A story from Arcology One
Water
By SB Corvus
Floor 318, Arcology One. Summer 2038.
The sun wasn't up yet, but inside Floor 318's atrium, it was bright as day. Mel, in their usual denim overalls, was kneeling at the base of the atrium's central mural. The mural wrapped around the Floor's central pillar, that Floor's connection to the rest of the arcology. Mel's hands were wrist-deep in the planter bed at the base of the mural, feeling the quality of the soil between their thumb and forefinger. A cat-sized utility quadbot waited beside Mel, a rack of marigold seedlings balanced on its back.
"Not there." That was Pell, Mel's Agent, talking to them from the corridor speaker. "The marigolds will clash with the ochre in the mural. Put them on the east side, where the mural is mostly blues."
"They're a trap crop, Pell. They pull aphids off the tomatoes." Mel gestured to the row of tomato seedlings freshly planted in deep brown loam at the back of the three-foot-wide planter against the wall.
"So?" said Pell. "You've been staring at them for over sixty seconds. You know they're going to look like trash there. Come on."
Mel rolled their eyes and thumbed the bot over to the east side of the column.
This mural on the central column was one of many murals scattered throughout Floor 318. The mural, and the wall it was painted upon, rose fourteen feet to meet the Floor above. The mural was a constant work-in-progress with years of additions folding one year into the next. The utility bot walked the bright orange marigolds over to the irrigation pipe, its narrow metal feet clacking on the composite floor. That part of the mural was mostly of plants in hues of blue and green. The art wrapped around the entire central column. It was deliberate, organic, chaotic.
From down one of the atrium's flywheel corridors, Raquel, the Floor Captain's voice echoed out into the atrium. Only fragments reached Mel as they were interrupted by the hydroponic pump's cycling.
"...not what we agreed to, and you know it..."
Mel thought it was odd for Raquel to be up this early. She wasn't usually up until after first light. Mel looked over their shoulder at the glass walls to the hill country landscape beyond. The brown and dark green hills rolled off into a gray to purple haze as the sun was just hinting at rising. The pump kicked in, knocking Mel back to reality, and the sound of water rushing through the pipes muffled the rest. Regathering their attention, Mel found the perfect spot for the marigolds and started digging holes for them with their trusty Hori-Hori knife. The utility bot kept nudging Mel, like an eager puppy itching to help, but Mel ignored the tier 2 bot. Digging in the dirt was the highlight of Mel's day. Dig a hole here, put in a seedling. Dig a hole there, feel the dirt, the roots of nearby plants reaching out for every bit of nutrient and every drop of water, put in a seedling.
Again, Raquel's voice echoed around the atrium, breaking Mel's concentration. Mel couldn't help but wonder who she was arguing with on the other side of the column:
"The allocation framework exists for a reason," Raquel was saying. "Don't tell me it's under review after I just…"
The rest dissolved into the hum of the climate system as it kicked in. Mel glanced up at the ventilation ducts. The leaves of some nearby hanging tomatoes fluttered in the breeze.
After gently pressing in the last of the marigolds, Mel stood up, brushed both knees, and wiped a big brown streak down the length of their tie-dye shirt before heading down one of the nearby corridors. Every corridor, public space, and residential unit on 318 was overgrown with vegetation. As Mel walked, they touched every plant within reach. A pinch of basil rolled and brought to the nose, a thumbnail drawn across a tomato stem. Touch, check, move on. Feel it. Breathe it. The little quadbot clacked three paces behind with the empty tray of seedlings.
Davi came around the corner of an intersecting junction between the residential blocks. He was only nineteen and was one of the newest Floor residents. This was his eighth month on 318, and he was still geeking out about all the heirloom tomatoes.
"Oh, hey, Mel!" He waved and then pointed at one of the trellises built across the intersection. This particular one was covered in tomato vines. "Three more turned. That's fifty cherry tomatoes on one vine."
Mel smiled. Everyone was up and eager today. It was always like this before the monthly harvest festival. "Are you sure, Davi?" Mel asked. "There were forty-seven yesterday."
"Fifty. I counted twice."
Mel offered a wry smile and idly pulled on the strap of their overalls. They walked to the spot on the trellis where Davi was pointing. Mel turned a cluster of tomatoes gently on its stem, checking for blossom-end rot. Clean.
"Fifty," Mel said.
"Fine, you win," said Mel, grinning. Davi beamed and moved off down the corridor, guiding his utility bot, which was carrying an olive tree in a big ceramic planter.
The corridor was starting to fill, neighbors waving as they passed Mel by. The morning shift was awake now. Mel exited the interior of Floor 318 and walked out to the Floor's park. Every floor had a park that wrapped around its entire length. From the little hill built into the rimpark of floor 318, the sunrises were breathtaking. Not quite a mile up, but close enough to where the air was rarified. It was crisper, cleaner than at ground level. Mel took a seat on their favorite bench, the little quadbot parking itself at Mel's feet. A group of six or so other tenants of Floor 318 was starting a yoga routine.
Mel took a deep breath. Despite it being the middle of summer, the air up here was cool and fresh. Mel reached into a pocket hidden inside their overalls and pulled out a small glass vial with a metal screwcap. Inside were a handful of heirloom tomato seeds.
"Do you miss them?" Pell asked from inside Mel's earpiece.
The seeds were from Mel's parents' farm back in Macomb. The little vial represented the work of three generations. Mel gazed down at the little vial until that first sliver of the sun flashed over the hills below. Every pane of glass across the miles of the arcology lit up at once, sparking into pink fire. Mel sighed and closed their hand, putting the little vial of seeds back in their pocket.
"Nah," they said.
Later that morning, Mel was up on a ladder in one of the Floor's hydroponic bays. The humid air was thick with the smell of algae, fresh greens, and fertilizer, and the sun was pouring in through the glass walls and roof. Mel's arm was wrapped around a dosing valve that was elbow-deep in a nutrient vat. They grunted and heaved, trying hard to turn the valve clockwise. It was almost there… Mel was feeling for a slight… click. There.
Little brown plumes of liquid fertilizer started trickling down the slow gradient of the top row's white grow tray. That would trickle down through the rest of the trays, one after the other, in a simple zig-zag until the nutrient bath was even across all of the spinach and lettuce greens growing in this farm. Mel smiled as they got down off the ladder. Despite all the new research and technology, sometimes the old methods still worked best.
"It's time for the daily update," said Pell, choosing to talk through one of the ceiling-mounted speakers.
Mel nodded, wiping their arm on their overalls.
Pell continued. "Household summary is as follows: Personal energy draw is nominal. Your cycle expenditure is within budget. You continue to underutilize cycles, banking for a "rainy day," as you say. But you overspent on soil amendments again, and the communal water allocation utilization is still at 127% and rising, by the way."
"Probably fine," said Mel, grabbing a nearby towel offered by an old clanker on tracks.
"127% is not 'probably fine,'" Pell persisted, their impatience calibrated into their voice. "It's 27% past being fine. It was at 26% last week, and it's up 32% since you arrived."
Mel was on to the next reservoir, climbing the ladder. "If it were a problem," Mel was saying, "the system would have flagged it, right? So it's not a problem." They didn't have a robot for this task just yet, but a team was working on it. The fertilizer vats were separate from the growing trays, and keeping the piping and valves from getting gummed up by biofilm was a constant problem. So for now, humans remained in the loop. And Mel liked it. It gave them a direct connection to what they were farming.
"I'm part of that system," Pell said, now in Mel's earpiece. "I've been flagging it for months."
Mel was at the top of the ladder, reaching into the next reservoir, one arm reaching around inside to find the second valve. "So what? The allocation always runs a little over when we're getting ready for the harvest festival. It'll balance out next week."
"The Floor is at a few thousand liters over budget. Per cycle."
"Pell." Mel's hand found the valve, and they started to turn it.
"Mel."
"These farms feed people and not just on our floor. We're producing enough to feed ten floors. Everything's good."
"It's just good because nothing bad's happened yet. If the pressure levels..."
"There," said Mel, interrupting Pell as the valve clicked into place and the fertilizer started dripping out of the reservoir. Mel straightened up, their arm dripping with brown fertilizer liquid. "You know what you need?" Mel asked as they descended the ladder and grabbed another towel. "You need to start seeing and feeling and experiencing everything we're doing out here."
"I'm fine where I am, thank you very much," said Pell, a little louder than usual.
"I've got a ton of cycles saved up. You could rent a shell. Any kind you want. You don't even need to hang out with me, you could…"
"No," said Pell without hesitation. "It's filthy out there."
Mel chuckled despite themself and finished wiping down their arm with the towel before handing it back to the clanker.
"Are you going to be at the festival prep meeting at four? Raquel wants you there."
"Why don't you go for me? I need to move some rose bushes." The doors to the greenhouse hissed as they slid aside, and Mel was off.
The hydroponics bay hummed. Fish swam in the catchment tanks, and green fronds of spinach, lettuce, and bok choi grew in rows from one side of the bay to the other. Slowly, the old clanker wheeled and creaked its way back to its charging port between two white, wardrobe-sized seedbanks, dropping the brown-streaked towel into a laundry chute along the way.
Somewhere deep inside the arcology, somewhere between the data Substrate and the AI Membrane, a tension was building: 127 to 128.
Raquel found Mel at one of the corridor junction planters. The mural there was of butterflies and other colorful insects. Mel was carefully digging out the soil around the root system of a diseased pepper plant by hand. A small quadbot held a tray with a small bucket and some gardening implements, but Mel preferred it this way. They enjoyed feeling around with their hands until they found the cause. There. Mush. Just as Mel suspected. It was root rot.
"Hey, Mel." It was Raquel, speaking before even appearing around the corner and leaning against the wall above the planter bed, arms folded.
Mel sat up, taking their hands out of the soil and shaking them off. This was Pell's doing, Mel knew it. They must have pinpointed Mel's location for Raquel.
"We've got a sector-wide governance meeting tomorrow. I need you there." Raquel sat down on the bench next to Mel. "You can't keep shirking off these meetings. Pell told me you're skipping the festival prep, which is fine, whatever, but I need you at the sector meeting. I've been told they're going to vote on resource allocation, and I need someone who can show them what we're doing."
Raquel was imposing, not because of her size or stature but because of her intensity. She wasn't frowning, but she wasn't smiling, either. Her lips were always thin and pursed, as if she were about to yell at someone. Mel knew Raquel had a lot on her plate, but Mel hated all the political stuff.
Mel tapped their dirty fingernails against the rim of the tray, avoiding looking up at Raquel. "What am I supposed to say?" Mel asked.
Raquel made a broad, sweeping gesture at all the plants growing along every wall and hanging from every inch of ceiling not dedicated to lighting or ventilation
"Just tell them why you do what you do," Raquel explained. "Tell them we do this because it's pretty, or because it makes our homes more peaceful and vibrant. I don't know. Whatever it is that makes you do this all day. I'll cover the numbers, you know, the boring bit. But they need to see another face, and everyone knows you already. Your reputation precedes you."
Mel glanced up at Raquel, who was staring at Mel, waiting for an answer. She was looking Mel straight in the eyes.
Mel looked down at their hands and started picking the dirt out from under their fingernails. "Yeah," Mel managed. "Sure." They immediately regretted it. They were going to have to talk in front of people. Serious people.
Raquel allowed herself a half smile. "Good. I'll see you there." And she was off.
Mel turned back to the pepper plant with a sigh. Taking great care, they pulled the plant up out of the soil. They knew the best move was to throw it away, amend the soil, and start over. But Mel didn't have the heart. So they gently removed the soft, blackened bits of root and dipped the rest into the bucket of gray powder held by the quadbot. It wouldn't be the prettiest chili plant, but it would live.
The conference room all the way down on level 6 didn't smell like anything. It was filled with climate-controlled air, perfectly calibrated lights, and there wasn't any dust anywhere. Mel sat very still on the edge of their seat with both hands wrapped around a ceramic mug of tepid mint tea. They hadn't taken a sip yet. Probably wouldn't. Their stomach was churning like they'd swallowed a wild animal.
"Floor 318's communal growing program serves thousands of residents," Raquel was saying, measuring every word. "Fresh produce integration has reduced our processed food draw by 22%. Community meal participation is up 40%."
Mel watched as Raquel's eyes flicked left at intervals, taking in information and incorporating it mid-sentence without breaking rhythm. Raquel's personal AI, Gota, was feeding her data in real-time through her earpiece. At the head of the table, the representative from Floor 312 was doing the same with their own Agent. Four people were talking, two in vivo, two in silico.
The 312 representative, a man with a square jaw and deep creases across his brow, leaned forward. "We've been under allocation for two quarters running. Our Floor's water draw has been cut twice this year alone." He propped himself up on his elbows, interlacing his fingers and resting his chin on his hands. "Where do you think the surplus goes?"
Mel's knuckles whitened around the mug.
"It goes where everyone agrees it goes," said Raquel. "Don't pretend you didn't agree to this. Should we reduce our farming output or send it somewhere else?"
The rep from 312 didn't have an answer to this, and Raquel waved for Mel to stand. It was their turn. Mel closed their eyes, let go of the mug, and placed both hands on the table, palms down.
"So…," Mel took a deep breath, all eyes on them, their heart racing.
"You've got this," said Pell in Mel's ear.
Mel opened their eyes and looked around the conference table. The rep from 312 was sitting back now. The rep for the collectives on 303-310 was busy picking her nails. Mel straightened up and cleared their throat.
"The corridor outside my unit used to smell like sterilization chemicals and new construction. No one gathered in our atrium, and our rimpark was empty every morning. I know food's never been scarce, but most of it was lab-grown or brought up from the ground floor verticals. But we've made what we're doing central to our community, and now we're stronger than ever. We hold a festival every month that most of you attend."
The rep from 312 tried not to acknowledge this, but the woman from 315 elbowed him, eliciting a half-smile and an eye-roll.
"The chemical odors are gone, and our air is cleaner, filled with the smell of basil and rose and jasmine. People stop and just enjoy it. We have residents visiting from all over Arcology One. And it's so plentiful that anyone can pick whatever they find, flowers or produce, and take it home. We still have a surplus to share with our neighbors. And beyond that, we have data that shows the residents on 318 spend less time in our units compared to residents on other Floors. That's not an accident. Nature brings beauty, and we've embraced that. When we go and sit on our benches in our corridors or in our atrium, we're not staring at off-white walls with throw-away art. We get to sit under trellises and next to murals that we made. It brings us together because our home is genuinely a beautiful place to be."
"Sure, but this kind of reallocation can't go on forever," was 312's last, half-hearted protest.
Mel understood. This wasn't a real complaint. All of this was a formality. The arcology's AI membrane must have flagged the data and set up the meeting. No one was really going to do anything about it.
"We understand, and we hear you," said Raquel, stepping in and gesturing for Mel to sit down. "Thank you for your time, and remember, you're all invited to the festival! It's only a couple of days away."
And that was it. Another deferral. The festival would proceed.
The next day, which was the afternoon before the festival, Floor 318 was rearranging itself. A seemingly endless train of utility bots was bringing a jungle of potted plants into the atrium. There were palms for grandeur and atmosphere, flowers of every color, shape, and fragrance, and espaliered fruit trees heavy with apples, pears, lemons, and limes. Davi was in the middle of the atrium, arguing with a bot about one of the palms.
"No. More left. More. Stop." He shoved the bot six inches to the left with his hip, and the bot put down the planter. Davi stepped back, checked the placement, and nodded before gesturing at another nearby crawbot. It was holding a string of lights. "They need to go from the central column to the far wall. Keep them up high so they illuminate the mural. That way they'll draw everyone's eyes first thing when they get out of the elevator."
The crawbot took off, taking its end of the string of lights with it as it began scaling the wall. Davi watched for a moment, then moved on to something else.
Mel was busy setting out the cornucopia. It was a massive display they set up for the harvest festival to show off what they'd managed to grow that month. It was put out on a large, square, white marble slab that ordinarily doubled as a bench in the atrium. Right now, Mel was busy with the heirloom tomatoes, which were arriving by the crate via the utility bots.
"Any of these from Minnesota?" Pell asked.
Mel shook their head as they sorted through the tomatoes. The little vial of tomato seeds was still tucked inside the pocket of Mel's overalls. They were picking the best, their fingers reading skin tension, feeling for just the right firmness. The ripe ones went onto the display, and the rest would be taken back to the greenhouse or to one of the restaurants just off the atrium. After getting a good selection, Mel began arranging the tomatoes in a color gradient from yellow to purple.
"When are you going to plant those? They're not viable forever."
Mel shrugged.
"Well, can you rearrange those two tomatoes, Mel?" Pell asked. "The ones you're looking at. Just switch them. One's a few millimeters bigger than the other, and it's bugging me."
Smiling, Mel rolled their eyes but did as Pell asked.
Evening arrived, and all the hall lights on Floor 318 dimmed to allow the accessory lighting to take effect. The atrium and the cornucopia were full. There were tomatoes, lettuces, herbs, roasted eggplant, all kinds of fruit, an entire table of cakes and pastries, popcorn strung on necklaces for the kids, and someone was even grilling some chicken over an imitation charcoal grill. It was a secret garden, bustling with people from all over Arcology One.
Davi was everywhere. He kept nudging plants and moving displays until everything was just right. He hadn't sat down all day.
Mel was sitting on a bench along the outer edge of the atrium under a big palm tree. The palm tree was in a big ceramic planter, and jasmine vines snaked their way up the tree's trunk. Mel had a handful of cherry tomatoes, their favorite. Mel watched as kids played tag in and out of the corridors, as new arcology residents arrived off the elevator for the first time, their eyes popping in awe of all the greenery. Mel couldn't stop smiling. It made all the hard work worth it. Mel threw a cherry tomato into their mouth and bit. The skin broke with a satisfying pop. It was sweet, a little umami, sublime.
Pell spoke for the first time in the hours since Raquel announced the start of the festival. Pell found the tumult of guests and Agents to be immensely distracting and only chimed in when needed.
"The eggplant's almost gone. Should I flag the balcony greenhouse for a second batch?"
"Yeah," said Mel, nodding.
Across the commons, Raquel was chatting with a tall, imposing woman whom Mel recognized from Floor 320. The lady was thin and gangly with a perpetual scowl. Mel assumed the woman was another floor captain, because Raquel almost exclusively hobnobbed with leadership types. It looked exhausting.
A pair of kids ran past, giggling. Another kid came around the corner and tagged one of the other two, and their happy squeals rose above the murmur of the crowd. An older gentleman, probably in his 80's if Mel had to guess, sat down on the other side of the bench, groaning as he settled in. He closed his eyes and smiled, then turned to Mel.
"You from around here?"
Mel was lounging against the back of the bench and sat up out of respect for the old man. Old habits from back in the day. "Yeah, you could say that. What about you?"
"Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "I'm from Toledo. Just visiting my grandkids." He thumbed towards the kids as they ran off down a corridor.
"First time to Arcology One?"
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Mel forced a smile and let it slide. Old memories swirled up. The farm. The old hometown. Mel offered the old man a cherry tomato.
"Grew it myself," said Mel.
The old man took a bite, his eyes widening.
"Here?" he asked.
Mel nodded.
On the other side of the atrium, Mel saw Raquel straighten, her hand going to her earpiece. But Raquel didn't miss a beat. She continued talking to the taller woman, whose arms were crossed now. But Mel noticed Raquel glancing around the room. Something was distracting her.
"Mel." It was Pell through the earpiece. "Compass is running a diagnostic on the irrigation grid."
"Compass?" Mel asked. Compass was the arcology's pre-emptive maintenance surveillance Agent.
"Yes," Pell said.
Mel stood up and offered the old man the rest of their tomatoes, which he was polite enough to take. "There's more on the table. Have as many as you want."
In a few quick strides, Mel was across the atrium, grabbing Davi by his shirt sleeve. He was finally taking a break and was shoveling a forkful of chocolate cake into his mouth.
"Something's wrong," said Mel.
Davi looked at his empty fork with a look of horror. "What's wrong with the cake?"
Mel shook their head. "Not the cake, Davi. Something else." Mel nodded upwards.
"The ceiling?" Davi's face screwed up in confusion.
Mel palmed their face. "No. Compass."
"Oh," said Davi. He gave his piece of cake a forlorn look, then sighed and put the plate down on the table. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know, but Pell said…"
Before Mel could finish, the entire floor started rumbling underfoot. The murmur of the milling crowd went eerily silent as everyone looked around, bewildered.
The rumble rose into a roar, and the ground shook. Before anyone could react, a wave of water exploded out of the corridor leading to the farms. No one had time to escape. Mel grabbed Davi and pulled him up onto the marble slab holding the cornucopia before the water could sweep them off their feet. Others weren't as quick and got dragged along with the current.
Water only goes one way. Down. And it was taking people with it. To the rimpark. The edge of Floor 318.
The sound came first. A groan, deep in the walls. Mel felt it through the soles of their shoes before the air carried it. The air came down the tunnel like a dragon's breath, almost pushing Mel over as they hooked an arm around Davi.
Everything started shaking. The silverware rattled on the table, the glasses clinked, the chairs scraped, the trellises quivered. Then. Silence. Then the lights in the corridor leading to the farms went out. Water gushed out of it in a wave from floor to ceiling, flooding into the atrium in a river of brown-green runoff that filled the air with the smell of algae and fertilizer. The cornucopia display vanished in an instant. Mel had just pulled Davi up onto the slab, but it didn't matter. The wave took them.
Three seconds. That's how long it took for the atrium to go from festival to flood.
The utility bots reacted first. Half of them started by dropping whatever they were doing and scrambling up the walls, their narrow metal feet losing purchase on wet composite. Retractable claws snapped out and found their grip; the chorus of clicks and scrapes drowned out by the roar of the water and the screams of the residents. The robots that got their grip scaled straight up the central column and the corridor walls like insects, clinging to the ceiling mounts and ventilation housing.
Mel and Davi floundered against the current as it pulled them downward, outward. The roar muffled as Mel went under, choking on water as they struggled to right theirself. Mel managed to keep their grip on Davi, but it was slipping as the water flushed them out of floor 318. As Mel surfaced, they saw two quadbots nearby splayed their legs wide on the surface of the water. Mel heard a sharp hiss as the robot torsos pressurized, inflating by a few inches. Just enough to double as a floatation device. Mel paddled with one arm, pulling Davi with the other. Another quadbot jumped on top of the rafting bots and reached out an arm. Mel caught it.
The PA system fired. Two voices over the comms. It was Compass and the Membrane overlapping, fighting for the same speaker:
"...structural event on Floor 318. All residents shoul…"
Coughing up water, Mel couldn't tell how deep the water was, but the ceiling was within arm's reach. They had one arm over the inflated quadbot, and the other around Davi. A light up ahead. Sunlight. The current only had one way to go. To the rimpark. To the edge.
"—nearest utility bot and hold—"
They went under again. The water tasted like iron and dirt and something sweet and rotten. Mel kept their eyes closed. They knew what this was. It was a slurry of farm water. Nutrient-rich. Bacteria-rich. Dark as molasses. Mel couldn't tell which way was up or down. A metallic arm grabbed Mel under their shoulder.
"—remain inside sealed residential un—"
They were spilled out onto rimpark like ragdolls. The sun and cold air at four thousand feet hit them. The glass walls flashed bright off the central ziggurat as it rose another thousand feet into the air. And Mel was on their back, the water still pushing Mel and Davi to the side of the central torrent, to the railing that separated Floor 318 from a hundred-foot drop to the next rimpark eight floors below. Other residents and guests were pressed up against the railing. But the quadbots were there, too. A wall of them clasped arm to arm, extending the railing and bracing it against the torrent as it spilled over the edge in a brown waterfall.
Mel's back hit the railing. Both bots separated, one set of legs locking around the railing and another wrapping around Mel and Davi. Mel felt theirself slipping, reached out and grabbed onto the leg joint of a nearby quad. Mel never let go of Davi. The current pulled. The railing held.
Beyond them, a hundred-foot drop and the distant rimpark of Floor 310, which from up here looked like a sidewalk.
And just as quickly as it began, the water thinned. It sheeted over the rimpark edge in a wide curtain, catching the last of the daylight.
The first pod of lobsters arrived via the service elevator just minutes later, gripping both sides of the corridor walls. Each pod had six lobsters, and each was the size of a small donkey. Another pod crawled up over the edge of the rimpark on their insect-like, articulated legs, the lobsters' sensors humming as they scanned every millimeter of Floor 318, sending a perfect rendering back to Compass, Arcology One's immune system.
Mel and Davi had already separated, helping whomever they could. They were checking in with neighbors and friends, lifting debris off of others. Davi was working with a team of quadbots to get one of the potted palms, which had washed out through the corridors, off the legs of a survivor. One of the lobsters crawled up and used its tail to gently lift the palm's trunk off the harried survivor.
After the water washed away, it was oddly quiet. Mel wasn't sure if it was shock or just that compared to the roar of the flood, everything else was a whisper by comparison. Still, no one was yelling. Everyone was looking out for anyone else, bewildered and confused, galvinized to be alive. Raquel had already assembled a team and they were fanning out across the rimpark, systemetizing the search for survivors and those in need of help. The utility bots joined in seamlessly, expanding the search and crawling over and through debris that was too dangerous for any human.
Mel searched high and low throughout the rimpark, looking for any survivors. They couldn't bear the thought that someone might have slipped through the cracks and fallen to the park below. It was an awful thought and Mel couldn't get it out of their head. So they searched. Up this low hill, around these bushes, under a walkbridge. Eventually she came across the old man from earlier, the one from Toledo who was visiting his grandchildren.
He was sitting, soaked, with his back against the railing. A utility bot was parked beside him, one leg on the old man's chest, checking his vitals. Mel felt a wave of relief wash over them. The kids, the ones who'd been playing tag in the corridors, he held them in his arms. The youngest was crying into his wet shirt, while the older was silent, just staring at the water as it trickled out over the rimpark edge.
The old man looked up as Mel approached. His eyes were red, his clothes soaked through, and his hands were shaking. But he smiled.
"Your okay," he said, partly to himself, partly to the kids and Mel. "We're all going to be okay." His voice was cracking.
Mel sat down on the wet composite next to the old man and the grandchildren. There was plant debris everywhere. Bits from the farms, from the decorations, from the park. A wind blew over across the rimpark, bringing with it a chilly evening breeze for a Texas summer evening. The utility bot chirped, indicating the old man was fine, and moved on. Mel put their head in their hands, and closed their eyes. Mel sat there for a moment, trying to center theirself. On the floor, in the water, next to a stranger from Toledo.
"Yeah," said Mel, sitting up. "I guess we got lucky"
The old man nodded and pulled his grandchildren closer.
Something about that reminded Mel. Their hand went to the inside pocket of their overalls. The pocket where the little glass vial use to be. Mel's fingers only found wet denim and some silt in the seam. It was empty. The history of three generations was in that vial. And it was gone.
Mel's stomach sank. They pulled their hand out of their pocket and stared out over the Texas Hill Country down below. So far down below.
Mel woke the next morning with every muscle screaming, raw hands, and a sore throat. They'd crawled onto Raquel's couch around 3 AM, but Pell woke them at 6 AM sharp. Mel's overalls were covered in grime from the search and rescue efforts.
Pell, of course, hadn't slept. They were busy coordinating with all the other AI agents on Floor 318. Each was examining the state of the Floor, determining the best course of action to ensure repairs went as quickly as possible, and orchestrating the cleanup via the utility bots and the lobsters.
Raquel's unit had been closed during the flood, so it was still dry, clean, climate-controlled, and, most importantly, all the furniture remained intact. Like most of the units, it smelled like nothing, which made Mel uneasy, even if they couldn't articulate why. There were six people in the unit: Raquel at the dining table with Gota in her ear and her arms crossed. Mel was on the opposite side of the room, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. Pell was somewhere nearby, probably watching everything from the camera in the corner. And there was a governance liaison standing near the door, silent, likely with their own agent in their ear. They were all looking at the data on the wall display.
"Floor 318's aggregate water utilization," Gota was talking from the wall speaker. "Total allocation in the current quarter: 134% of standard allotment. The trailing four-quarter average was 127%. There has been a sustained upward trend since Q2 2037."
The utilization curve climbed on the display. Eighteen months of it. It began shortly after Mel arrived at Arcology One.
"Compass flagged the irrigation anomaly all the way back in Q3 2037," Gota continued, their voice coming from all around. "The flag was logged in the Membrane's monitoring layer and was included in monthly Floor resource summaries." Gota paused. Two seconds. "I did not include these details in the executive highlights I prepared for Raquel."
Raquel's jaw tightened. Her fingers didn't move.
The governance liaison, a short, sharp-eyed man in a bespoke suit, offered no reaction.
"Report the downstream impact," Raquel said.
"Floors 316, 317, 319, and 320 operated at reduced water pressure allocation for three consecutive quarters. These were previously agreed upon as trade for produce. They did not report the reduction. Their Tier 3 Agents found workarounds, and none of the residents reported any problems."
Mel's hand found the armrest.
Gota continued. "Floor 318's water draw exceeded allocation by 34% at peak. The communal gardens and farms are the clear source of the overage."
Raquel glanced at Mel, then back at the screen.
"Why wasn't anyone warned?" Raquel asked.
"You have been warned. We've been warning you for over six months," said Gota. "But the festivals were popular. Almost every resident on Floor 318 approves of the gardens and helps in the farms. Artists contribute to the murals and have moved here just to add more color. That shifts the weights. "
The room was silent. Raquel's jaw muscles bulged, and the governance liaison remained stone-faced.
Mel coughed to draw their attention. "I remember Pell mentioning something, but I never dreamed this would happen." Mel's fingers dug into the armrest. "I never checked any of it."
Raquel glanced at Mel, then to the screen, and over to the liaison.
"Okay. Here's what I know," said Raquel, pausing. "I defended this Floor's right to manage its own resources. I even met with a concerned MEP engineer the day before and told him everything was fine. I stood before the sector committee and told them we had this handled. I was wrong."
The liaison shook their head. "You can't just fall on your sword here, Raquel," said the man. "I'm setting up a review with the sector council."
"That's not necessary," said Mel. "All of this is my fault, not Raquel's."
"All of that's real sweet," said the liaison with a small sneer, "but this isn't just your problem. It's the whole Floor. We'll be in touch."
He didn't wait for a response and was out the door before anyone could protest.
Raquel pinched the ridge of her nose and sat down with a heavy sigh. Mel couldn't look at Raquel. Mel knew this was just as much their fault as anyone else's. They're the one who inspired the whole thing. Mel looked down at the floor, at their hands, and at all the dirt under their fingernails. How could it all have gone so wrong? This wasn't supposed to happen here.
Mel returned to their apartment around midday. Their door had been open during the festival, which meant it was bare now. All their personal belongings were gone. Nothing was left save the dirty off-white composite floors, walls, and ceiling. All the furniture had been removed. Like everywhere else on Floor 318, everything unsalvageable had been removed by an army of utility bots and lobsters. All of Mel's personal effects were destroyed. All their house plants. Their clothes. The frame with the picture of the farm back home in Illinois. Mel huddled in one of the corners, sitting on the floor with their back against the wall, their knees up and tucked in tight.
Mel shivered. The empty room was so cold and sterile.
Wasn't the AI supposed to flag and fix everything? Wasn't that how it worked? Mel had gotten used to the commentary. Two years of Pell's going on about picking the right plants, soil pH, water allocations, dirty finger smudges on interface panels, and arguments over arranging tomatoes along a color gradient as though they were some kind of flower arrangement. All gone.
"Pell."
A pause. Then, from the little bedside speaker.
"Mel."
"What do we…,"
"Six months," said Pell. "I flagged this six months ago. You told me not to worry about it."
"I…"
"Over and over and over again."
Mel closed their eyes and leaned back against the wall. How many people were in the hospital right now? How many homes were ruined? Was this all their fault? Would any of this have happened if they hadn't moved here? This wasn't supposed to happen. Not here. How could this happen?
The corridor outside the vertical farm smelled of chlorine and rotten fish. The combination was overwhelming, and it made Mel's nose hairs curl. Mel could hear a pod of lobsters clanking around inside, probably dismantling the damaged grow-racks and sorting the salvageable from what needed to be recycled. Amos, the human lead with the lobsters, the Arcology's Emergency Response System, was outside, reviewing a report on a diagnostic display.
An Agent was talking to him through the display's speaker. Mel stopped. They recognized the voice. It was Pell.
"I want to file a Shell request."
Amos didn't look up. "Standard humanoid?"
"No."
Mel stood back a ways, not wanting to interrupt. Amos scratched his head with one hand and continued to flick through the diagnostic readouts with the other. "What are you looking for?"
"Distributed embodiment across one of the emergency response pods," Mel said.
"A whole pod?" Amos asked. "That's a lot for an inexperienced Tier 2, you know."
"I'll download the protocols."
Amos tugged at the collar of his yellow ERS uniform. "But why?" He nodded towards the lobsters crawling in and around the greenhouse. "They're doin' just fine. We'll have everything back up and running in 24 hours."
"This is my home."
Mel's stomach lurched.
Amos stopped staring at the readout and sighed. "You'd be runnin' across six units simultaneously with at least forty-milliseconds of latency between them. You won't be unified."
"Good."
"Their work is physical. All mud, substrate, and debris. And that's not to mention the risk. We lose lobsters all the time. "
"I'm aware."
Amos looked at the display for a long moment, then tapped in a couple of quick commands. "Your call, friend. Request submitted." The door to the farms opened with a hiss, and a blast of warm, humid air billowed out. Inside, a pod of lobsters was cleaning up the wreckage inside the vertical farm. Loud grinding sounds filled the air as they cut through old troughs, fertilizer baths, piping, and wiring. Amos disappeared into the bay without ceremony.
Mel didn't know if they should come or go. They knew Pell must be watching. They always were. For two years, they'd been inseparable. Mel took a step towards the greenhouse, then stopped. They tapped their earpiece.
"Pell?"
There was a delay.
"Y… es." The voice stuttered. "Yes?"
"Are you sure?" Mel asked.
One of the lobsters in the greenhouse stopped cutting through a crumpled trough, approached the door, and ducked down to look at Mel.
"I'm sure."
Mel had a hard time sleeping that night. They tossed and turned in their bed, which was the only piece of new furniture that had been brought into their unit. Everything else was still in manufacturing somewhere in the subfloors of Arcology One. Mel stared up at the ceiling. All their plants were gone. Even the ones they'd hung from the ceiling. They rolled over onto their side. The wall opposite was where Mel had their desk. All of Mel's handwritten notes, botanical drawings, and seed catalogs were gone. Mel sighed, turning again onto their back. Yes, it was a disaster, but it was a minor miracle, too. They and everyone else were safe. No one had died. All injuries had been repaired by the medical bots. Mel pulled the covers tight. Still, most of Floor 318 was back to square one: just a bunch of lukewarm, off-white composite panels.
Pell had stayed off comms since yesterday. This left Mel strangely uneasy, like they'd somehow angered their best friend and were now getting the cold shoulder. How do you apologize to an Agent? Mel never really fell asleep that night and only got out of bed when the sound of clicking and scraping roused their curiosity.
Mel left their unit and followed the sounds.
Down the corridor, heading towards the atrium, were six lobsters working in unison. Two at the archway into the atrium were dismantling the remains of a trellis with their claws. One was at the elevator, replacing a cracked wall panel. Another was hauling debris toward the service elevator. The last two in the pod were inspecting the murals of the floor's central column.
The pod moved as one, with coordinated hesitation and adjustments rippling between the lobsters as though they were a single organism. This was normal for distributed AI, but Mel knew they had to be Pell. Mel stood back and watched as the lobsters sorted through all the organic debris. Dead plants in one pile. Surviving plants in other. Substrate and root mass in another pile. Each in careful rows up against the atrium's outer wall. And the two lobsters by the mural? They had modified tails to gently scrub away the high water mark and the dark, acrid stain of the fertilizer.
One of the lobsters near the mural paused as its sensor array rotated toward Mel, hummed in a slow sweep, then went back to work.
Davi came padding barefoot down one of the corridors. His hair was matted, his clothes were wrinkled, and he had bags under his eyes. He walked up next to Mel and watched as a lobster removed a trellis from its mount over the mural and gently lowered it to the floor.
"You in charge?" Davi asked.
Mel shook their head. "No. I think…," Mel tilted their head and crinkled their nose. "I think that's Pell."
"Oh," said Davi through a groan as he reached up high with both arms and stretched.
The pair watched as the pod moved about the atrium with deliberate, tender care. One lobster was filling the dark rectangles of the planter bed recesses with clean, bare soil. The mural above it was a brown smudge below the high water line. The lobster nearest them was planting seeds while another was fitting together new pipes to serve the future seedlings. For such bulky robots, they moved with surprising grace.
"Are you still bonded?" Davi asked.
Mel sighed and shrugged their shoulders. This was new territory, as so many things were in Arcology One. A pair of utility quadbots arrived via the elevator, the doors opening with a pneumatic hiss. Their little metal feet clicked on the floor as they balanced cans of spray paint and cans of solvent on their flattened backs. The pod stopped working and collected around the column, each taking rags and solvent. They paused, one tilting its sensor array back at Mel and Davi. One of the quadbots clicked its way over and offered rags and solvent to Mel and Davi.
They looked at each other, at the pod of lobsters scrabbling all over Floor 318's column, and the little quadbot. Mel and Davi got the hint and jumped in.
Raquel showed up, along with a few other neighbors from across the floor. Everyone picked up a rag and got to scrubbing, clearing off the residue from the floodwaters until the walls and floors were cleaned down to the off-white composite underneath. It didn't take long. Maybe thirty minutes between all of them.
When everything was clean, the entire pod and everyone else stepped back and stared at the naked, central column.
"Ready?" Pell asked, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. Each of the lobsters grabbed a can of spray paint before the quadbot walked the rest out to the gathering crowd. Mel, Davi, and Raquel eac grabbed a can, along with all the other neighbors.
And they set to work, big strokes at first, covering broad swathes of the wall, highlighting others. Familiar faces came into view. Raquel, a quadbot, Mel, a lobster, Davi and other.
One of Pell's lobsters took to painting over the high water mark but didn't cover it. Instead, Pell incorporated it. They painted along the stain's contour, rough at the edges where the old mural used to be, in streaks of yellow, red, and pink. A sunrise.
Mel stepped back. A lobster crawled down off the wall and came to rest next to Mel, gently leaning it's weight into Mel.
"Feel better?" Mel asked, smiling for the first time in days
The lobster nodded.
