The Orbital Greenhouse

A watering main burst in the night, leaving the orbital greenhouse with two thirds of a cycle's supply. Little Lu asks for a double ration for the one seedling he brought from home, and Alice has to refuse — because behind the rounds ledger stand twelve more trays and the people living off them.

Every morning Alice walks the tiers of the orbital greenhouse: tray after tray, reading after reading, mark after mark in a worn rounds ledger. The habit is dull — and therefore reliable. Then one night the main springs a leak, water drifts off in weightless spheres, and Alice shuts the valve by hand, hanging from the rungs. By morning it is clear: the reserve covers two thirds of the cycle, and every ration is cut. That is when they come asking. Little Lu asks for a double ration for his one seedling, carried up from home, and the pity is so sharp that a hand reaches for the hose on its own. But the ledger knows what pity does not: one extra litre for Lu means twelve dry trays by the end of the week. Alice refuses aloud and explains in numbers. Then Alice does what only someone who walks here daily can: moves Lu's pot under the condensate pipe, where it drips with no ration at all. By the time the freighter returns, every tray is alive — and so is Lu's seedling.