***
Sydney peered through the microscope and magnified the sample by twenty. The small specks of dirt underneath the glass grew to massive proportions under the view of the lens. Then he rolled over to his computer where he entered an algorithm, which was cut short as he jolted from the lab door swinging open and slamming against the wall.
“Sydney!” Gordon said, arms extended as if he were seeing an old friend. “I hear you have some good news for me?”
“Um, y-yes,” Sydney said, scurrying to fetch a pile of papers on his desk that were jumbled together in a heaping, disorganized mess. “I-I received a new soil sample today, and you can see here that the nitrate levels are actually normal, leading to a healthy pH—”
Gordon slapped Sydney on the back, silencing him. “Sydney. I don’t need the science mumbo jumbo. I just need to know if you can grow anything in the soil.”
“Well, um, yes, but—”
“Where was the sample pulled from?”
“Wyoming, but—”
“Perfect. Send a team out there with a prepared list of what’s growable in the climate. I want this done immediately, understood? Good.”
Sydney stood there, still clutching the mess of papers against his chest. His lips quivered, searching for both the words and courage to speak up. He found both right before Gordon reached the door. “The soil area is only a one-square-foot patch.”
Gordon froze with his hand on the doorframe. Sydney noticed the whiteness of Gordon’s knuckles. Gordon took a few steps backwards, not turning around, then closed the door.
“One square foot?” Gordon asked.
“Yes.” Sydney backed up until he bumped into a desk. “The scout team actually stumbled across it by accident. There was a single plant growing in the area, and the soil didn’t permeate deeper than six inches. Everything else below it, or around it, was still infertile. It was like someone put it there.”
“Who?” Gordon asked, closing in on Sydney, who continued to lean back, even though the desk didn’t budge.
“Who?” Sydney echoed.
“Who put the soil there?”
“I-I, um, I don’t know.”
Gordon jammed his finger into Sydney’s chest, puncturing a few layers of the paper with the edge of his nail. “So you’re telling me somebody just dropped off a small, one-square-foot, six-inch-deep patch of fertile soil, and nobody knows who, or how it got there?”
The muscles in Sydney’s back tightened from the harsh angle at which he was bent over. “Yes.”
Gordon seized Sydney by the collar, and the crumpled papers cascaded to the ground. Sydney wrapped his hands around Gordon’s forearms but was rendered helpless by his own fear and Gordon’s strength. Sydney shut his eyes and turned away. He could feel Gordon’s breath on his cheek. He wanted to join the papers on the floor and just hide. Finally, Gordon relinquished his grip, and Sydney slowly opened his eyes.
“I want to show you something,” Gordon said.