It was the final, sixth year of our education. We had been preparing for the most important exam for nine months. Although it wasn't really an exam but a practical project, we knew that this time our entire future depended on the results — our lives as genetic experimenters. We would either adapt Earth's life forms to other planets or forever get stuck in theory, merely processing others' discoveries. Boring!

We had taken similar exams five times before, but they weren't as crucial as this one. To be honest, I failed five out of five. Not because I studied poorly, but simply because our teach hated me. She had her favorites. It seems wrong, but she did have them.

Everyone was trying their best. Most, of course, were breeding cats with purple eyes or dogs with facial muscles that could easily express surprise or a sarcastic smirk. They always thought only about home and pets. Who needs all these beauties in another galaxy?

We were tougher and more inventive. Even though some of our models died on their own, while others had to be destroyed, we would never stoop to working with decorative animals. And we failed one exam after another. We — that's me and my two friends, Then Shen and Mikaere. None of us was Mrs. Corry's favorite.

Naturally, we carefully hid the fruits of our labor from each other until the exam. But it wasn't hard to guess that Mikaere, as always, would bring a "legendary" beast, like an eagle with feathers growing in the opposite direction. And Then Shen would try to "fulfill the will of the ancestors" and bring something dwarf-sized. Last time it was a pocket elephant. But I had prepared a surprise — a real scientific discovery.

They were already sitting at the long table, armed with pens and sheets of paper. Our teach, Mrs. Corry, was as always in red, with irritating red spots on her cheeks. There was some teach from another school, as gray as a mouse, the principal in person, and, of course, a "scientific worker" from the Institute of Genetics. These representatives were always changing. Mrs. Corry looked over the class, solemnly pushed out her flat chest, and tapped her pen on the table, which meant: "It's time."

Then Shen went first. He talked for a long time about how he had always dreamed of enhancing predators' sense of smell so they could sense prey hundreds of kilometers away. It was real pseudo-scientific nonsense. Apparently, he just didn't succeed. And suddenly, imagine, he pulled a cat out of the cage. He had clearly given up. I don't know what he was thinking initially, but this cat had unusually long whiskers trailing behind it like a tail, about ten times longer than the pitiful creature itself. The cat took a careful step, then another, and immediately fell, tripping over its whiskers. It lay on its back, squealing, waving its paws, and got so tangled that it looked like a fly in a spider's web.

"This is abuse!" the unfamiliar teach cried out in an inhuman voice. "Put it to sleep immediately. F grade!"

Then Shen wasn't very upset. He was lazy, and a quiet place in the archives was already reserved for him.

Then everyone else did well. There was a parade of snakes with legs, oysters transmitting thoughts over distances (impossible to verify), and, of course, cats, dogs, cats. As usual. The only impressive one was an eight-legged kitten. But the examination board didn't like it. I would have taken one like that for myself.

Finally, it was my turn.

"Well, Amadu, what will you surprise us with?"

Amadu is my last name. So what? My first name is Jorge. Who's to blame that my mom is a fan of that ancient author, and the last name happened to match my dad's. But that's not the point.

While I was making my way to the table, Mrs. Corry, that vile woman, had already managed to whisper into the ears of the entire board. She whispered, pointing at me with her eyes and not feeling embarrassed at all. She was probably telling them what a failure and talentless student I was.

My box stood on the floor, covered with a bluish cloth. I approached, swept a dashing glance at the examiners, and although my nerves were shaking, I began in a cheerful voice:

"The common locust possesses an amazing property."

The phrase slipped out smoothly; I had practiced it a hundred times in front of the mirror. In fact, I had practiced everything else too.

"Go on," Mrs. Corry nodded.

"And this property is such... such..." here I looked at her and faltered. I suddenly realized that she wanted to fail me again, as she had done for five whole years.

Mikaere was staring at me with wide eyes and bouncing in his chair. He was even making some weird gestures with his fingers. Probably trying to encourage me. It's easy for him; his dad is the chief geneticist in New Zealand. He won't be left without a job. But my future depended on one stupid woman. And then it was as if something burst inside me.

"This property, this feature, relates to vision. Locusts can distinguish only one color — green. Imagine: the whole world is gray, and only food appears to them in a different color. Yes, only food," I added maliciously. "They will eat... consume anything if it's green."

"That’s a well-known fact," the geneticist confirmed in a dull voice. "And what follows from that?"

"I… I decided to expand… um… the palette of their vision."

With the dexterity of a magician, I flicked the cloth to the floor and pulled out the first mesh cage. Inside were three specimens of ordinary locusts. I demonstrated a green twig to the examiners, opened the door slightly, and showed them how they would eat it. They ate it.

"And these," I said, pulling out a second group, "can see only blue."

The same process repeated. I placed a blue paper flag into the cage, and they devoured it. Of course, this group looked rather miserable since they had been feeding on nothing but paper and chicory petals, but it would suffice for an exam.

The same went for those that could see yellow, white, and violet. It went well. The geneticist nearly fell off his chair with excitement. He was already calculating how my little discovery could be applied. Only Mrs. Corry, as always, was dissatisfied.

"They don’t even look different," she protested angrily. "How can you prove that these insects have undergone any mutation?"

Ah yes, her silent oysters had certainly convinced her. Of course — her favorites always got the first prize.

Do you think I wasn’t offended? Oh, I was. But honestly, I’d been offended long before this exam. That’s why I was prepared for any outcome.

I pulled out the largest cage, which contained no fewer than a hundred specimens. The insects sat quietly.

"I also taught these to recognize human speech."

"Utter nonsense," Mrs. Corry responded indignantly. "Locusts can only detect frequencies and vibrations."

She went on for quite some time about my ignorance and other shortcomings. But then she suddenly glanced at the cage and stopped mid-sentence.

All the specimens in the cage had pressed themselves against the front wall, the one with the door, and were staring directly at Mrs. Corry, hanging on her every word. For several seconds, our teach gazed at them as if spellbound. And they gazed back at her. Then a flicker of fear flashed in her bulging eyes — though she quickly suppressed it.

"Amadu," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, though it betrayed her with slight tremors. "Amadu, why are they looking at me like that? Do they really understand what I’m saying? Is it a joke?"

"Yes," I replied. "It's a joke. They don't understand human language at all. They simply can only see the color red."

I smiled apologetically and opened the cage door.