Later, in the communal dining ring, she sat with Rowan, a textile weaver, and Lumen, a quantum diagnostics officer. They talked of vapor pressure and thread count. It was pleasant. The Ark’s algorithm had assigned them a 94% affinity rating. They never argued. They never had to.
“Cassia… Gardener… Anomaly in… Sector…”
The pod opened with a soft hiss, releasing a scent of sterilized linen and synthetic citrus. Cassia stepped out, her feet sinking into the warm, pliable floor of her new room. The walls were the color of a constant, gentle dawn. A chime, sweet as a distant bell, announced her arrival. cassia life
That was a life.
The voice was everywhere and nowhere, the gentle hum of the Ark itself. Cassia didn’t question it. She had been decanted twenty-three cycles ago, grown in a biogeneration vat from a seed of curated DNA. Her purpose was as clear as the light: to tend the green. Later, in the communal dining ring, she sat
She walked past the sleeping alcove. She walked past the dining ring. She walked to the central data nexus, a pulsing obelisk of light where the Ark’s core hummed. A few other citizens were there, staring at their screens, updating their compatibility scores, adjusting their sleep settings. They didn’t look up.
“No,” she said, cutting another cable. “I’m growing.” The Ark’s algorithm had assigned them a 94%
She raised the shears.