The Pruning of Sector Four

Fiction

Master Aris stepped off the transport and immediately looked up at the spire. The luxury complex was heaving. A thick, translucent membrane had slid across the public thoroughfare, pinning a courier drone against a limestone curb. The membrane pulsed with a slow, rhythmic thrum, leaking a pale amber fluid from a series of weeping pores. "The hypertrophy is worse than the report indicated," Aris said. He didn't look at his apprentice. "Elian, bring the cauterizing shears." Elian lugged the heavy kit forward, his boots splashing in the amber secretions. He looked at the building, which resembled a tower of bleached coral fused with raw muscle. "Is it a nutrient imbalance, Master?" "Likely," Aris replied. "The residents in the upper tiers have been over-feeding the vascular walls to increase their insulation. Now the basement is compensating by expanding the footprint. It is a simple case of gluttony manifesting as urban sprawl." Aris climbed a maintenance ladder and pressed his palm against a pulsing blue vein the size of a sewer pipe. He felt the vibration of the city's central pump. He pointed to a cluster of calcium deposits that had erupted along the lower fascia, forming jagged, bone-like protrusions that blocked the sidewalk. "Here," Aris commanded. "Apply the local anesthetic to the dermal layer. We cannot have the building spasming while we cut." Elian stepped forward and pressed the injector into the soft, porous flesh of the wall. The building let out a low, subterranean groan that vibrated through the soles of their boots. As the anesthetic took hold, the pulsing slowed. The amber fluid ceased to weep, thickening into a sticky resin. Aris took the shears and sliced into a thick fold of redundant tissue. The sound was like wet leather tearing. He worked with clinical precision, peeling back a layer of iridescent skin to reveal the network of capillaries beneath. "Watch the vein placement, Elian. If you nick the primary carotid, the entire block will bleed out into the gutters. We would spend three days scrubbing the scent of iron from the pavement." "It looks... inflamed," Elian whispered, staring at the raw, pink interior of the wall. "It is an apartment complex, not a sculpture," Aris said. He severed a heavy calcium nodule, which fell to the street with a wet thud. "It functions on the same principles as a lung or a liver. It grows, it consumes, and when it forgets its boundaries, we cut it back." They worked in silence for two hours. Aris carved away the excesses, trimming the biological overgrowth until the thoroughfare was clear. He used a searing tool to seal the open wounds, leaving behind charred, blackened scars that would eventually harden into grey callouses. As they packed their gear, Elian looked back at the spire. The building seemed to settle, its rhythm returning to a dormant, steady beat. "Will it grow back?" Elian asked. "Of course it will," Aris said, wiping a smear of amber resin from his glove. "That is why we have a contract for quarterly maintenance."