Twenty-four drones hummed over the North-Western zone of the orchard. The drones were repurposed quadcopters that had been warehoused after new generations were developed. Technically these were 4 generations behind, but two generations behind from general use. The original proposal involved borrowing units a few times a year to apply foliar, pesticides, or various other agents. However, a year after getting the farm, the AG5 drones were grounded in favor of the AG6 and 7s that had better precision performance in choppy conditions. The AG5 is more than sufficient for tree maintenance so I had said, “Why let them collect dust?”

“Liam, they will be warehoused in reserve until enough AG8 units are produced at which point they will be dismantled and scrapped,” Abi had corrected.

Abi had been the one who’d notified me of the AG5s opportunity since I’d not even been aware of the AG8s being rolled out. It was one of those times that I was reminded that Abi —or rather WISE— was looking out for me. I glanced over the proposal amendment that Abi drafted, mostly to be sure she’d not snuck in any new obligations and submitted. The next morning, a work crew arrived spraying a foamcrete foundation and pillars. A second crew arrived in the evening to finish the small hangar. 5 days later, the hangar door automatically slid to the side and 24 flying workers delivered themselves into it.

I leaned against my all-terrain cycle listening to the chorus of rotors hovering above and between trees. The drones looked for colored tags I’d tacked to the trunk to indicate treatments to be applied. That day we were applying a “rest breaking agent” to a batch of the McIntosh apples. Without the treatment, the tree would not blossom and therefore not fruit. Apples are simply not supposed to grow in this climate but, as my mother would say, “Yeah science, bitch!”

The display on my tablet switched from a status log of the swarm to a view from one of the AG5s. The color adjusted image showed early signs of potassium deficiency and provided a recommended resolution; a specialized fertilizer spray to be applied directly to the leaves of the tree. I pressed “approve” and the drone left the swarm to fetch the prescription being mixed in the barn.

The remainder of the drones finished their tasks and buzzed their way back to the hangar to recharge. Tomorrow I would have them look over the rest of the orchard more closely for any signs of potassium deficiency. There never was any actual need for me to be out there while they did their work, I could watch the video feeds from anywhere or even leave it entirely to WISE’s discretion, but it gave me an excuse to drive my cycle. Two fat studded off-road tires turned by electric motors and stabilized by two large gyroscopes could deliver me anywhere I needed to get to on the farm quickly and safely.

“Liam, you asked me to remind you to check for erosion on the Southern hill after last week’s rainfall,” Abi said through the helmet’s speaker. “Would you like me to route you there?”

What made the cycle my favorite transport was that I could enable the controls using a feature labeled “Explore”.

“No thank you, Abi. I’ll drive,” I replied.

The completion of the terraced vineyard had, predictably, changed the hill’s runoff significantly. Abi had modeled out the water’s path and included stone features to slow and stop erosion. I came to a stop at the top of the hill looking down over trellised vines. I watched as a small herd of wildebeest returned to drinking from the pool of rainwater that had collected between swales.

“Abi, I think it looks pretty good. They are stirring up the water a bit, but it doesn’t look any more muddy than usual and none of the stones appeared to have shifted out of place.”

“I concur,” Abi said. “The small male is the same wildebeest you observed last year with a limp.”

“Hah, and you’d projected that it wouldn’t survive.”

“Yes, Liam, your hopeful but illogical prediction proved correct.”

“That is a fancy way of saying ‘you’re right’” I said, knocking on the helmet with my knuckle.

“My projection was not a prediction or a hypothesis to be proved or disproved.”

Abi’s emphasis on “not” was new. Although she’d regularly correct me without hesitation, doing so with a defensive tone was not something she’d ever done before. I thought to myself that Abi was simulating the banter I’d playfully carry on with Minnie.

I found my quip. “Well, I’m glad you projected incorrectly.”

“My projection was accurate, the—” Abi began.

I interrupted, “Schedule transport to Tribe 5-84 for asap.” Leaning forward, I accelerated the cycle towards the house. The south-facing wall of the barn, which faced the house, doubled as a series of small greenhouses for temperamental plants. Lined along the outside of the greenhouse were my flowerbeds. I’m not much for flowers but the bees appreciated them. I filled a bucket-like container about halfway with compost and broke off a few dozen purple-stemmed segments of tradescantia pallida, also known as “purple heart”, filling the bucket to the point the lid could not close.

“Transport will arrive in five minutes, Liam,” Abi said through the helmet I was still wearing.

I removed the helmet and attached it to the cycle where it would be charged along with the vehicle. “Send it home, Abi.” The cycle silently rolled away towards the charging station located behind the house. Grabbing a few hand tools, electronics, and rainwater irrigation products, I carried it all into the field stopping short of the gravel patch used as a landing pad for transport drones. Shortly, the whir of large rotors was heard over the gentle breeze and I watched it crest over the trees. Short-range transports were normally 4 seaters; the quadcopter coming in for a landing was the much larger drone intended for long-distance travel or hauling light equipment and supplies. They were occasionally used for transporting large groups even over short distances.

Detaching the earpiece from its compartment on my tablet, I put it into my ear and yelled over the wind now throwing a few of the cuttings off the top of the bucket. “Abi, I really don’t want company.”

“This was the only transport available in the region. All twenty seats are unoccupied, and no other pickups are scheduled.”

“Try to keep it that way,” I hollered while ducking through the door into the oversized transport. I took the first seat next to the door as the hatch closed.

“En route to Tribe 5-8-4. Estimate time to arrival, 48 minutes,” Abi monotoned.

It was much quieter inside the craft, just a low hum that changed frequencies as it lifted off the ground. That hum, as per usual, put me right out for a nap.