They Dreamed of Poppies (a novelette) Read Online Free Page B

angry.”
    “Because he can’t remember them?”
    “Just the opposite. He says he remembers everything. But it’s always the same thing: ‘We dream about the poppies.’ I ask him to explain, but that’s all he’ll say.”
    “We?”
    Bryson shrugs, but there’s something in his eyes, something begging me to keep pushing.
    “Spill it,” I tell him.
    “Clara and I have been having dreams, too.”
    “About poppies?” I ask, amused.
    “About  . . . .” He pauses, and his face twists. “I dream about the flowers, but it’s like they’re smothering me, burying me alive.”
    I let out a laugh before I can catch myself. “I’d be worried if you weren’t having those types of dreams.” Knowing his family’s history, he probably inherited a touch of the miner’s taphopobia. “Cripes, remember after we first went up to the space station? I dreamt the walls were falling in and crushing me. Don’t tell me you didn’t have similar dreams.”
    “We were just kids then.”
    “That’s my point. So’s Gavin. He’s especially sensitive.”
    This seems to cheer my old friend up a bit, even though the argument is full of holes.
    He asks, “When are you coming out of your box to join the rest of us?”
    “Soon,” I lie. “You miss me?”
    He shakes his head. “Naw, just that you’re missing out on the bounty.” He reaches over and tips a bowl on the table behind him so I can see inside it. “We scored some raspberries,” he says, taking a handful and shoving them into his mouth. “I might make me some pancakes.”
    “Of course you will.”
    I notice the lone poppy bloom is gone, though the whiskey bottle is still there. It’s now half refilled with a golden liquid and corked. I don’t want to know what it is.
    “Want some?” he smiles mischievously and holding out the bowl. “Oh, right. You can’t.”
    My mouth waters. And once again I curse having been chosen for this position and the constraints it places on me. “Siobhan didn’t tell me she cleared the local crops for consumption.”
    “Must’ve slipped her mind.”
    “Yeah,” I say doubtfully. “That must be it.”
    * * *
    I realize it’s probably a losing battle, and a moot point at this juncture, restricting the consumption of locally grown plant material. That bridge has been crossed and then burned.
    My greatest fear is that someone will consume something toxic. We’re just not set up to address those kinds of medical emergencies yet. So I push Siobhan to put together two lists of genetically-confirmed edible plants, one for the people and one for the animals. I request that folks avoid eating anything that’s not listed. “For the time being, anyway.” To my relief, they all seem willing to abide by those rules.
    The next morning, she wakes me to report that the chicken died during the night. I immediately order a necropsy and a full biochemical workup be performed. I want to know how it died and whether we should be concerned.
    “It’s in the freezer. It’ll take a few hours to thaw it out.”
    “You froze it already?”
    “You said you wanted us to focus on the genetic analyses.”
    I grind my teeth impatiently. “What about the honey bee contamination? Did you figure out where it came from?”
    She shakes her head. “It’s not just honey bee anymore.” Her face darkens. “I was analyzing some clover samples from the animal paddock, and I discovered another anomalous sequence, this one from cow. At first, I thought it was another contaminant, but the sequence reads are consistent. One section starts off plant, then it transitions to animal.”
    “They’re contaminants, have to be.”
    She shakes her head. “The segments are fully contiguous. The cow genes, they’re . . . embedded.”
    “Come again? Are you saying they’re genetically engineered? That somebody cloned animal genes into the plants?”
    “I’m only reporting what I’m seeing, not making any conclusions at this time.”
    I open my mouth to