As she opened the door, his eyes lit up as always. His fluffy ears perked up, and he came bounding toward her, squealing in delight. Though she knew it wasn’t possible, he always looked like he was smiling, his little mouth turned up at the edges. And while he might not actually be smiling, she was.

He’d grown so much. It was hard to believe that when she’d first met him, she could hold him comfortably in her hands. He was so small and weak, blind…helpless. His mother had rejected him, which wasn’t uncommon with inexperienced cheetahs, so Malia stepped in. She nursed him with a bottle, doted on him more than any other animal in her care. Some of her colleagues had suggested she give up on him; their goal was to produce a stable population for introduction. Weakness could not be tolerated. But she knew he could make it. She’d named him “Chance”.

He greeted her as he always did, rubbing against her leg and purring. His growth had been only mildly inhibited by his early weakness, and now his head bumped her upper thigh when he stood. But he still had his baby spots, still had the remnants of his fluffy mantle down his back. He was still her baby. Though that made her happy, she knew it couldn’t last. For his sake, it had to end. She dreaded that day, but it had to come.

After his greeting, she led him out the door into the curving corridor beyond. Chance had never been to Africa. He’d never had the chance to roam free, to stretch his legs and run. Like all his brethren aboard the Darwin, he’d been born in space. The ARC’s massive gravity wheels were the only world he’d ever known: a world of curving hallways, sterile labs, and enclosures meant to simulate his intended habitat. The corridor was filled with sound: calls from hundreds of different creatures, all blissfully unaware that they’d been genetically engineered, none of whom had ever seen Africa, or ever would. At first, Chance was always distracted, jumping at the squawks of hornbills, pausing in front of the impala habitats to sniff the air. Now, he followed close, focused.

First order of the day was feeding. Early on, she’d fed him by hand, given him his first taste of meat. It wasn’t actually meat, at least not the way he should understand it. Though composed of impala muscle fibers, his first solid meals had never been alive. But as he’d grown, he needed to learn. So now, feeding took place in one of the Darwin’s enrichment gyms. Before they entered, she’d key on the interface by the door.

“Darla,” she began, addressing the ship’s computer, “run cheetah training program eleven.” They were told to change things up. To provide the animals with varied scenarios, prepare them for all possible variables. But eleven was Chance’s favorite. And she loved watching him run.

They entered together, emerging into another world. Wind rippled through tall savanna grass. The air was hot and dry, soundless save the breeze and the drone of insects. Occasionally there would be a bird call, echoing across the plain. From their vantage point, endless kilometers of grassland stretched out in all directions, beneath a hot sun in a clear blue sky.

Of course, she knew it wasn’t real. There were no insects, no birds. Though the grass was real, the sky was not: it was a projection. Even the vastness of the savanna was an illusion: the entire space was precisely one hundred meters long. But to Chance, none of it mattered. Here, he was in his element.

She retreated to the corridor, the door hissing shut behind her. As soon as she was outside, from Chance’s vantage point it vanished behind the holographic projection. Also invisible to him were the observation windows, through which she watched. For a time, nothing happened. The computer was programmed to randomize the scenario. Sometimes Chance only had to wait a few seconds. Sometimes it took minutes. But eventually, another door would open behind the hologram, at the far end of the chamber. A single impala was released. It would wander aimlessly for a few minutes, oblivious to its peril. Chance would spot it instantly, and crouch down, instinctively hiding in the tall grass…waiting.

He’d been clumsy the first few times, afraid. His first kill had taken hours, and she’d wanted so badly to go in and help him. But he needed to learn; in the wild, on his new planet, she wouldn’t be there to help him. If he didn’t learn to kill, he would starve. So she’d let him struggle, and after months of training, he was a pro. The attack was swift: he darted out from the brush, locked onto his target. The chamber was wide enough for both animals to maneuver, and the impala dodged, tearing off in the opposite direction. It was fast, but Chance was faster. He sprinted, claws kicking up dust as he pursued his prey. The strike was swift: as he closed the distance, he lunged, digging his claws into the impala’s hide. It fell, bleating beneath his weight. A brief struggle, and he managed to clamp his jaws onto its throat. The bleating faded as the creature suffocated.

It was one of his better kills. Unable to hide her enthusiasm, Malia threw up her arms and whooped. “Good boy, Chance! You did it!” she shouted, as proud as any mother could be. 

As Chance enjoyed a hard-earned meal, she sighed, turning around. Behind her, a latticework of windows gazed out upon a new world. Terraforming had been completed a year earlier, and with the introduction of flora, the planet’s tan continents had turned green. This would be the only home Chance would ever know. She hated knowing she’d have to say goodbye. Leaving him would be the hardest day of her life. But he would thrive here. And that made everything she’d done worthwhile.