Oxygen and Dead Daisies

The air in the High Zone doesn't taste like anything. That’s the point. It’s filtered through six layers of carbon-scrubbers until it’s just a blank slate. No smell of exhaust. No smell of people. Just the sterile hum of the HVAC. I can feel my lungs relaxing, which is a problem. My body isn't used to it. When I go back down to the Lower Levels tonight, the transition will feel like swallowing glass. My Breath Credits are low. I have six hours of 'Standard Oxygen' left on my account. After that, I’m back to 'Filtered Ambient,' which is a nice way of saying 'mostly soot.'

I gripped the handle of my spray-mop. The plastic was sticky with someone else’s sweat. I’m a ghost in this penthouse. A meat-based utility. CEO Sterling is sitting at a glass desk that cost more than my entire apartment block. He’s looking at holograms of mineral yields. He doesn't look at me. I’m just part of the furniture that moves.

In the center of the room, under a dedicated spotlight, sat the daisy. It was in a ceramic pot that looked like it was carved from a single tooth. The dirt was black and rich. It smelled like wet earth. It’s the only thing in this whole sector that smells like anything real. It’s the last natural daisy in the district. Sterling bought it at an auction for three million credits. He treats it like a trophy, but he doesn't know how to look at it.

I do. I look at it every shift. It’s hurting. The petals are curling at the edges, turning a sickly translucent gray. It’s not a lack of water. It’s the air. The atmospheric controls are set to 72 degrees and 20% humidity. That’s the 'Executive Comfort' preset. Humans like it dry and cool. Plants don't. The daisy is suffocating in luxury.

Mina walked in. She’s Sterling’s daughter. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. She’s wearing a silk robe that looks like liquid gold. Her eyes were glued to her wrist-comm. She didn't look at her father. She didn't look at me. She went straight to the daisy.

She held up her wrist. A drone hovered over her shoulder, positioning itself for the perfect angle. She tilted her head, pouted, and touched one of the dying petals. The flash went off. She checked the display.

"It’s kind of dusty," she said. Her voice was flat. Bored.

"It’s a biological entity, Mina," Sterling said without looking up from his holograms. "It has texture."

"It looks mid," she muttered. "The color is off. It’s not popping against the white floor. Can we get it dyed or something?"

"It’s a daisy. It’s white. That’s the brand."

She sighed and walked out, already typing a caption for the three million people who would like her photo in the next ten minutes. She left a smudge of fake tan on the ceramic pot. I stepped forward to wipe it off. My hands were shaking. Not from anger. Just from the lack of calories. My stomach was a tight knot of nothing.

I looked at the daisy. It was dying for a photo. I checked the environmental HUD on my utility belt. The CO2 levels were too low for the plant. The air was too clean. I reached for the control panel on the wall, hidden behind a panel of faux-wood.

"Step away from the environmental overrides, Employee 4092," a voice said. It was the Security AI. It sounded like a woman who had never laughed in her life.

"The plant needs more CO2," I said. I didn't look up. I knew the cameras were tracking my retinas.

"Atmospheric settings are optimized for Tier 1 residents. Any adjustment is a violation of the Comfort Mandate."

"It’s going to die."

"The asset is insured. Your employment is not. Resume your duties."

I went back to the floor. I thought about Ida. She’s eighteen. Same age as Mina. But Ida doesn't wear silk. She wears a reusable respirator that’s missing its secondary filter. She has lung-rot. It’s a common thing in the Lower Levels. The damp air and the industrial runoff turn your lungs into a sponge. She spends her days in a window-box we built out of scrap metal. We try to grow moss there. It’s the only thing that survives the soot. She calls it her garden.

I looked at the bag of high-grade fertilizer sitting in the supply closet. It was a small bag. Concentrated nutrients. One handful of that would make Ida’s moss grow for a year. It might even give her enough oxygen to stop coughing for a few hours. I waited until Sterling went into his private office. The AI was watching, but AI is about patterns. If I moved like I was cleaning, it might miss the deviation.

I leaned into the closet. I reached for the bag. My fingers touched the plastic. It felt heavy. Significant.

"Dignity Violation detected," the AI said. The voice was louder now. Sharper. "Unauthorized access to premium consumables. Return the item, Employee 4092."

I froze. My heart was thumping against my ribs. "I was just... moving it. To clean the shelf."

"A fine of 500 Breath Credits has been deducted from your account. Further infractions will result in immediate termination of oxygen privileges."

Five hundred credits. That was three days of life. I let go of the bag. My hand felt cold. I stepped back into the main room. I felt like I was drowning in the clean air.

Spring was happening outside the dome. I could see the sky through the reinforced glass. It was a pale, washed-out blue. In the old stories, Spring was about rebirth. Here, it’s just the season when the pollen counts get high enough to clog the external intake filters. It’s just more maintenance.

I watched the daisy for the rest of my shift. It was a slow death. The stem was beginning to bow. It looked tired. I understood that. I felt the same weight in my neck. The weight of existing in a place where you aren't wanted.

Sterling came back out an hour later. He had a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He walked over to the daisy. He poked the soil with a manicured finger. It was dry.

"Olaf," he said. He didn't look at me.

"Yes, sir."

"This thing looks like shit."

"It’s the humidity, sir. It needs—"

"I don't care what it needs. It looks depressing. Look at the petals. They’re gray. It’s ruining the vibe of the room. Mina won't even come in here now."

"I can try to mist it, sir. If you let me adjust the—"

"No. I’m done with it. It’s too much work. Every time I turn around, it’s wilting. Just throw that shit out. Get the maintenance bot to bring up one of the silk ones. The high-end ones from Neo-Tokyo. They have the scent-injectors. Same effect, less of a headache."

He turned away. He didn't wait for a response. He didn't care where the 'shit' went. It was a transaction that had reached its end. The asset had depreciated to zero.

I walked over to the tooth-white pot. The daisy was slumped over now. It looked like it had given up the moment Sterling spoke. I reached out and touched the flower. It felt soft. Not like the plastic things downstairs. It felt like skin. It felt like Ida’s hand when she’s too weak to hold a cup.

I didn't put it in the incinerator chute. I hid it in my tool bag, wrapped in a damp rag. The AI didn't flag it. Trash has no value. Trash isn't a Dignity Violation.

I took the transit tube down. The air got thicker with every level. By the time I reached the Slums, my throat was burning. The sky was gone, replaced by the underside of the industrial platforms. The 'Spring' down here was just a leak in the overhead cooling pipes that turned the dust into a gray slush.

I walked into our unit. It’s four meters by four meters. It smells like damp cardboard and recycled sweat. Ida was in the window-box. She was coughing. It was a wet, heavy sound. Like someone tearing a sheet of paper.

"Olaf?" she wheezed. She didn't turn around. She was looking at her moss. It was brown.

"I brought you something," I said.

I pulled out the daisy. It was dead. The transit down had finished it. The petals were limp and brown. It looked like a weed.

Ida looked at it. She reached out a thin, trembling hand. She touched the center of the flower. "Is it real?"

"It was," I said. My voice was thick. "It was the last one."

"It’s beautiful," she whispered. She wasn't being ironic. She didn't know enough about the world to be cynical about a flower. She just saw the shape of it. The memory of what it was supposed to be.

She died two hours later. The oxygen in her tank ran out, and I didn't have the credits to buy more. The 500-credit fine had seen to that. I sat with her in the dark. The AI in our building didn't say anything. It didn't care about Dignity Violations in the Lower Levels.

I took her body out to the scrap-heap behind the block. There’s no dirt there. Just piles of rusted metal and plastic. I dug a hole in the slush with my bare hands. I put Ida in it. Then I took the dead daisy and tucked it into the pocket of her thin coat.

I looked up at the High Zone. I could see the lights of the penthouses, glowing like stars through the smog. They were probably installing the silk flower now. It would never wilt. It would never need anything. It was perfect.

I stood there in the gray mud, my hands bleeding from the sharp edges of the scrap. I didn't cry. I didn't have the moisture to spare. I just looked at the light. I thought about the three million credits. I thought about the 500 credits. I thought about the air.

I hated them. Not for the money. Not for the power. I hated them because they couldn't even tell the difference between something that was alive and something that was just designed to look like it.