Seeds of Knowledge by Dawn Vogel
The previous inhabitants of Zoliv had been agrarian, but we hadn’t had success with our seeds from Earth.
Belenne and I weren’t in ag corps, but it was impossible not to know about the crop problems, as we choked down protein paste and vitamins. We worked cultural, visiting abandoned locations and determining who used them and for what, and trying to make sense of the language.
The translation program was struggling, every other word marked “unknown.” I was stronger than Belenne at parsing the vocabulary, so she recorded the text while I puzzled over these unknown words.
“Jennix, what if we opened one of these cabinets? Maybe what’s inside will give us some clues?”
I shook my head. “Just give me a little more time with this. Protocol says we need to ID before we open.” I didn’t have to remind her of possible biological toxins. We’d lost enough colleagues to those in the early explorations.
She looked over my shoulder. “That character is on every single closed door and drawer.”
A circle enclosing an inverted comma. Belenne was right; I’d seen this frequently too. I searched for other recorded locations of that character.
It occurred mostly on what we’d deemed storage, but a variation gave me a clue. The comma wasn’t always small. It often squiggled out of the circle, always upward.
“Fertilization?” Belenne asked.
“In a way. It’s a seed. This is their seedbank.” I grinned at Belenne. “We’ve found what can grow here.”
—
Dawn Vogel’s academic background is in history, so it’s not surprising that much of her fiction is set in earlier times. By day, she edits reports for historians and archaeologists. In her alleged spare time, she runs a craft business, co-edits Mad Scientist Journal, and tries to find time for writing. She is a member of Broad Universe, SFWA, and Codex Writers. Her steampunk series, Brass and Glass, is available from DefCon One Publishing. She lives in Seattle with her husband, author Jeremy Zimmerman, and their herd of cats. Visit her at http://historythatneverwas.com.
