I make my way across the grounds of the colony towards the west wing, where the genetics and phenology research greenhouses are located. Amara Singh, the leading student botanist, has agreed to give me a tour and interview about her latest research into the alien plant life of our new home. As the colony's historian, documenting the scientific progress of New Eden is an important part of my duties.

When I arrive at the greenhouse, the interior is humid and earthy, filled with a vibrant array of exotic alien flora. I see a lone woman with her back turned, intently focused on tending to a glowing purple flower, delicately collecting pollen samples with practiced hands. I pause for a moment, not wanting to disturb her concentration. Her enthusiasm and gentle care for the plants are evident, even in this simple act of collecting data.

After a few moments, I gently clear my throat and introduce myself.

"Excuse me, Ms. Singh?" I say tentatively.

The woman turns around, pushing a stray lock of hair back from her face. She looks at me inquisitively through a pair of smudged lab goggles.

I'm momentarily taken aback as Amara turns to face me. Even with her hair askew and smudges on her face, there is an undeniable beauty about her that catches me off guard. Though I don't normally dwell on such superficial things, I find myself unexpectedly captivated by her bright eyes and graceful features.

She regards me with a look of curiosity, and I force myself to regain my composure. I remind myself that I am here strictly in my capacity as a colony historian, not to admire her aesthetics. There are more important matters at hand.

"Sorry to interrupt," I say, hoping my voice doesn't betray my brief lapse in concentration. "My name is Eliot Thatcher, and I believe we've been corresponding over the colony's written history program. I'm here to record your experiences as one of the lead botanical researchers and to discuss the current state of the botanical gardens."

Her eyes light up in recognition. "Oh yes! You must be the historian I've been emailing with. Please, call me Amara."

She pulls off her gloves and extends a soil-stained hand in greeting. I shake it warmly. Her enthusiasm is infectious.

"It's a pleasure to meet you in person," I say. I know the 500th anniversary of the colony's founding is coming up soon. I'm hoping to capture some of the stories of the original settlers and document the research that's allowed New Eden to thrive over the past five hundred years. Your family's work with the native plant species has been crucial."

"Well, the plants deserve most of the credit," Amara replies modestly. "I'm just happy to help them flourish here. Come on in; let me give you a quick tour of what we've been working on."

I pull out my electronic recorder and follow Amara deeper into the greenhouse as she begins animatedly describing her latest experiments, clearly in her element among the lush greenery. Her passion for her work is evident, and I can't help but be drawn in by her enthusiasm. As the colony's historian, days like this are my favourite - when I get to hear firsthand the tales of New Eden from those shaping its future.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today, Amara," I say as we walk among the rows of alien vegetation. "As the colony's historian, I'm interested in learning more about your background and what led you to become one of New Eden's leading botanical researchers. Could you tell me a bit about your journey?"

Amara nods, her expression thoughtful. "Of course. I was always fascinated by plants and nature, even as a child back on Earth. When the opportunity came to be part of the first group of settlers on this planet, I jumped at the chance to study an entirely new ecosystem."

She pauses by a flowering vine, its petals undulating gently despite the lack of wind. "Our goal has been to fully catalogue and understand the native flora, looking for species that could be beneficial for agriculture, medicine, and ecological stability. It's been an incredible experience being able to shape the botanical future of a new world."

I make notes on my tablet as Amara speaks, impressed by her eloquence and passion. "Have there been any particular breakthroughs or discoveries that stand out from your time here?" I ask.

At this, Amara's eyes light up. She guides me over to a plant with delicate fronds tinged purple at the tips. "Oh yes, we've had some fascinating developments just in the past year. Take this Anthocephalus, for example..."

Amara launches into a detailed explanation of the plant's genetics and reproductive cycle, practically glowing with enthusiasm. She points out the stamen, stigma, and other minute parts as she describes how her team finally cracked the code of its pollination after years of study.

Watching Amara in her element, I find myself captivated by her energy and the way she illuminates each scientific concept with graceful hand gestures and vivid analogies. Her passion for her work is palpable, and I have to focus intently to keep up with her rapid-fire descriptions.

"So, in summary," she continues, "understanding the Anthocephalus' phenology has allowed us to plan ideal cultivation periods and increase agricultural yields. It's been an incredibly rewarding process."

"That's amazing," I reply, hoping my genuine interest comes through. "You and your team are doing such vital work for the colony. I can see why you find it so meaningful."

Amara smiles, her cheeks flushing slightly at the praise. "Well, it's been a labour of love. The chance to understand plants never studied is, for me, the opportunity of a lifetime. I feel lucky every day to be a part of it."

I make a mental note to dedicate a special section in my historical record to Amara and her team's critical botanical work. As she describes her research, her passion and knowledge bring the alien flora to life in a way my written account never could.

As Amara leads me on a tour of the greenhouse facilities, I find myself captivated by her infectious passion. She points out various alien plant species that are practically glowing as she describes their unique characteristics and the breakthroughs her team has made in studying them.

"Over here, we have our propagation beds," Amara explains, gesturing to a series of hydroponic troughs bathed in soft violet light. "We can simulate various environmental conditions to experiment with ideal cultivation parameters. It's incredible how adaptive some of these species are."

I pause to admire the orderly rows of seedlings soaking in their bioluminescent hues. "Have you been able to integrate many of these species into the colony's agriculture?" I ask.

Amara nods enthusiastically. "Oh yes, dozens so far. Like this Anthocephalus—its edible tubers are more nutrient-dense than most Earth-native crops. The colony's first settlers would never have survived without understanding the native flora."

As we continue walking, I occasionally jot down notes in my journal, determined to capture not just what is said but what the environment looks like. She points out a specimen of particular excitement—a towering flower with cascading azure petals that sway gently as if underwater.

"We only just cultivated the first bloom of this Halimeda refulgens," Amara explains, practically beaming. "Its nectar has incredible medicinal potential due to the unique bioluminescent compounds. I can't wait to analyze it in the lab."

Eventually, we made our way to one of the smaller outbuilding laboratories, where Amara and her team conducted field research without having to transport samples across the sprawling greenhouse grounds to the main building. The space is orderly-chaotic, with vials, microscopes, and other scientific equipment. Amara seems to relax and is clearly comfortable amidst the controlled chaos.

"Here, we can process and study samples right away," she explains, handing me a pair of gloves. "Want to take a closer look at some of these species?"

I can't help but smile, infected by Amara's enthusiasm, as she places a slide with a pollen sample under the microscope. As I peer into the eyepiece, I marvel at the intricacies of this unexplored microscopic world. Amara leans in close, her shoulder brushing mine, as she guides me through identifying unique structures and colours.

In this moment, peering into a sliver of the unknown with Amara at my side, I feel a profound sense of wonder and possibility. There is still so much left to discover in this world we call home. And Amara, with her passion and dedication, represents the pioneering heart that will continue pushing the boundaries of what we can achieve here.

I follow Amara to a large computer console along the back wall of the lab. She taps the screen and pulls up an expansive database, her eyes lighting up as the holographic display springs to life.

"This is our Codex Botanica - basically an encyclopedia of every plant species we've documented here over the past five centuries," she explains, gesturing to the rotating virtual models.

I lean in, marvelling at the intricate details captured in each hologram. There must be hundreds floating in the display, representing New Eden's floral diversity.

"We can pull up detailed genetic profiles, growth simulations, medicinal applications - you name it," Amara continues. "The original settlers started the Codex, and each generation of botanists has added to it."

She selects one of the models expanding it. The ghostly image of an alien flower spins before us, its strands of DNA on full display, twisting like a double-helix nebula.

"This is the Lunaria - one of our more recent additions. Its sap has incredible healing properties, but only when harvested at night during its bioluminescent phase."

I watch, enraptured, as Amara manipulates the model, pointing out the Lunaria's unique genetic markers. Through the Codex, centuries of botanical knowledge are preserved - the collective efforts of generations bound together in this digital archive.

"We're still adding new species every year as we push farther out into unexplored regions. The diversity here is astounding," Amara muses.

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She turns to me, eyes bright. "What do you think? It could be a useful background for the historical record, right?"

I nod slowly, still taking it all in. "This is remarkable, Amara. Seeing the specimens like this, mapped down to the last atom, really brings home what your team has accomplished."

Amara smiles, tracing her fingers through the swirling holograms. "I'm glad you can appreciate it. Sometimes, I worry that the public takes the Codex for granted and that we may lose funding over time for more politically appealing reasons. But this..." She gestures expansively. "This is the culmination of generations of exploration. Our link between the past and future."

As Amara speaks so passionately about the Codex Botanica, I'm reminded of my own struggles to preserve the colony's history against the creeping tide of budget cuts and waning public interest.

Watching her manipulate the holograms, tracing generations of botanical knowledge encoded in their swirling strands of DNA, I feel a pang of solidarity with her plight. How many times have I petitioned the colony council for resources to maintain our archive of historical documents, only to be told that the public's appetite has moved on to more "relevant" matters?

The same short-sightedness that now threatens funding for Amara's critical research once imperilled the early historians who documented humanity's first tentative steps on this alien soil. Their diligence in chronicling those pioneering years gave us the invaluable gift of understanding where we came from and who we are.

Yet today, with the colony now sprawling and prosperous, people take for granted that we will remember our origins. Amara's work unravelling the flora's secrets is seen by the public as a scientific curiosity rather than the essential effort it is.

My modest contributions documenting life in the colony seem to barely register on the public consciousness's radar. The number of downloads and hits for my oral history archives pales next to the popularity of entertainment and media. There was once a designated archival building, filled with writers and historians, their assistants and trainees, but now it has been repurposed so many times; lastly, an overflow school that it's hard to remember what it ever was. Now, the program is just me, and what records I could scavenge to fit into my residence is a sixth-story, one-bedroom apartment funded by the government historical program with a budget enough for lean eating and paper notepads.

But the true measure of history's worth is not in popularity. It's in giving us a sense of meaning and continuity. Without it, we are adrift - amnesiacs stumbling through an endless present.

I remember my parents' stories of the early years when the historical society's budget was sacrosanct, and its mission was considered vital. They spoke of an almost spiritual reverence for preserving the past in those days.

Over the centuries, that reverence has eroded, making way for more fashionable priorities. Watching Amara's passion, I feel a fresh determination to fight for the traditions we stand to lose, one funding cut at a time. I will appeal to the council again this year, reminding them of history's value and the dangers of short-term thinking.

If we forget where we came from, how can we appreciate how far we've come? Amara's work, like mine, ensures that the link remains unbroken across the generations. We owe it to the future not to let that chain be severed.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure the Codex gets the spotlight it deserves," I assure her. "This is exactly the kind of pivotal work I want to be highlighted. You and your team are making history."

Amara ducks her head, blushing slightly. "Well, I can't take all the credit. But thank you, I appreciate you saying that."

She continues, "As you can see, we've made great progress cataloging the genome of many of the native species," Amara says, gesturing to a row of petri dishes. "But there's still so much more to uncover. For example, we've only just begun scratching the surface when it comes to potential medicinal applications and agricultural research, which is why we continue to gain access to funding."

She holds up a vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. " Just like this extract from the leaves of the Indigocephala plant shows promising antiviral capabilities in our simulations. If we can refine the isolation process, it could lead to major advances in medicinal chemistry."

I nod, jotting down notes about the Indigocephala research. "Fascinating. It sounds like you and your team are making remarkable discoveries."

Amara smiles, another faint blush rising on her cheeks. "I'm just happy to be continuing my family's legacy. The Singhs have been leading New Eden's botanical research since the early days of the colony."

She gestures to an old photograph on the wall depicting a woman in a lab coat examining alien flora. "That's my great-great-grandmother, Aanya. She helped pioneer the botanical gardens and our biotechnology, like the algae oxygenation system. I feel honoured to follow in her footsteps."

"That's quite a lineage," I reply. "Your family has been integral to developing New Eden's ecological infrastructure. I'd love to hear any stories you have of the early days of the colony."

Amara's eyes light up. "Oh yes, Aanya's journals are full of fascinating tales. Let me tell you about her work cross-pollinating Earth plants with native species..."

Amara launches into a detailed account of her ancestor's groundbreaking hybridization experiments. She describes innovative techniques Aanya pioneered to create vigorous crops suited to the planet's environment. I listen intently as Amara brings history to life through the lens of her family's accomplishments.

I could feel my journalistic detachment fading as Amara's vision took shape. When she asked about my role in recording the colony's history, I opened up about the duty I felt to capture not just facts but the essence of our experiences. "I want future generations to know what it was like to be here at the start, with all the hope and uncertainty that came with this new beginning," I confessed.

Amara nods her head, looking directly at me. A strand of dark hair falls across her cheek, and she brushes it back absently. I feel an odd flutter in my chest at the gesture. Strange, I've never reacted that way around anyone before. But there's something about her passion that I find...captivating.

"So, Eliot," Amara says suddenly, glancing up from the microscope. "Tell me more about your role as the colony historian. It sounds like such important work, documenting our story here."

I rub the back of my neck, feeling an unaccountable heat in my cheeks. "Oh, you know, it's not as glamorous as people think. Mostly, I spend my time holed up in the archives or bothering people for interviews."

Amara laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I can't imagine you bothering anyone. You seem so considerate, wanting to capture people's true experiences."

She looks at me intently, and I have to glance away, focusing on a chart of native pollens on the wall. Why does she make me so flustered? I clear my throat and continue.

"I guess I just feel a duty to get the history right, you know? To understand people's motivations and feelings, not just the bare facts." I sneak a glance at Amara. She's still watching me, chin propped on one hand.

"That's really admirable," she says. "You take such care to see the deeper truths. I can tell it's meaningful work for you."

I feel my cheeks flush and look down, fiddling with my recorder. "Well, I try. The early years, especially when the colony was just starting out, felt important to understand."

"I'd love to hear more about that time period," Amara says brightly. "My family has been a steady line for generations, but things must have been so different then."

She leans towards me, her shoulder brushing mine, and my heart gives an odd flutter. I try to focus on her question, pushing past my strange distraction.

"Right, well, the first settlers had to adapt everything to the new environment..." I begin recounting my research on the colony's earliest days, encouraged by Amara's rapt attention. She asks thoughtful questions, her eyes lighting up when I describe key breakthroughs and innovations.

"Fascinating," Amara murmurs as I outline the construction of the first biospheres. "Our ancestors were so ingenious and determined." She smiles at me then, and I feel my cheeks grow warm again.

There's just something about the way Amara listens so intently; every word I say is important. I find myself opening up, describing details I've never shared before about my passion for the work.

"I think what you're doing is so vital," Amara says, touching my arm lightly. "Preserving those experiences for the future."

I swallow, acutely aware of her hand on my sleeve. "I-I'm glad you understand. Sometimes, I think people don't see the value."

Amara shakes her head, curls bouncing. "Not me. I think it's wonderful." She gives my arm a gentle squeeze. My skin tingles where she touched me.

I rub my neck again, feeling off-balance and not sure why. But talking with Amara has rekindled my passion for the work. And that fluttering sensation, strange as it is, tells me I should make time for more conversations like this. There's something about her that I want to understand better.

Amara nodded thoughtfully at my words. "Perhaps my plants and your histories will come together to paint a full picture of life here," she said. Her purple-stained hands clasped a flowering specimen gently, underscoring her connection to this world.

I found myself hoping Amara was right. Perhaps our separate passions would converge to create a rich, nuanced record of New Eden as more than just a colony but a home.

I know documenting this work will be crucial for capturing the spirit of ingenuity and exploration central to New Eden's identity. Amara and her fellow researchers embody that tireless curiosity that is fundamental to human progress.

"Well, I should probably let you get back to your research," I say somewhat reluctantly as our interview draws to a close. Despite my natural shyness, I've found myself surprisingly at ease in Amara's company. Her infectious enthusiasm for her work is captivating.

"Of course, don't let me keep you from your duties," Amara replies with a warm smile. She glances down briefly before meeting my eyes again. "I really enjoyed talking with you today. It's been wonderful having someone so interested in what we do here."

I feel myself blushing slightly. "Oh, no, the pleasure was all mine. Thank you for taking the time to explain your research so thoroughly." I pause, then decide to take a chance. "I'd love to discuss more sometime if you're open to it. Maybe we could meet outside of a professional context?"

Amara looks surprised but pleased. "I don't often make time for social engagements," she admits. "But for you, I'd be happy to make an exception."

She walks over to her desk and scribbles something on a slip of paper. "Here is my personal number," she says, handing it to me. "I rarely give that out, but feel free to call if you'd ever like to continue our conversations."

"Thank you, I appreciate that," I reply, tucking the paper carefully into my notebook. I feel an odd fluttering in my chest at the prospect of seeing Amara again outside of work.

Amara tilts her head, regarding me thoughtfully. "You know, Eliot, you remind me of the Lunaria we discussed earlier. Just waiting for the right conditions to fully bloom." She touches my arm lightly. "I hope I can be there when you do."

I stare at her, surprised. Does she somehow intuitively know the conflict I've felt my whole life between my inner and outer self? The sense that the person reflected back at me in the mirror doesn't quite align with who I know myself to be?

Perhaps Amara sees what I've kept hidden from the world. But her words don't carry judgment, only kindness. That she may recognize a truth about me that I'm still struggling to embrace and accept it so openly is more than I could have imagined.

I feel the sting of tears and quickly blink them back. "I...thank you," I manage finally, my voice rough with emotion. "That means a great deal."

Amara simply nods, her expression gentle. She gives my arm one last squeeze before pulling away. "I'll walk you out."

We make our way from the lab in thoughtful silence. My mind swirls with questions but also hope. Whatever this growing connection between us may be, Amara has given me a gift today - the gift of being seen.

As we reach the exit, Amara pauses and meets my eyes. "Take care, Eliot. I hope we meet again soon." Her smile is warm and knowing.

I smile back, infused with gratitude. "We will. Thank you again for everything."

As Eliot walks out of the lab, Amara's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts: she can't help but feel a strange sense of connection with him, one that goes beyond the shared passion for New Eden's flora and fauna. It's as if there's a magnetic pull between them, drawing her closer to him in ways she can't fully understand.

It seems as if there's something more to the interaction than just a professional exchange. Amara, having never felt this way about a man before, experiences the realization as both exhilarating and terrifying. Before he left, Amara noticed a hint of something else in Eleiot's eyes; there was a spark that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Inside, she continued to wrestle with her own identity, having always considered herself a lesbian, hiding from male advances by burying herself in her work, and yet here she was, feeling attracted to a man for the first time in her entire life. She suddenly can't shake the feeling that maybe she's been wrong all along, that perhaps she is not as sure of who she thought she was.

Amara stares after Eliot, confidently walking across the grounds, thinking that she really hopes to see him again, but also that he doesn't call, as she is terrified of what that might mean for her own sense of identity.

Eliot leaves Amara's laboratory with pages of notes and a new and profound appreciation for the visionaries who turned this world into the thriving new home for humanity it is today. Amara's enthusiasm and brilliance assure me that the colony's future is in excellent hands.