The Cost of Coffee
Flash Fiction Friday finished on Saturday
28 February 2025 from
Write about a long day
light fell like pinpricks
“You don’t understand”
The type of character who is lying about something.
Light fell like pinpricks against Pinta’s eyelids. Sharp and unrelenting, she tried to adjust the shade to allow her a few more minutes of sleep, but to no avail. She sighed and sat up, glaring at the lie that was the light in this part of the biosphere.
“Good morning, Pinta. Today will be magnificent. Rise and shine and greet the new day with positivity.” The computer voice was supposed to be cheery and comforting, but Pinta found it saccharine. Plus it lied. Today would not be magnificent; no day here was magnificent. The bio, designed to mimic familiar places in a small town on earth, was completely fake. Living on Mars was not the natural extension of living on earth. It was hot, dry, and red. It was boring. The same routine every day, pretending her circadian rhythm aligned with the simulations of day and night, but never feeling fully awake or fully at rest. It was enough to drive her mad.
Pinta was old enough to remember Earth. She remembered soft sunlight drifting through the trees and caressing her face with gentle warmth. This AI version hurt. Needle sharp rays left small red dots on her face and hands with every wake up call. Someone in programming had a sick sense of humor.
"Computer, begin yoga practice." Pinta never got around to naming her personal AI butler. The one she had growing up was called Alex and her mother gave it the voice of a late 20th game show host. Pinta thought it was creepy. Her mother thought it hilarious that the answer to every command was in the form of a question. The computer guided Pinta through a morning routine designed to keep her flexible and strong. It was repetitive, but it got the job done and didn't require thinking before a first shot of coffee.
Coffee was the one luxury Pinta's mother chose upon accepting the role as comptroller of the Mars biosphere. She dedicated one greenhouse, designed to mimic the weather and altitudes of the richest beans, to growing the bushes. Soil, brought in from Hawaii, Jamaica, and Kenya provided the initial nutrients, and over time, coffee beans became a commodity worth their weight in gold throughout the community. Pinta's father was the one who perfected the roast, and no one outside the family knew the details. Some people tried to use mushroom powder to make a form of coffee, but it was gritty and tasted like dirt.
Pinta's father had a gift for flavor. His role as executive chef and overseer of farming earned respect from every member of the biosphere, from laborers to the Prime Minister. Everyone remembered the tasteless packets of nutrition that passed for food in the last decade of Earth. Pinta remembered his face when he learned that, not only was he also approved for the Martian biosphere, but he would have access to the Svalbard Seed Vault from which to select what would grow. He chose carefully, selecting seeds from around the world for the broadest possible menu. He was limited; there were 12 other biospheres planned for Earth's moon, Mars, and moons around Jupiter and Saturn. The World Collective Government wanted to make sure some humans survived somewhere in the universe. Such is humanity's desire for self-preservation. No animals were allowed in any of the capsules, and women outnumbered men three-to-one to promote the most return on investment for health and population growth. The seed vault had to provide sufficient food for all thirteen biospheres to establish sustainable farming no matter where they were.
Pinta and her family were unusual in that they remained together. She and her sister were little when the Earth died in a whimper of dust, but most families were divided, with one parent taking one child and the other parent keeping the other. The two child limit was strictly maintained for most of the population. Pinta's family qualified for three children because her parents had different gifts but were both brilliant experts. They avoided separation by applying to different charters: sustenance and accounting. At first no one understood why the biosphere's needed accountants, but Pinta's mother reminded leadership that communities need commerce with cultivation to thrive. Some groups provide materials, others create from the materials things that people need, and others ensure that the balance of want, need, and production remains constant. Otherwise, the biospheres would fall victim to the political power struggles that dominated Earth's final age.
As Pinta exited the family suite toward the commons where people ate and spent free time, she overheard a heated conversation between one of the coffee packers and the day shift manager.
"You don't understand," said the packer. "Without the proper packing, the beans will rot before we get them to market."
The manager responded, "Use what you have. We don't have a new allocation for a week, and to waste the current materials will bring down our profitability."
"But profit is not supposed to be the only arbiter of using materials. Quality of product is equally important. Besides, if these beans rot, who will continue to pay?"
"That is not your problem," argued the manager. "Do your job and let me worry about the commerce side of the business."
The packer began to argue back, but the manager turned and walked away as if he had some important meeting to attend. Pinta was surprised by the argument. She wasn't fully aware of the arrangements between production and distribution, and she knew that her mother's primary concern was a balanced economy, not a profit-driven one. Who benefitted here from excessive profit? There was no place for hoarding, everyone had what they needed, and they seemed to be content with the system of bartering that dominated the market. Perplexed, she continued walking.
She smelled the fire before she saw it. Burned coffee, ash, and something metallic that she couldn't identify assaulted her mind. Running toward the coffee farm, she saw her father manically working on the sprinkler connections. "Someone destroyed the sprinklers and set the plants on fire," he shouted. "Call your mother and engineering before we lose it all!" He turned back to the wall, dripping with sweat and tears. Pinta had only been awake for an hour, but already felt like a long day.
Well, what do you think? What happens next? Should I continue the story?
Yes, please! I want to see how this turns out!