Tides of the forgotten

Saurai followed the others to the lower floor after the bell rang. The corridors buzzed with the chatter of students heading to their designated sections for the practical. Unlike the sleek hallways of the upper levels, this part of the ship was warmer, humid, and smelled faintly of damp earth and nutrient mist. The air was heavier alive with something he couldn't name.

The greenhouse laboratory stretched wide beneath a translucent dome of reinforced glass, the ship's exterior oceanic light filtering in. Rows of soil beds, hydroponic setups, and nutrient tanks lined the chamber. Strange, curling vines clung to support rails; luminous moss pulsed gently against one wall.

"Look alive, seedlings!" came the bark of their instructor, Botanist Instructor Letta Vareen.

She was in her early thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, with her frizzy hair pinned back by a rusted clip shaped like a sprout. Her green uniform had several custom-stitched patches of sea flora. Unlike the other teachers, she didn't wear a digitized armband; instead, she carried a notebook bound in thick, sea-pressed kelp paper.

"Today's task," Letta said, clapping her hands once, "is to evaluate two plant strains in two soil types. You will record germination predictions and growth compatibility based on the ship's current resource profile."

A groan rippled through the students.

"Now now," Letta grinned. "You all want food next season, yes? Then get to it."

As the students split into pairs and drifted toward tables lined with seed trays, Bryn nudged Saurai. "We're taking Table 7. That one near the end."

Saurai gave a faint nod, still absorbing the surroundings. As he approached their station, his fingers brushed against the tray edge and a ripple of sensation pulsed through him.

Not pain. Not electricity.

Just... a strange knowing.

The seeds in the left tray felt inert. Lifeless. Not visibly different, but wrong. The ones on the right gave off a quiet hum in his mind as if they were whispering potential.

He stared at them. Was he imagining it?

Bryn dumped their assigned kits on the table. "You okay? You look like you touched acid again."

Saurai blinked, smiled faintly. "No. Just thinking."

He picked up a single seed and held it close to his face, pretending to examine it like a scientist would. Inside, that same pull like the seed wanted to grow. It was absurd. Illogical. Yet somehow, familiar.

Letta walked past their table and stopped. "Lian. Bryn. Tell me what you see."

Saurai answered first, before thinking. "The right tray has viable germination prospects. Better internal moisture and denser outer coats. The left's seeds are brittle. Possibly stored too long."

Letta raised a brow. "Impressive. We haven't gone over those visual identifiers yet."

"I just... guessed."

"Hmm." Her eyes lingered on him a moment too long, then moved on.

Bryn leaned closer, whispering, "Dude. That was weirdly accurate. Did you study this morning?"

"No" Saurai said softly. "I didn't."

They began their test planting. Each pair had to use two soil mixes: one high in desalinated mineral residue and one treated with monster bone powder. a byproduct from the last hunt.

The moment Saurai scooped the bone-treated soil, something surged inside him.

It wasn't just dirt.

He saw roots. Growth. An image was faint and foggy of how the plant would push through this medium. The nutrients would boost initial leaf production but stagnate after two weeks unless paired with nitrogen-rich supplements.

He dropped the soil quickly, startled by his own thought.

This isn't normal.

But again, he masked his reaction, noting the details on the lab sheet while Bryn made exaggerated scooping gestures with the soil. "You know, this stuff smells better than I expected. Still wouldn't put it on toast."

Saurai let out a chuckle, grateful for the lightness.

Letta approached again during mid-lab evaluations. "Do either of you notice anything different between the soil types?"

Saurai hesitated. Then carefully: "The bone powder increases immediate growth, but it might throw off long-term balance. Maybe too much calcium?"

Letta's eyebrows rose again. She tapped her notebook with a stylus. "That's a rather nuanced observation."

Bryn jumped in. "He's full of them today. You should've seen him sniff the seeds earlier like he was born in a compost bin."

Letta chuckled. "Good instincts are rare. Hold onto them."

As she walked away, Saurai stared down at the sprouting seed in the tray. A small green shoot was pushing up already, faster than expected. And as he watched, he felt something else:

A tiny echo of joy.

Was that... the plant?

After class, as they were cleaning their station, Bryn asked, "Hey, you ever grow plants back home?"

Saurai hesitated. "I... I'm not sure. Maybe."

"What do you mean? You've been here all term."

"I meant... I don't know. I just feel like I should know more than I do. It's weird."

Bryn gave him a look but didn't press. "Well, whatever's happening, you crushed it today. Vareen actually smiled at you. That's like a solar eclipse."

Saurai wiped the nutrient residue from his hands, the gritty texture of the bone-treated soil lingering on his fingertips. The greenhouse hummed around him pumps cycling water through hydroponic tubes, the soft drip of condensation from the dome, and the chatter of students packing up their stations. The air felt alive, not just with humidity but with something deeper, something that tugged at the edges of his awareness.

He glanced at the sprouting seed in their tray, its tiny green shoot curling upward like it was reaching for him. That faint echo of joy pulsed again, so subtle he could've imagined it.

He shook his head, shoving the thought down. Plants didn't feel. That was ridiculous.

Bryn, oblivious, was stacking their tools with exaggerated care, muttering about how the nutrient scoop looked like it had been chewed by a sea slug.

"I swear, if I have to clean one more of these, I'm joining the hunters unit after graduation. At least they get to stab things."

Saurai managed a half-smile, grateful for Bryn's chatter. It kept him grounded, kept him from spiraling into whatever was happening in his head.

"You'd last five minutes out there," he said lightly. "You'd trip over your weapon and cry."

"Rude," Bryn shot back, grinning. "I'd be a legend. Bryn, Slayer of Beasts. They'd name a ship after me."

Before Saurai could reply, a sharp clang echoed from the far end of the greenhouse. Heads turned. A student at Table 3 had knocked over a tray of seeds, scattering them across the floor. Gasps rippled through the room, followed by a heavy silence.

Seeds were too precious to waste each one a potential meal in a ship where failure meant hunger. The student, a wiry kid with braided hair, froze, face pale.

Letta was there in an instant, her usual grin gone. "Careful, Kael," she said, voice low but sharp. "Those aren't pebbles. Pick them up. Every. Single. One."

Kael dropped to their knees, scrambling to gather the seeds. The other students watched, some with pity, others with barely hidden relief that it wasn't them.

Saurai's stomach twisted. He knew the math each lost seed meant a smaller harvest, less food, thinner rations.

Without thinking, he stepped toward the mess.

His fingers brushed a fallen seed as he crouched to help Kael, and that same knowing surged through him. The seed was dead. No potential, no life.

He moved to another faintly warm, like a tiny heartbeat. Viable.

He handed it to Kael, keeping his movements casual. "This one's good," he said softly.

Kael shot him a grateful look, too flustered to question him.

Saurai picked up a few more, sorting them by instinct. Most were duds, brittle and empty but a handful hummed with promise. He slipped the good ones into Kael's trembling hands, avoiding Letta's gaze.

"Saurai," Letta called, her tone unreadable. She was standing by Table 3 now, arms crossed, her kelp-paper notebook tucked under one elbow. "You're quick to help. Got a knack for spotting the good ones?"

He froze, heart thudding.

"Just... trying to save what we can," he said, forcing a shrug. "I've seen bad seeds before."

Letta watched him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Alright. Go back to your station."

As Kael mumbled an apology, Saurai retreated to Table 7, his pulse racing. Had he been too obvious?

Letta's lingering looks were starting to feel like a spotlight.

He busied himself with cleaning the station, avoiding Bryn's curious glance.

"Dude," Bryn whispered, leaning close. "What's with you today?"

Saurai forced a laugh. "Just paying attention in class for once."

Bryn snorted but didn't push.

They finished packing up, and Letta dismissed the group with a reminder to submit their germination reports by the next cycle.

As the students filed out, Saurai lingered, his eyes drawn to a corner of the greenhouse where a cluster of stunted vines clung to a rusted trellis. They looked sickly, their leaves yellowing at the edges.

Without thinking, he reached out, fingertips grazing a leaf.

A faint jolt hit him not pain, but a clear image: the vines needed more potassium, and the water in their tank was too saline.

He pulled his hand back, startled. How did he know that? It wasn't like he'd run a soil test.

His old life as an agricultural scientist felt distant, like a half-remembered dream but this was something else. Something new.

"Saurai!" Bryn called from the corridor. "You coming, or are you gonna marry those vines?"

"Coming," he muttered, hurrying to catch up.

But as he left the greenhouse, the sensation lingered like the plants were still whispering to him.

As they stepped out of the lab, Saurai took one last glance back at the room. The leaves swayed gently in the artificially circulated air. He swore one of the vines turned slightly toward him.

It was probably just the airflow.

Probably.