an encounter with a redheaded Russian
she-badger, he tossed back the rest of his glass
and exited the room, managing to avoid any
contact with Katya through a door not designed
for two occupants.
“Antoniy is Yeban’ko maloletnee,”
screamed Katya. “I make clear I don’t want
see him again!”
14 MARK NIEMANN-ROSS