4338.212 · July 31, 2018 AD
Terrariums and Thieves
Karen presents her spiderlings and pitches her vision. The planning session hums with momentum—soil assessments bypassed, timelines accelerated, the sanctuary taking shape in shared imagination. Then Grant mentions contacting someone on Earth, and the air shifts. Before Karen can process that impossible hope, Paul arrives with a different kind of proposition: a midnight raid on a supermarket. Suddenly, the conservationist is requesting terrariums from stolen goods. Survival bends every principle eventually.
The jar catches the light as Karen holds it up. Inside, dozens of spiderlings dance against the glass—stowaways from Earth, proof that life finds passage through even the strangest doors. Grant and Sarah lean in with the focus of scientists who've spent their lives studying exactly this: the resilience of small things.
The conversation flows. The soil is remarkable. The plans can be fast-tracked. For a moment, everything feels possible.
Then Grant mentions James. Bonorong. EcoSolutions. The need to provide updates back on Earth.
Karen and Chris exchange a glance heavy with unspoken dread. Do they really believe they can cross back?
Before the question can be asked, Paul appears with news that reshapes the afternoon. Tonight, a raid. A supermarket. Supplies for the camp.
Karen should object. She knows the ethics are fractured, the justifications slippery. But instead she finds herself asking for terrariums—glass boxes from the pet section, homes for her tiny survivors.
She watches Grant and Sarah leave with Paul, still carrying their impossible hope. Then she walks away from camp, needing distance, needing air, needing to understand when survival became something she no longer recognised.
