Mandatory Overtime

The iron-thorn barricade groaned as its black tendrils braided together, thicker than fire hoses and dense enough to stop an industrial forklift.

I stood there in the green gloom of the foyer, staring at the solid wall of wood sealing the elevator shaft. Above me, perched delicately on the polished brass mezzanine rail, Vaea looked down with the radiant satisfaction of a queen who had just won a war.

"You have thirty paces of marble to call your kingdom, mortal," she purred, her voice chiming like wind through crystal flutes. "Rejoice. Few soil-dwellers are granted the privilege of fertilizing my root system."

"First off, I don't do soil," I said, tapping the pressure gauge on my shoulder strap. "I work with hydro-gel and treated pumice. Second, you just committed a Class-A obstruction of an emergency fire egress. That carries a mandatory fine of four thousand credits and immediate eviction."

She tilted her head, luminous violet eyes narrowing in genuine bewilderment. "You threaten a sovereign of the ancient loam with... numerals?"

"Municipal code numerals," I corrected. "The worst kind. They compound daily."

I turned my back on her and scanned the foyer.

The thorns had consumed the north wall entirely, wrapping around the service lift and crushing the emergency call button into scrap metal. But seven paces to my left, mounted flush against the brushed-steel pillar, was the building's secondary maintenance junction. Behind that little gray utility door sat the hardwired intercom, direct-linked to facility dispatch on sub-level four.

Between me and that door stood eight feet of bristling, venom-dripping brambles.

I could burn through them with the bio-sprayer, of course. But a direct spray against timber that thick would burn through half my remaining canister, leaving me dry if she decided to drop another carnivorous creeper on my neck.

I needed leverage.

My gaze drifted upward, following the smooth curves of the ceiling architecture. Running directly along the perimeter molding was a polished copper pipe, stamped every ten feet with bright yellow inspection bands: EMERGENCY BOTANICAL IRRIGATION LINE — HIGH PRESSURE AUXILIARY INTAKE.

A slow, tired smile touched my face.

"What am I looking at?" Vaea asked, leaning over the rail, her petal-trimmed gown rustling with dry suspicion. "Why do you smirk, human? Are you losing your fragile mind to the pollen?"

"Just admiring the building's infrastructure," I said.

I unclipped the quick-connect hose from my sprayer wand. I reached up, grabbed the brass auxiliary intake valve located just above the elevator header, and wrenched the safety cap off with a sharp metallic clink.

Vaea froze. The faint violet luminescence around her skin flickered.

"The Aethel-Apex is a fully automated climate-controlled biosphere," I explained conversationally, aligning the threaded brass nozzle of my tank with the intake valve. "Every plant in this penthouse—including that decorative jungle you're so proud of—is fed by this overhead misting grid. Twelve thousand high-pressure micro-nozzles, spaced every six inches across the entire ceiling."

She stepped to the edge of the mezzanine. "Do not touch that conduit."

"If I pump thirty liters of cellular dampening enzymes straight into this intake," I continued, resting my wrench against the coupling, "it won't just clear this foyer. The pressure will blast defoliant across every square inch of your canopy in under four seconds. Leaves, buds, wisteria, iron-thorns. Gone. Reduced to lukewarm brown compost before you can finish your next villainous monologue."

Her jaw tightened. The scent of crushed honeysuckle and sharp electrical ozone flared hot in the air, so thick I could taste it on the back of my tongue.

"You bluff," she hissed. "You would poison your own air."

"I have a respirator in my thigh pocket," I said, patting my coveralls. "And more importantly, I have twenty-five minutes left on my shift. You think I won't drop three thousand square feet of ancient magic to make my weekend train? Try me."

For five long seconds, neither of us moved. The only sound in the penthouse was the low hum of the ventilation shafts and the wet, clicking pulse of her vines along the ceiling.

Then, with a sharp hiss of frustration, Vaea raised two slender fingers.

Across the foyer, the thick brambles guarding the brushed-steel pillar pulled back with a reluctant, wet tearing sound. The black thorns uncoiled, slithering across the floor like scolded snakes until the small gray maintenance door stood completely clear.

"You have five minutes at that box," Vaea said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "Then I drown you in belladonna."

"A pleasure doing business with you, your majesty," I muttered.

I kept one hand on the sprayer's intake coupling while stepping sideways toward the pillar. I popped the latch on the maintenance box, grabbed the heavy yellow receiver, and punched the direct line to dispatch.

Static crackled over the line, followed by the sound of someone frantically chewing on synthetic nicotine gum.

"Dispatch, Heke'a speaking," my supervisor's voice barked through the earpiece. "Malo'i? Where the hell are you? The board on level one-fifty just turned completely red. Did you spill fertilizer on a sensor?"

"No, Heke'a," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on Vaea up on the landing. "We have an unauthorized occupant who turned the entire penthouse into a bio-hazard. She grew a twelve-foot iron-thorn wall across the elevator doors. The car is disabled. I need you to trigger an emergency maintenance override and recall car four to the service shaft."

Silence hung on the line for three seconds. Then came the sound of frantic keystrokes.

"Yeah... no," Heke'a groaned. "I can't do that, Malo'i."

I gripped the plastic receiver tighter. "What do you mean, you can't do that? Push the yellow button on your console."

"The central AI triggered an automated Class-Four quarantine five minutes ago," Heke'a said, his voice rising in panic. "The defense network flagged anomalous botanical biomass exceeding structural load limits. All elevators to the top ten floors are locked at the primary dampers. Fire doors are hermetically sealed."

"Override the quarantine, Heke'a."

"I can't override Aethel-Core! It revoked manual privileges from every tech below grade eight! If I try to force the gate, the automated turrets in the service shafts will vent liquid nitrogen into the shafts!"

Up on the mezzanine, Vaea was watching me closely, her head tilted, clearly piecing together the tone of the conversation.

"So how do I get down?" I asked.

"You don't," Heke'a said bluntly. "Not until the anomaly is cleared and the biomass density drops below quarantine threshold."

"My shift ends in twenty minutes."

"Well, congratulations, buddy," Heke'a said with a nervous wheeze. "As of two minutes ago, facility management approved unlimited emergency overtime. You are on the clock until that penthouse is pruned to code."

"Heke'a, I swear to—"

"Good luck, Malo'i! Don't let the weeds eat your boots!"

The line went dead with a loud click.

I lowered the receiver, staring blankly at the plastic dial.

Above me on the mezzanine, Vaea leaned forward, her silver-purple hair cascading over the rail. A slow, deeply wicked smile spread across her lips.

"It appears," she whispered, "that your stone masters have abandoned you in my garden."

I hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and looked back at my bio-sprayer.

"Fourteen credits an hour for overtime," I muttered to the empty air. "I'm going to kill my union rep."