Sneak Peak First Draft: Outside -- Chapter 2
Catastrophe
Sam awoke the next morning and turned on the Vista Wall. The Morning Show was on. The hosts of the Morning Show were discussing a new product, but Sam rarely paid attention to the Morning Show. They never really talked about the stuff he was interested in. He just liked hearing the voices in the background while he ate breakfast.
He really wasn’t a morning person. He would much rather sleep in, but work required that he be up at the break of dawn. The alarm was set for daybreak and his Vista Window was set to simulate the sunrise, but with random vistas. This morning it was the Kansas Grassland sunrise program. A simulated sun glistened a gold blanket over rich, green fields of rolling grass. Sam loved the wide expanse of grass. He considered making Kansas Grassland the default sunrise program, but he also liked the Rocky Mountain Sunrise. The Everglades Sunrise made him feel good, especially when the sun rose through a small, grey rain cell floating gently across the swaying grass. That wide open feeling was a good way to start the morning.
But he needed to ease into the morning—enjoy his coffee, not bothered by anyone. He always scheduled deliveries to arrive in the afternoon and never took visitors before noon. Morning, if he had to be awake, was his time. He ate his breakfast, a conservative bagel and cream cheese, fruit juice and coffee with, of course, the supplemental vitamins that are required to qualify for health insurance. When he was done, he poured another cup of coffee and just stared at the Vista Window and listened to the voices of the Morning Show behind him. The bottom of the second cup of coffee was his cue to start work. It was about that time that the Sun cleared the horizon and became a wide, hovering oval in the distance.
Sam poured his third cup of coffee and strolled to his workstation. A broad keypad curved in a half circle around him. A series of monitors, panels and gages glowed in front of him. As an Ag Specialist, Sam’s job was to maintain a farm. He dealt in horticulture, not livestock. He did livestock for a brief time, but got to the point where he couldn’t eat meat. Such a man as he did not have the stomach for the level of suffering in the vast meat production facilities. The horticulture farms were significantly cleaner and more pleasant.
Sam’s job was to monitor the physical condition of all the plants in a long greenhouse. Robotic drones rolled meticulously along neat rows of planted crops. Complex programs scanned each plant, leaf, fruit, stalks, even roots within twenty-four hours. Any imperfections, like fungus or disease, and Sam was to use specialized remote tools for diagnosing the problem. If the problem was external, parasites, fungi, etc., Sam could bring in other drones to remove the affliction. Regardless, Sam was expected to provide hourly reports of his progress, observations and corrective actions to the central computer of AgPlus Inc., a subsidiary of Citadel Inc.
It was very important for Sam to be as thorough as he could. He had applied for the supervisor position. Promotion decisions were always made by calculating the net production of each specialist’s greenhouse. The latest reports indicated that Sam’s greenhouse was producing in the 92nd percentile. That was good news for him. If he got the supervisor job he would oversee all phases of the production process, from prepping the field to harvesting. He couldn’t wait for the challenge, for Sam was certain that the promotion was his.
A smile brightened his face as he thought about it. A promotion would be a significant increase in income. He would be able to honeymoon with his fiancée’s interface for two days longer because he would have more vacation hours. It would be great. He only had to make sure that he didn’t make a mistake during the decision process. Just one little mistake would screw him up.
With deft fingers he moved his remote probe along a row of collard greens. All the plants were greening nicely. The leaves were full, thick and strong. Sam reported any limp leaves to the horticultural pharmacists. The pharmacists would follow behind with hormone and mineral treatments to correct the problem. Sam got great satisfaction knowing that very little of his produce had to be destroyed. ‘It’s all in the eye,’ Sam thought. It turned out that Sam had a talent for plants. He poured through volumes of botany texts. Plants were simple, quiet, even pretty. Even the thorny, poisonous plants were relaxing. He was sure there wasn’t a plant in North America he didn’t know something about. Furthermore, he had a natural eye for spotting problems with the plants. In his mind he could see the ideal leaf, flower, stem. Any variation of that jumped out at him.
As the remote glided along the third row Sam sat back and raised the mug to his lips. The mug had a sprawling oak tree design, and a tiny logo, a black rook with a small, triangular red flag out the top. The symbol of Citadel Inc.
The day was running smoothly. His reports were clean up to this point. This was when he knew he had to slow down and really concentrate. When things went well right from the beginning it was easy to get complacent and miss stuff later in the day. He learned that as a rookie. If the day started off with problems, that was when he was the most productive. When the day was easy that’s when he made the most mistakes. It was rare that a day would go by without something having to be fixed and reported. It happened. Sam called them perfect games. Like perfect games in baseball, they didn’t happen very often.
Sam thought about baseball. He hadn’t seen a game in a long time. Perhaps he’d check out the Yankees—see who they were playing and relax with a beer and a game. They should be getting close to post season now.
Sam allowed his mind to wander for only ten seconds before pushing the drone further down the row. A ten-second rest was enough to refocus, and all the time he could afford to give. The work had to be perfect. The work could not be perfect if he was off daydreaming about baseball. When Sam first used his Gloria VRP he had a difficult time concentrating on his work. He had to go back a few times and re-evaluate some rows that he just could not remember.
While Sam was musing, it appeared. Sam almost didn’t notice it, because it appeared in the substrate. It was so rare that the soil, composed mostly of synthetic fertilizers and a dark brown suspension that simulated real soil to make the brochures look rustic, had a problem. There really wasn’t anything in the substrate that could be problematic. Sometimes an occasional insect or worm was spotted, but that was about it. But there it was. Sam stopped the probe and readjusted the camera to get a better look.
It couldn’t be. Sam magnified. He placed the image on widescreen. He expanded different views on multiple screens. It just couldn’t be.
There on the screens transmitted from multiple angles and magnifications was a clear footprint in the substrate. The heal and toe of a boot was pressed into the dark suspension. ‘This is most peculiar.’ Sam thought. Nothing in his training prepared him for this contingency. There was never any human contact with the plants until the food was taken in through the door of someone’s home. Anything that had to be done was done by robots. Sam looked to the end of the greenhouse where the great harvestbot stood motionless, waiting for orders to bring in this bounty.
Here was irrefutable evidence that a human being had been among the vegetables.
