“Are you kidding me, Phil?” Robert yelled as warm liquified fertilizer splashed into his face and dowsed his coveralls. “This is the second time this week that pump number four has sprung a leak. When are we going to get some new couplings and valves? There’s only some much glue and bonding agent. I’m sure there’s more liquid metal than actual original metal in this thing.”

A calm voice said through Robert’s earpiece, “I put in the requisition a month ago, and I’m still waiting. Until we get approval, I can’t do anything about it. We still need to hit production quotas, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We always need to hit quotas. One of these days, this thing is just going to stop working, and there won’t be a damn thing I’ll be able to do about it. Then we won’t make the quota.”

“Well, when that day comes, maybe we’ll get some emergency approvals, but as long as you can work your magic, I doubt we’ll see much. You’re just too good at your job. Anyway, once you get that patched up, go clean up. You’re almost at the end of shift.”

He finished torquing down on the clamp holding the patch in place. “Ok, that should do it. How does the pressure look?”

“It seems to be regulating. Everything else looks fine. Knock off and let the weekend shift take care of any other issues. You need to get home. Doesn’t your mom have a therapy appointment at seven?”

He looked at his data band, a thin wristband about three inches wide around his wrist, and said, “Yeah, I still got time, but you’re right. I need to get out of here if I’m going to grab the next rapid. This should hold for a while. I logged what the fix was, and the materials used. Jake should be able to figure it out if it breaks again.”

“All right, kid, get out of here. I will drop by on Sunday to take your mom to church and maybe lunch. I’ll see you then if you’re around.”

“See you on Sunday,” Robert replied as he stood up and stretched his back while using a rag to wipe the mess off his face.

He took a moment to look around the large indoor grow facility, appreciating the dance of specialized planting, fertilizing, and harvesting drones moving up and down the aisles. It made him wonder what it was like back when humans did all the farming tasks by hand. The sun up to sunrise schedule of hard physical labor must have been terrible. He stood there for a few minutes lost in the movements before returning to reality and headed towards the locker room.

With the help of the automated shower and sterilizer, he was ready to leave in only a few minutes. While the cleaning process could be harsh, leaving his skin pink from the high pressure and scrubbing mechanisms, it was quick. The smell of the liquified fertilizer was replaced with an almost lemony-bleach smell. His coveralls were tossed into a bin for some other machine to deal with, and a quick stop by his locker was all he needed before leaving.

As he opened the door to the outside, an arid breeze that felt like it’s fighting to remove moisture from his body hit him in the face. There’s a reason all the production farms were large, environmentally controlled warehouses. Napa was a wasteland of dry soil and wind. Once, long ago, it was considered one of the most productive areas for winemaking in the world. After years of drought and fires, it changed into what he saw before him—a hard, dry wasteland of tumbleweeds and dirt.

Robert pulled up his data band and checked the rapid rail schedule. Only a few minutes until the next departure, so he picked up the pace and began jogging towards the station. His building was close to the station, so he made it with time to spare.

Rows of people were lined up at the door markers waiting for the train to arrive. He was hoping to get a seat for the ride home, but that looked unlikely. The usual chimes and announcements told him the train was on final approach. Thirty seconds later, he was guided into the train car closest to him. While he wasn’t able to get a seat, he found a place to brace against a rail for the ride. It always amused him when people stumbled because they misjudged the rate of acceleration out of the station. It was called rapid rail for a reason.

He read once that the train was so fast over short distances that it never hit cruising speed. It just accelerated until it hit a certain point and then began deceleration. Because it was only thirty or forty miles to Berkeley, there was never a point during the ride where he didn’t feel the push of speeding up or slowing down. He guessed it made sense. It took around twenty minutes to get home.

Berkeley was a different world from Napa. Tall buildings of glass and steel stretch into the sky created a permanently shaded street level. There were small parks throughout the city to add a little space and light, but most of the street level was still a lot cooler than you would think for the middle of August.

His building was only a few blocks from the rapid station, so he hurried the rest of the way. The streets were spotless because of the automated street sweepers and the outlawing of street parking nearly a hundred years ago. It wasn’t like most people could afford a car, anyway. Only the wealthy or connected had cars. Self-driving units that dropped off passengers and disappeared to some off-street parking area until they were called.

Robert once rode in a car. It was not a great experience. It was the day they rushed his mother to the hospital. When he received the call, he’d been waiting at the bus stop to go home. The bus was running late, so he paid for a taxi. That had set him back nearly a hundred dollars. Besides his worrying about his mother, being able to see where he was going through the front window without having a driver unnerved him. He was perfectly complacent about being a passenger on a bus or train, but there was something he didn’t like about being in a self-driving car.

Looking up at the towering building in front of him, Robert almost forgot where he was. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and walked into the lobby. The security scanners beeped as they read his data band. It cleared him to enter.

He waved at the lobby attendant as he walked towards the elevators, purely out of habit. Robert lived his entire life in the building but had never spoken to the people behind the counter. IT wasn’t in his nature to go out of his way to meet people. If it weren’t for the name tag, he wouldn’t even know their names.

The ride to the thirtieth floor took less than a minute.

His data band allowed him to enter his apartment without fumbling around for a key. “Hey, mom, I’m home.”

“Oh, welcome home Rob. I hope your day went well.” His mother responded from the couch.

If his mother, Patricia, had been born at any other time or with more money, she probably would have been considered quite a catch. Very intelligent, kind, and beautiful. Not that Robert would ever judge her or any other woman solely on looks. The fear that his mother would follow through on her famous declaration, “I brought you into this world, I can take you out just as quickly.” was always there.

She would say that just about anytime he did anything wrong. When he was growing up and the lessons stuck. He was probably more afraid of disappointing her than anything else in life.

She had sacrificed a lot for him after his father passed away. She tutored him, took him to the park almost every chance she got, encouraged him to pursue his passions, and never once criticized him for his overactive imagination and silly ideas.

When she got sick, he didn’t hesitate for a moment. After the test results came back that she had ALS, he knew that she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself. He dropped down to taking one class a semester in his spare time and got a job. He was just lucky that Uncle Philip could get him work. If it wasn’t for that, he had no idea what he would have done.

“Hey mom, you ready to go to your appointment? I just need to drop my bag in my room, and we can go.”

Using a walker, she got up and started moving towards her wheelchair by the door. “I’m ready when you are. Today is leg day, which I actually like.”

A moment later, he joined her by the front door, and they headed out to her appointment. Robert often thought the one good thing about the world was the convenience of everything. Almost every block had a small clinic where someone could get minor treatments, physical therapy, or several other treatments. Her doctor’s office was just around the corner.