Putting in my waterproof earbuds, I settle in for a long one. Maintenance used to be hard enough years ago, but ever since they found that boat driver, Diana or some such, drowned in the cistern, what should by all accounts be yearly check-ins with detailed inspection only when shit starts going bad feels like it’s become half of my job. Every Monday, instead of doing any real work, anything important to keeping Horizon up, running, and fully functional, I’m stuck checking cisterns. People down at the Haunt keep saying the Greenies are getting closer and closer. But does the boss have us fixing the sensor buoys? Of course not. No one’s died at one of the broken-ass sensor buoys recently. That we know of. Not that we could tell, seeing as they’re always broken and we only ever do maintenance on them once a year.
I know I shouldn’t complain much, and certainly not to anyone. The cisterns are important, and it does mean my Mondays are basically mindless. But it also means my Mondays always run long. Because even though cistern inspections are mindless tasks, they are time consuming, repetitive, boring, and feel like a waste of time. Heck, even the couple times that I did find something wrong, it still was such a minor issue that it still felt like a waste of time. But Rick’s in charge and if the dumbass thinks maintenance of the cisterns is more important than the sensor buoys or the piping or the old machine, it was his choice. I just hoped his poor decision making isn’t going to cost the rest of us our home.
No rain in the last couple weeks, so the cisterns are likely going to be dryer than usual. But it’s Monday morning, so it’s time to get started on Rick’s dumb checks. I open up one of the storm drains connected to the first of six cisterns and climb down the maintenance scaffolding. It’s getting dry here. Makes sense, this is the cistern that serves the rich area. I generally notice One and Five are the pair of cisterns that dry up the fastest. One because the important people and their guests tend to be of hygienic persuasion and don’t care much about waste so they don’t do anything to mitigate their multiple long showers every day water-usage. And five because the dock is filled with bars and stopovers, and also runs to the docks themselves. And both dockworkers and vagrants have the habit of being nasty, so when they actually have access to running water, it takes a shit ton of the stuff to clean them off. I put on my mask connected to an oxygen tank and plunge beneath the surface. Even though it is running shallow, I don’t want to chance anything. Just in case the filters need changing.
They don’t. They rarely do, maybe twice a year. And by the time they need changing, people have started to notice problems for a minute. Hence why these checks really aren’t necessary, much less a weekly necessity. I swim back up to the surface. Not far to swim. Pull off my mask. Head above the surface, I can brush my toes along the bottom of our cistern, even if just barely. One of the other departments’ll need to do some nonsense next week if we don’t have a storm soon. But that’s not my problem. I’m not in Health & Hygiene or Food Safety. I’m just in Maintenance. I swim over to the scaffolding once more and climb my way up to the open storm drain. On to the next one.
Cistern number Two is always pretty full. Serves the headquarters and only the headquarters. Which means its less an issue of underuse and more just there aren’t as many places drawing from it. They claim they do it for safety, so if an attack against the bosses occurs by poison, it doesn’t hurt the city as a whole. A lie, I’d guess. I think they, like the other rich folk in town, just don’t want to share their water with their so-called “lessers”. It’s still morning when I open up the storm drain. Headquarters and the wealthy district are pretty close, both metaphorically and physically. Climbing in, the level is predictably full. Or, half full, which is more than enough for a long while. Climbing down the scaffolding, I put on the diving mask. Then I head down below, to the filter. I check it and something feels off. The filter is fine as well, but considering the usage it’s depleting far faster than it should. Maybe the propaganda folk in Headquarters have valid concerns. Who’d’ve thunk it. I swim back up to the surface and climb up the scaffolding. Once on the streets of Horizon once more, I mark down the additional strain on the second cistern filter in my report, flag it as important, and copy H&H on the email when I send it to my boss. Then, I continue on my route.
Cistern Three. One of the pair of cisterns that pipe into us working class folk’s homes. This one leads across the southern part of Horizon, where the at home workers like myself live. Also pipes into several of the public spaces in the area, which does account for most of the usage. Public saunas use a ton of water, too, it turns out. Still not as much as some other cisterns, but enough to make the lack of showers in many of the homes not impact the cistern levels as much as it should. I open one of the cistern’s storm drains while the sun beating down from overhead. Almost noontime. Climbing down the scaffolding, the water level is about where I expect, a little lower but within reasonable margins. I swim below to the filter. It, too, is fine. A reminder how much of a waste of my time this whole day is going to be. I head back up to the surface, then above ground to the streets.
Continuing around the city, I head to Cistern Four. The cistern that services most of the business interests outside of headquarters. Also, significantly, the cistern where the drowned woman was found that started this whole mess. If I recall correct, she was down here during one of the real bad hurricanes hit, but I’m not sure exactly. It wasn’t something I cared about at the time, and she wasn’t important enough to warrant me actually looking at the news reporting after the fact. I head inside the cistern. The water level is higher than the Third Cistern, but still pretty low. Lower than Headquarter’s water level, of course. Heading below the water’s surface, the filter is fine. Because of course it is. I head back up, getting out of the cistern. It’s early afternoon. Time for my lunch break.
I head over to the diner across the street. Same as I do every Monday. I’m running a little late today, because of having to write up that possible poisoning attempt report. Stupid enemies of Headquarters making my life harder. I pull out one of my earbuds as the door closes behind me. “Morning, Georgia,” I say sweetly to the main waitress and part owner of the diner.
“Not morning anymore, Norris,” Georgia replies, meeting my false sweetness with her usual brand of bored ennui. “Now take a seat already and pretend you’re going to order anything other than the ribs on a plain-ass white sub while I tell Micky to get started on your ribs on a plain-ass white sub.”
I shake my head. “Hey, maybe I’ll order something different, just to piss Micky off,” I joke as I sit down at a booth.
“Nah,” she shoots back, “You like Micky’s ribs too much.” As I open up the menu, she shouts back to the kitchen area, “Micky! Norris finally got his lazy ass here!”
From the back of the place, I hear Norris yell back, “Got it! Some delicious ribs on flavorless white bread, coming up.”
“Hey,” I yell at both of them, “I still haven’t ordered yet!” I look back towards the kitchen window.
“Sure thing,” Norris replies, sticking his head up so I can see it, “And I’ll have your ribs on a white sub ready in just a minute.”
Shaking my head, I hand the menu back to Georgia. “Fine,” I say, exasperated.
“Everything good at your job?” she asks, taking the menu from me but waiting to return to the front.
I shake my head. “It’s just tedious. Stupid Rick and his misplaced priorities.”
She nods and walks away before I start going on a rant that she’s heard countless times in the last year. With a sigh, I put back in my earbud and let myself fall into my music. My ribs sandwich is delivered and is delicious. Then, seventeen minutes after I exited Cistern Four, I’m back on my route, heading towards the docks.
Cistern Five, the cistern for the docks. Depending on the week, frequency of parties, success of nearby dives, and the number of transients staying here, it’s either the most or the second most used cistern. Even though my lunch break was short, late afternoon is already fast approaching. I suppose that’s what I get for walking everywhere. But when the platform’s support beams inevitably collapse because Rick forgot they exist, all those people traveling by boat under Horizon to get around quickly will feel real dumb. I head down. It seems this week, it’s the most used. If I had to guess, someone had a massive dive and brought in a ton of extra hands, but that’s just a guess. Climbing all the way down, I stand in the bottom of the cistern. Both feet firmly on the ground, the water hangs just below my chin. Crap, that means I have to report this to Food Safety and H&H, which means I’ve got to take an actual measurement. I put on my diving mask and plunge under the water. The filter’s likely going to give out soon, but not for a week at least. I’ll bring one along with me next Monday, and it’ll be fine as long as no one does anything dumb here. Heading to the column in the center of the cistern, I look down the marks. Jotting down the water level, I climb back up to the surface. Leaning against a wall, I write up the report on Cistern Six, noting the water level being low enough to worry if usage doesn’t go down. I copy Food Safety and H&H on the message to Rick, so they can decide among themselves which is in charge of getting more fresh water into the cistern in case of a stormless week. I don’t note the filter being almost done. That’s my job, and it’s not done yet, just nearing depletion. With the report sent, I crack my head and head to the final cistern.
On the other side of the city, the north east corner, is Cistern Six, which services the other local working class community. While the southern district homes those who work on Horizon, the northeast is home to those who live here but work on the water. Fishers, scavs, guides, drivers, scouts, divers. All sorts live in the community. And much like the south, there’s several local public accommodations that make usage here higher than expected. It’s already evening as I head down the scaffolding. The water level is higher than Three, about the same level as Four. A little more than expected, but within margins. Perhaps this big job is making people who’d normally do things in the community stay in the docks more. Heading below, I check the filter. It’s fine. Exactly as expected. I head back up topside and walk across town back to the southside. Sitting at a fountain, I write up my other four reports, the ones that weren’t actually important and probably shouldn’t even need reports. Sending those useless wastes of time in, my day of work is finally done. And the sun already set. I head over to my local sauna for a few hours of relaxation before I hit the hay. I’ve earned it, dealing with another of Rick’s terribly tedious Mondays.
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