Mission to Mars

Writing Prompt from r/WritingPrompts: "2034 AD. The first manned mission to Mars with genetically altered crops in the hope of domesticating the red planet takes a violent and deadly turn days before landing. You are the sole survivor."

The itch simply never goes away, no matter how much I scratch, or ignore it. I take care not to scratch too hard. An open wound simply will not do. I check the navigational data again; everything still looks good. I have disabled the primary and secondary communications antennae to prevent ground control from sending override commands. I have to complete my mission, no matter what they say.

I unstrap from my seat, and float back into the crew compartment. The others are still where I left them, strapped to their bunks, dead but some not really dead. One of them lets out a "fart" of decomposition gases. I feel a short burst of euphoria, and of pleasure at the sight. Absently, I scratch my neck again, carefully. Never too hard. There is pain when I scratch too hard.

At first it all seemed horrible. The discovery that one of the boxes of grains contained ants. Then the discovery that these ants were extremely aggressive, and apparently...intelligent. They killed all of us except me.

Some days I wish it had been one of the others opening that fateful box for a routine check. She quells these thoughts quickly, though. She needs me to fulfil my mission: land the ship on Mars, prepare a small plot of soil under a dome that was constructed during a previous mission. Plant the grains.

Two days later it is time to double-check everything for atmospheric entry. Almost there, I think, accompanied by a rush of pleasure.

The itchy spot on my neck has grown bigger as she continues laying eggs. Soon the first workers will hatch. And through the ant queen, and nourished by my flesh, I shall be the father of millions.