Water source

Below is my submission for GPU World, with a rather uninspired name, and considerably shorter than it probably needed to be. Towards the end, I was rushing to get the story finished off. It was 2am, and the deadline being Pacific Time, that meant I submitted about 4 hours before the closing time. Anyway, if you read it and enjoy it, then that’s all I could hope for. One day, I’ll come back to this storyline and improve it. There are inconsistencies that need updating, which I didn’t have time to address, and the ending is a bit rushed and sloppy.

Water source

Prologue

“Good morning, Peter,” spoke a silky smooth voice without a single note touching his ears, merely a pleasant sensation. “It’s a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning.” As Peter’s eyes slowly opened he registered the curtains sliding aside, stopping just short of blinding him. “Slowly push yourself up, and swing your legs round. Your slippers are ready.” The warm, toneless sound quelling the discomfort, like a tightening in his chest, usually accompanying his wake-up routine. Looking down as his feet approached the ground, he noted the slippers were slightly off from their usual position, and a sudden heat rose through the back of his neck. In a swift, involuntary motion, his tongue briefly came in contact with the palate, then snapped back into place, and produced a sharp tsk sound, which prompted Peter to look around the room, finding nothing else out of place, no other person occupying the space. “I apologise for the inconvenience,” came the voice again, soothing the strange feelings with little delay. “I will ensure the slippers are placed correctly next time.”

Feet now encased in the warm cushioning of the slippers, he pushed himself off the bed without prompting and stood ready for stretching. “Slowly bring your arms forwards,” and he did so in time with the words, an expert in his morning stretching routine. “Push out your palms,” again in time with his motions. “Raise your arms above your head,” coming slightly out of time, and Peter grinned thinking he was beating the voice. “Now arms out to your sides, and careful with your lamp,” came the prompt, and Peter felt a flicker of rising warmth again, remembering why his slippers should be placed just so as his fingers brushed the lamp shade. “Hands on your hips, and now swing your hips in a full circle,” this was a new direction, maybe because of the stiffness experienced while sitting. “Finally, lean slightly to the left and stretch that right leg. Good. Now lean slightly to the right and stretch that left leg. Great. Now shake it off however you like.” Peter normally ignored this directive, but decided a full body shake would feel good for a change, and found his feet all but lifted while doing it. A soft warmth emanated from his core throughout his body, and found the peculiar warmth behind his neck, as well as the tightening in his chest, were gone.

“Bathroom break,” came the words as an urge in his lower stomach caused his gaze to turn to the bathroom door. “Go and relieve yourself. Pull down your pyjama bottoms first.” Peter felt a flushing in his face, his cheeks warming rapidly, while a snippet of memory made him recall an accident. Just before lowering himself onto the toilet, a glance in the mirror showed his cheeks slowly reducing in redness, the unexpected warmth quickly dissipating. As he looked down at his feet, two forms of relief spread through him, as he noted the pyjama bottoms around his ankles.

As Peter pulled up his bottoms, a cheerful thought composed of “don’t forget to clean your hands” came through, which he dutifully followed every time. As he reached to start off with a quick spritz of water, a thought of “just use hand sanitiser” made him redirect at the last minute, away from the tap and towards and sanitiser spray. He dilligent rubbed it in while being reminded of the best technique.

“Time for breakfast,” came as he gave his hands a final pat down, and he strode into the kitchen, the door sliding aside just in time. “You have time for bacon, eggs and toast.” Peter realised just how hungry he was, considered how much he would enjoy a hot breakfast, and without a moment’s thought or even a hint of a gesture, heard the grill switch on, and the conveyor supplying the fridge come to life at once.

He enjoyed cooking for himself, and opened the fridge door to find two whole eggs, a perfectly cubed knob of butter, and two rashers of bacon laid out on a platter, which he picked up and moved to the counter. Opening the cupboard, two slices of bread were laid out in a pleasantly aesthetic manner, and he slid those into the toaster, which automatically took over. Reaching for the bacon, a pair of tongs reached his hand before he touched the raw meat, and he used them to transfer the rashers onto a tray that then slid itself back under the grill.

On the counter he cracked the eggs and poured them into a waiting bowl, one by one, the shells dropping into a food waste hole. His lips stretched as a feeling of accomplishment washed over him, not a single piece of shell having fallen into the bowl this time.

Picking up the butter, he turned to look at the hob, noticing a frying pan warming gently, and dropping the butter onto it, where it sizzled slightly, then began to melt into a yellowy pool. Turning back to the bowl, two deeply orange yolks stared back at him, as he moved to pick up the salt and pepper grinders placed precisely within reach of his hands, which he swung one at a time over the bowl, motors humming just as seasoning dropped over the egg whites. He placed the grinders down, picked up the nearby spatula, bowl, and proceeded to pour the eggs into the frying pan, standing motionless, watching as the egg whites turned opaque, waiting until he could slide them onto the warm plate, sitting where the platter had been just moments ago.

“Those eggs look perfect, good job,” came the voice, a click from the hob told Peter the heat was now off, and the toaster popped as his toast was now perfectly browned.

After picking the toast and placing them on his plate side by side, he used the spatula to direct his eggs out of the tipped frying pan atop the toast. At this point, the tray slid out from under the grill, brown and crispy rashers of bacon glistening and slightly smoking. Peter had a sudden image come to mind of the rashers having the strip of fat on the left, but now they were on the right.

“You should use the clean tongs rather than the spatula,” piped into his head, which he dutifully ignored and clumsilly lifted the bacon to the side of his eggs, then placed the spatula in the frying pan.

“Have a seat,” Peter heard as he picked up the plate, turned and paced the two steps to the table, placed it upon the cloth between the knife and fork, then sat.

A quick glance at the coffee machine caused the edges of his lips to turn down. It had remained stubbornly quiet. “There’s a small issue in the supply chain, and your coffee is unavailable right now. Please eat your breakfast while you wait, and I will ensure your coffee is served as quickly as possible.”

He cut, dipped, and chewed through breakfast, but a growing dryness in his throat kept distracting him. Every look at the coffee machine was met with an informational pleasantry, postponing the search for liquids to quench his thirst. Once breakfast was finished, the voice directed his attention to the sink, where he took the plate and cutlery, lowering it in. Considering the options available, his hand reached for the tap.

“Do not attempt to open the water,” stated the voice, far firmer than he was accustomed, and he stopped reaching forward. “There is a temporary supply fault, which will be rectified shortly. Please make yourself comfortable, and you will be notified once the problem has been resolved.” He put down the hand on the edge of the sink, and straightened himself up.

“Please sit,” came the voice again, this time much softer, “make yourself comfortable while you wait.” He looked around at his surroundings. The fridge was perfectly white and unblemished. Counters spotless, despite the frying eggs less than thirty minutes prior. Hob, grill, and sink all cleared of cooking paraphernalia. Coffee machine silent and empty.

So he sat, and he waited.

I

Argus yawned wide as he walked into the console room, almost forgetting to duck for the doorway, scraggly hair brushing the frame, then standing just beyond the threshold to take in the scene. Everything in the room gravitated towards the monitor wall, where the many sources of light blinked and flashed with activity, showing on-going and emergent incidents from across the city. The room otherwise was fairly bare, with just a few creaky desks and some threadbare chairs for furniture, all old enough to get their own Assistance Nodes, parts scavenged and repaired, nailed, taped, stapled and welded, all to keep it useable for another day.

Sat hunched at the desk nearest Argus, soldering iron in her left hand, flux in her right, sat Bez. Youngest of the crew, thoroughly adept at the intricate electrical work necessary for keeping the carts running, and the Nodes active.

“Morning, Bez. I swear you were in the same position when I left Friday,” quipped Argus.

“Hi Argie,” she replied, the wide smile on her face was evident even before her head snapped around towards him, and so was the clear and well rested nature of her eyes, with the magnifying glasses making her look unusually bug-eyed. “Nah, don’t worry, just got here early to finish up.”

“Good, don’t want you burning out too quick,” stated Argus, adding, only somewhat jokingly, “or who’ll run this once we’re all dead?”

“What a way to start the day,” Les said in the most sarcastic voice she could fathom, turning slowly from the monitor wall. “Want me to switch your Node back to brainless for an hour, so you can cheer up?” she asked deadpan, hand waving ominously over the keyboard.

“No thanks, I’ve just been missing your lovely voice, clearly. I’ll be back to normal by lunch,” smiled Argus, disingenuously. He noticed the empty chair, looked round, saw the kitchen light was off, and put to the room, “where’s Tel?”

“Speak of the devil, and all that,” came the unmistakeably gravelly, deep voice of Tel from the server room door that was gliding open, as he stepped towards the light. “Miss me, did ya?”

“No,” replied Argus, “just surprised to see you doing some actual work.”

“Charming,” said Tel, “I was elbow deep in the cabinets, thanks.”

“Les, how’s the queue?” asked Tel, throwing his considerable weight down on the remaining office chair, and kicking off towards the wall of displays. “Any majors waiting?” he asked.

“Nah,” replied Les, clicking through the automatically prioritised list of incidents, “weekenders were busy, but night crew cleared it. Left us the easy ones.” She closed the handover reports, looking at the monitors with furrowed brow, but said nothing else.

“Well, that sounds like it’s time to make a cuppa then,” announced Tel, turning towards the kitchen, but staying firmly put. “Bernadette, do something useful, will ya?”

Bez looked up incredulous, “the only lazy git here is Argus. Why don’t you tell him to?”

“Cos he’s bigger than me,” came Tel’s reply, in a mock scared voice.

“Alright, alright, keep your hair on. Who wants one?” asked Argus, as walked over to the kitchen, switched on the light, and began the morning ritual.

Ten minutes later the hot mugs were distributed. Tel wandered off to the workshop in search of some misplaced tools, Bez picked up her repaired circuit board and inspected it on her way to the server room, and Argus sat heavily beside Les.

“I saw your face before. What’s wrong?” asked Argus, gingerly leaning back in the chair.

“Nothing. Maybe nothing. Well, it might be something,” uttered Les, a deep sigh emanating before she quietly spoke “I don’t know.”

“Out with it.”

“Water. Pipe’s fine, but…”

“Farms?” asked Argus.

“Yeah, one. Diverted,” replied Les, and whispered, “but where from?”

“Ongoing?”

“Nah, sorted itself.” She looked across at another set of issues waiting resolution, “there’s a supply issue near it. Mid. Want it?”

“Go on,” said Argus, leaning forwards and pushing himself up. “Where is it?”

Trundling down the steps from the workshop a few minutes later, tea in a stashed thermal flask, and toolbox now in hand, Argus made his way to the eastbound track and requested a cart. He placed the heavy toolbox on the ground while waiting, tactically deployed the flask, and attempted to take a sip, only to scorch his upper lip and the tip of his tongue.

Stowing the flask during a bout of cursing under his breath, the tunnel began filling with a soft yellow glow of light, the whirring and scraping of a fast approaching cart gave the cue to pick up the toolbox. The distinctive cart cut in front of the ancient red signage as the brakes slammed on with a teeth-grinding screech.

Before the cart had even had a chance to come to a complete stop, the handle for the door was pulled up, toolbox stashed behind the seat, and Argus folded into place, slamming the door down. Ensconced in his temporary private transportation, he barked “enable manual drive,” and waited for the warnings.

“Manual driving of the carts is not recommended for safety reasons. Any accidents, including, but not limited to, those causing minor injury, serious injury, debilitating injury, or death, will be held as the sole responsibility of the driver. To enable self-driving, I will now read the terms of use.”

Argus leaned against the door window, waiting for the recitation of the terms to finish, and contemplated just yelling “STOP!” It would be far easier to just use automated driving, and skip the three minute lecture, but at this point enabling manual drive came just as naturally for him, as relying on the Node came to others.

Barely paying attention, Argus just about noticed the lull in sound by the end of the terms, and managed to croak the words “I accept the terms,” just before it timed out, or another three minutes would be wasted by this venture. “Just go,” he muttered under his breath as the brake was released, and the accelerator was steadily clicked up to maximum.

As the cart clacked its way along the tracks, Les’ quiet question kicked its way around Argus’ brain, repeating over and over, “but where from?”

II

Seven miles per hour in the tunnels felt like break-neck speed, the walls and roof so close as to be nothing more than a claustrophobia-inducing blur. Hypnotised by the low hum of the electric motor between the rear wheels, contemplating the water diversion, and worrying over Les’ question, Argus missed the braking point for the cart.

The sharp, metallic clunk-clank from under his feet when the cart tripped the trackside arms coincided with the cart bursting from the dark tunnel into the bright, harsh lighting of the platform. Raw, mechanical intervention stepped in to bring the cart to a juddering, screeching halt, flinging Argus forwards against the control desk, before he felt the toolbox slam against the back of the seat, causing him to slip further forwards. The dead-man’s switch all but forgotten, both hands planted on the windshield just in time to stop his nose from banging against it, the cart came to a stop just shy of the end of the platform, encased in sudden and deafening silence.

As the door opened into a cloud of ancient dust heavy with iron, the smell of hot brakes cut through the typical cold damp that sat in the air, drawn into the cart as Argus sat and caught up with the world, slowly choking with each metallic intake of breath. Mind empty, unable to contemplate what to do next, he waited what felt like an eternity for a cue, a command, a suggestion, but none were forthcoming.

The sound of the platform ventilation fans kicking into life seemed to draw him back to the present, but his actions were almost involuntary. He leaned out of the cart, slowly unfolding limbs, taking shaky steps onto the platform, before twisting and reaching for the toolbox, moving back, and finally closing the door of the cart. Straightening up as the cart pulled away by itself, Argus read the sign on the curved wall across from him, and recalled why he was standing on the platform of the Docklands stop on the Maint Rail.

The city was a combination of new and old, and nowhere could the old be seen more clearly than under the pavements and roads, where pipes and cables made their way through seemingly random cuts and conduits, supplying water, electricity, and gas. Wide tunnels transported people between homes and offices and shops, in self-driven vehicles under the river, as well as packed like sardines in computer-controlled trains. Pipes burrowed through rock and clay to deliver sustenance directly into the basements of apartment buildings, automated supervision ensuring adequate supply, with just-in-time algorithms all the way back to the fields, tracking individual crops. Just as important were the fiber optic lines criss-crossing over and under each other and the supply lines, all in a mad bid to feed the data-consuming machines above ground, as they wandered the waking world.

The Royal Mail train tunnels had been abandoned for decades, its tunnels stretching across the centre of the city, when one of the maintenance computers calculated it could be a more efficient method of shuttling useful individuals across its network. Once the computers had communicated the need to other systems, construction and materials were mobilised, with the former 6.5 miles of track between Paddington in the west, and Whitechapel in the east, being transformed into a complex branching network consisting of hundreds of miles, extending beyond the former bounds of London, in all directions.

For as long as Argus had been a part of the maintenance crew, no jobs had ever been flagged for intervention along the Maint Rail, though it may have been due to a lack of expertise, as the tracks and yards of other rail networks were out of bounds for him and his crew. Looking around at the basic fittings of his surroundings, and taking in the rusted girders, slow dripping of water off the calcium stalactites, as well as the cracking concrete, he wondered whether anyone was assigned to these tunnels.

Moments felt like minutes before thoughts turned to actions, as Argus finally remembered to place one foot in front of the other, heading toward the lift and jabbing the request button. As the doors slid open, he quickly crossed the threshold, turned to stare at the panel of buttons, and gave the Ground button a hard prod.

Concealed within a deceptively small brick shed, providing access to the electrical relays and access shaft for the underlying East India Dock road tunnel, where several wide strips of tarmac converge against the backdrop of brick apartment complexes, and metal data centres. Historical façades and walls littering the roadsides, with long-forgotten significance that modern residents never get prompted to even glance at.

Pushing the corroded red metal door, hinges groaning and crunching as the paint flakes off, Argus blinked into the sunlight as it streamed through the gap, while pulling the zipper of the high-vis jacket up to keep out the biting cold wind.

Taking out the job sheet, Argus looked up his scribbled directions to the affected building. It was a little way south of the shed, but easily walkable, even with his heavy toolbox. As his Node wasn’t fully online, it didn’t notify oncoming cars of his wish to cross the road, but the old manual systems were still in place. Pressing the button required a strong press, and the light reluctantly came on. Argus looked for a gap in the traffic, which didn’t materialise.

After several minutes the green man lit up, as cars and vans perfectly lined up behind each other leaving the crossing clear, and Argus was free to cross on foot. Coming out just by the junction with Leamouth Road, which he followed, he caught a glimpse of several apartment buildings on his left, built in red brick with black-edged windows, all straight lines and curves. Glancing right towards the mega complex of data centres, where multiple buildings concealed delicate electronics behind bare metal, and cooling stacks scraping the sky with wisps of vapour mixing with the clear air above them.

As Argus approached Russet House, the first apartment building in the complex, he turned left between two weathered grey stone pillars, pockmarked from years of neglect, each one carved with a pair of entwined snakes, and leading to his ultimate target of Avalon Point. Catching sight of the building, he looked for the service entrance as the toolbox began to slip.

Stopping at the non-descript black metal door, Argus heavily placed the toolbox on the shady concrete, while he fumbled for his access card. Having found it and tapped it against the card reader pad beside the door, there was a little ding, accompanied by a clunk as the door unlocked and swung open, the lights flickering on for the first time in months.

Placing the toolbox on the dusty counter across from the entrance, Argus looked up at the live status screen, which was currently displaying the resident stats. Hundreds of tiny apartments, each with a single resident. Each one hooked into their Nodes, probably didn’t even notice the supply blip over the weekend.

Swiping across status screens, there were no live issues affecting access, air, electricity, gas, lifts, networking, perishables, safety and security systems, or waste. Each page showed a big green circle, time of the last check, access, and delivery, alongside some volume and quantities, with nothing jumping out to Argus as being at fault.

Swiping to the next status screen, Argus’s heart jumped into his throat. Red circle, red exclamation point, red “STATUS CRITICAL” text flashing. Water inlet pressure zero. Water reserve levels zero. Water last available at 4:12 am on Saturday. The entire building was dry.

Sense of dread rising, Argus swiped the status screen, which now displayed the average supply level for the building. Medium. Not a big enough issue to address immediately over a busy weekend. No wonder the maintenance crews hadn’t been alerted sooner. Closing his eyes for a long beat, dread gave way to anger.

III

Argus barely noticed climbing the two flights to the first floor, having taken the stairs two at a time, even with heavy work boots thudding on contact with each stride and weighing his legs down.

Approaching the first apartment door, he pounded on it with both fists, while shouting some nonsense to get attention, hoping it would be thrown open by a disturbingly unperturbed brainless Node user.

Listening with one ear planted against the door, for the slightest hint of sound, and finding his fears growing, Argus impatiently tapped at the key card reader’s display, switching it into an override mode. The door lock deactivated just in time as the handle was twisted, and a shoulder added weight to the opening shove.

Heavy breathing sounds filled the air, as the silence from the flat met the silence from the corridor, before he caught his breath, holding it to listen for the faintest of noises, but Argus only heard the blood coursing through his veins, pressure increasing the longer he held on.

Not a single foot step, or click of a lock, or door slam could be heard. The lifts remained unused. The building lay silent.

Exhaling heavily after the longest moments of his life, then taking short strides with the lightest steps he could muster, he made his way through the flat, peeking into the living room, the bathroom, the bedroom, then finally arriving in the kitchen. Sat slumped over at the table, face resting on a plate of half-eaten breakfast, with her eyes open and vacant, was the flat’s sole occupier.

Protocol for finding a body was reasonably clear for maintenance workers, and boiled down to a few simple steps. First, call for help. Second, wait for help. Do not intervene. Do not interfere. With these instructions in mind, Argus stepped forward and felt for a pulse, but couldn’t find one on the cold body.

Turning and walking out the door, directly to the neighbouring flat, which he opened with a quick series of taps as he entered the security override, Argus found the resident was again sitting at the table, slumped over, but had cleared away his plate and cutlery into the sink.

Having checked all the flats on the floor, each resident waiting for a drink that wouldn’t come, whether with their breakfast, having just finished it, or, as in a few cases, waiting to fill their bottle seemingly before engaging in exercise, Argus concluded that it was likely he was currently the only person alive within the entire building.

Reaching for his radio, he called it in. “Come in central,” he spoke twice, once to clear his voice, and once more clearly audible.

“This is central,” came Les’ voice, less than a second later.

“Central, this is Argus. We have casualties,” he replied, and readied himself for the question.

“Argus, how many?”

“I haven’t checked every flat,” he began, “but everyone on the first floor.”

“Argus, repeat. Do you think… everyone?”

“Yeah. I think. But, I don’t know.”

“Sit tight. Sending assistance,” she replied, signing off with, “don’t worry.”

Some time later, Argus didn’t check how long, Bez and Tel walked up the stairs that Argus was sat on. He slowly shifted his gaze from an unfocused staring at the wall, to the pair in turn.

“We heard, mate,” said Tel first, face full of concern for his colleague and friend, “thought we should come help you directly.”

“I see we’ve made it here first,” whispered Bez, warily looking around for the robots, and finding none.

“They may have started at the top first,” croaked Argus, speaking for the first time since the radio exchange. “Heard the lifts going, but can’t remember when.”

“Oh, good,” said Bez, who looked a little comforted. Being so junior, Argus wondered if she had dealt with death yet.

“So,” Tel spoke up, “what d’you think did it?”

Argus looked down at his battered laptop, tucked beside him, picked it up and flicked the lid up.

“Think I found it. The cause,” he said, while unlocking the laptop, and directing the others to a midpoint in a wall of text. “It’s right there, in the instructions.”

“I don’t see it,” said Bez.

“Ah,” went Tel, noticing what Argus had, “don’t just look for what’s there,” he said, directing Bez to a specific paragraph, “but you also need to look for what’s missing.”

“People depend upon utilities and services, duh duh duh, uh which one?” asked Bez.

“The one about networking,” replied Argus.

“The network is extremely important, as the communication means that enables timely delivery of other utilities,” read Bez out loud, “but I don’t see…”

“What does it say about water?” asked Tel, with a soft interruption.

“Not much, says food and water are important to keep in good supply or something, I skimmed it,” replied Bez, “but I don’t see…”

“Data centres across the road, they experienced a bit of a water shortage early morning Saturday. Water supply to this building stopped Saturday early morning,” said Argus.

Tel nodded as Bez came to the realisation. It was almost inconsequential, a tiny bit of semantics.

“An extra line in the prompt,” Tel added, “can make all the difference.”

“Surely it must be there somewhere,” asked Bez, checking line-by-line for edit dates, and finding one years prior, with a message that she read out, “‘making network more important, outage at DC stopped food deliveries’. So that’s it then.”

“That’s probably it, but we can’t be completely sure until it happens again,” added Tel.

“I’ll get started on the change,” said Argus.