Dear Ms. Marini,
A humanlike girl with an affinity to plants arrives on Earth
to defend our garden from invasion. To learn English, she deciphers Dr Seuss
and christens herself, Sam I Am. Each day here, she ages a year. Trillions of
neurotransmitters inside her stomach, called Logic Cells, give advice inside
her head. Bad enough these gut feelings never shut up, but they can also
override her motor functions, guaranteeing Sam complies with the planned
airborne immunization of humans against alien mind-control. At eighteen-days-old
her Logic Cells will release pheromones to seduce a male to pollinate her
spores before Sam’s dispersal sack explodes and she wilts, giving duel meaning
to her plant teen response--that blows.
But at day-fourteen, soldiers with Yertle the Turtle shells
on their heads discover her landing pod. Sam escapes, helped by Brooke, a
teenage girl with leukemia. Attracted to Brooke’s brother Dylan, Sam hopes her
Logic Cells intervene because at three days (years) younger than him, he avoids
her like he might catch a dose--of poison ivy. This changes after Sam saves
Dylan from an alien attack, because his thankyou kiss helps her realize,
allowing Logic Cells to manipulate humans makes her no better than the invading
tree reapers. Now prior to completing her mission, Sam hopes to give Dylan what
he desires before her Logic Cells play Chemical Cupid. A cure for the disease
circulating in Brooke’s red sap--even if she has to cut out her own stomach to
PLANTED (I CAN WATER MYSELF) is
a standalone 83,000-word young adult science fiction with series potential. I
was the founder and president of Strategy First, a worldwide publisher of
entertainment software for twenty years. Our franchise titles, Disciples, a
fantasy, and Jagged Alliance, an adventure role-playing release, sold over one
million copies worldwide respectively and were geared to a young adult
PLANTED (I CAN WATER MYSELF)
I struggled with the onslaught of moisture in my eyes,
fearing my Logic Cells would ask questions. Breathe…I needed to breathe and not
think about the box. Think…think about something else…the first mutilation I
deciphered in the dead forest named library. Its words helped me respond to a
worker who had asked my name.
“Sam I am,” I said.
She laughed. “Where’s your mother, Sam?”
I pointed upward.
She touched my limb. “You poor dear.”
I almost forgot--never reveal Mother orbited Earth.
No, thinking of the genocide called books did not help. It
made me want to grow thorns on my twigs and drop from the tree to mount a
rescue, but knowing my Logic Cells would interfere--tears fell instead of me.
You are wasting fluids. What is wrong? my Logic Cells
I refused to respond.
My permanent stomachache growled again. If you cannot
speak, because someone may hear. Signal us with your twigs.
How about I manifest into a giant redwood and stomp my
stumps while shouting ‘Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of a human,’ but no,
that ability along with Logic Cells helping remained a fairy tale. So I knotted
all my twigs into a fist except one and gave my Logic Cells the middle twig.
One signaled human warriors. Two, the Swarm.
Branches snapped. Humans dressed in green paraded through
the forest. Sunlight glinted from the barbs attached to their weapons as they
stabbed bushes. They had the box--now they wanted me.