Chapter 16: DAILY LIFE
The greenhouse was a ridiculous thing to cry over.
But Maria was crying anyway, hands pressed to the glass, staring at a single tomato sprout barely two inches tall.
"It's growing," she whispered. "It's actually growing."
Fifteen people had gathered to look at the tiny plant. A tomato. Weeks from producing anything edible. Fragile. Green. Alive.
Danny touched the glass. "Is it supposed to be that small?"
"Yes," Maria said, laughing and crying simultaneously. "It's perfect."
I understood. This wasn't about tomatoes. This was about tomorrow existing. About planting something today that would feed us in the future. About believing the future would come.
The greenhouse had taken four days to build. System construction combined with Victor's electrical work and glass salvaged from three different buildings. Climate-controlled. Self-watering. The first real agricultural infrastructure beyond dirt plots.
"When do we get to eat tomatoes?" Jason asked.
"Six weeks minimum," Maria said. "Probably eight."
"That's forever."
"That's how farming works."
Ruth stood back from the crowd, arms crossed. "Crying over vegetables. We've gone soft."
"Soft is good sometimes," I said.
"Soft gets you killed."
"Happiness keeps you sane."
She grunted but didn't argue. Two weeks since Callisto's visit. Two weeks of relative peace. The longest stretch without crisis since founding New Haven.
It made me nervous.
My days had developed a rhythm I hadn't planned but had fallen into naturally.
Morning: Perimeter check with Ruth. We'd walk the boundaries—now partially walled—and assess vulnerabilities. She'd point out weak spots. I'd add them to my mental list of "fix eventually when we have resources."
Breakfast: Communal. Thirty people now—five more had arrived since Callisto. We ate together in the dining hall. Rice, beans, vegetables from Hendricks's trash, whatever Miles's trapping had caught. Not much. But regular.
Mid-morning: Construction oversight. Victor was wiring the last building. James and three others were expanding the perimeter wall. The aquatic mutant—her name was Caroline, but everyone called her Coral—had helped design a second water tank for a newly arrived mutant who could breathe underwater.
Noon: Dispute resolution. Because thirty people meant thirty different problems.
Today's dispute: Keiko and one of the newer arrivals—a woman named Sarah with the power to generate static electricity—were arguing over sleeping space.
"I was here first," Keiko said, all four eyes narrowed.
"But I need to be near the grounding rod," Sarah countered. "My power builds up at night. If I'm not grounded, I shock people."
Both had valid points.
"Keiko, you move to the spot by the east window. Better light in the morning. Sarah gets the grounded space. Keiko, we'll add curtains to your new spot for privacy. Fair?"
Keiko's four eyes studied me independently—still unnerving. "Fair. But I want blue curtains."
"We'll see what fabric we can find."
Crisis resolved. Small. Stupid. Important because it mattered to them.
Afternoon: Various. Today it was helping Miles inventory medical supplies. We were low on everything. Bandages, antiseptic, pain medication. Miles had been rationing carefully.
"We need a supply run to a pharmacy," he said. "But that's riskier than the general store. Pharmacies track inventory. People notice when things go missing."
"So we buy them. Legitimately."
"With what money?"
Right. We were broke. Had been for weeks. Surviving on barter, salvage, and Hendricks's goodwill.
"I'll figure something out."
"You always say that."
"I always do figure it out. Eventually."
Evening: Planning sessions with Ruth, Miles, Sofia, and whoever else had relevant expertise for current projects. Tonight we were discussing winter preparation. Six months away but coming.
"We need proper heating beyond Danny," Ruth said. "Kid can't heat thirty people through a New York winter."
"Victor's working on a solution. Salvaged heating system. Should be operational in a month."
"Should be."
"Will be. I'll make sure."
Night: I'd walk the perimeter alone. Check that everyone was sleeping. That the watches were alert. That New Haven was still standing.
Routine. Structure. Normalcy.
It felt fragile.
Day four of the second week, someone's power went wrong.
Sarah—the static generator—had a nightmare. Her power flared. She shocked the three people sleeping nearest her. Non-lethal but painful.
I woke to screaming.
By the time I reached the sleeping quarters, Miles was already treating minor burns. Sarah was in the corner, sobbing. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I was asleep—"
Keiko crouched beside her. "It's okay. You didn't know."
"I hurt people."
"Accidents happen."
But Sarah was inconsolable. I knew that look. The same one Danny had after burning his bedding weeks ago. The fear that your power made you dangerous. Made you unwelcome.
"Sarah." I kept my voice calm. "Look at me."
She did. Tear-streaked face, terrified.
"This is why we ground you at night. The system failed—that's on me, not you. We'll build a better ground. Add redundancy. This won't happen again."
"You're not—you're not kicking me out?"
"Why would we kick you out for an accident?"
"Because I'm dangerous."
"Everyone here is dangerous. That's not a bug. It's a feature. We just need to make it safe to be dangerous."
Victor appeared, already assessing. "I can rig a better grounding system. Maybe use the same setup we have for the aquatic tanks. Constant drainage."
"Do it. Priority."
Sarah watched us problem-solve around her power instead of around her person. Something shifted in her face. Relief. Belonging.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Family takes care of family."
There was that word again. Family. It kept coming up. In conversations. In decisions. In how people treated each other.
Thirty people who weren't related choosing to be family.
Day nine. The waste pickup from Hendricks was late.
We waited by the road—me, Tom, Eva. The truck should've been here at noon. It was two PM.
"Maybe he forgot," Tom said.
"He's never forgotten."
"Maybe he's sick."
"Maybe."
Or maybe he'd discovered what we really were. Maybe the contractor story had worn thin. Maybe we were about to lose our primary food source.
The truck appeared at three PM. Hendricks climbed out, looking harried.
"Sorry I'm late. Wife's sick. Had to handle her medication." He started unloading boxes. "Got some good stuff today. Bakery threw out day-old bread. Still edible."
"Is your wife okay?"
He paused. "Will be. Just a cold. Why?"
"Just asking. Hope she feels better."
He studied me. "You're a weird contractor, Cole. Most contractors don't care about my wife's health."
"I'm a weird person generally."
He laughed. "Fair enough. Same time Friday?"
"We'll be here."
He drove off. I exhaled. Crisis deferred. For now.
Day twelve. Miles taught me poker.
We sat around a table with Danny, Ruth, and Victor. Using matchsticks as currency because we had no actual money.
"You're terrible at this," Miles said, raking in my matchsticks.
"I know."
"You can't bluff to save your life. Every thought shows on your face."
"That's why I don't play poker professionally."
"Stick to politics," Ruth advised. "You're better at that."
"Am I though?"
"You got thirty people to vote on rules, accept governance, and work together peacefully. That's political genius or mass delusion. Probably both."
Danny won the next hand with nothing. Pure bluff. Miles laughed. "Kid's a natural."
"I learned from watching people lie about being human," Danny said. "Same tells."
The game continued. I lost consistently. Didn't care. This was—nice. Normal. People playing cards instead of running for their lives.
Small victory. Meaningful victory.
Day fourteen. Emma spoke.
She'd been silent for three weeks. The traumatized child with shields who didn't trust anyone. Sofia had been working with her gently—not pushing, just being present.
Emma approached me during breakfast. "The plants are growing."
I looked up. She'd actually spoken. Full sentence.
"They are. Maria says two more weeks until the first harvest."
"Will there be enough food?"
"Yes. We'll make sure there's enough."
She nodded and walked away. That was it. But Sofia caught my eye across the room. Smiled. Progress.
Later, Sofia explained. "She's been testing. Seeing if promises are kept. The plants are growing like you said. Hendricks's pickup came like you said. People get fed like you said. She's starting to believe words match actions."
"That's—that's good, right?"
"That's everything. Trust is built on consistent action. You're doing that."
I wasn't sure I was doing anything except surviving one day at a time. But if it helped Emma heal, I'd take it.
Two weeks. Fourteen days of routine. Of normal problems and normal solutions. Of community functioning like a community.
Ruth found me on the perimeter that night. I was staring at New Haven—lights in windows, smoke from fires, voices carrying in the dark.
"Trouble sleeping?" she asked.
"Peace makes me nervous."
She laughed. "That might be the saddest thing you've ever said."
"It's true though. Two weeks without crisis. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"Maybe there's no other shoe. Maybe we just keep building and growing and nothing catastrophic happens."
"You believe that?"
"No. But I'm trying to."
We stood in comfortable silence. The kind that only comes from shared experience. Shared survival.
"Marcus, can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
"Why are you doing this? Really. You're human. You could've stayed in the city. Found work. Had a normal life. Why dedicate everything to building a mutant nation?"
I thought about my transmigrator status. My System. My meta-knowledge. The car accident that ended one life and started another. All the things I couldn't tell her.
"Because someone should," I said finally. "And no one else was."
"That's it? Moral obligation?"
"That's enough."
She considered. "Yeah. I guess it is."
Two weeks of peace. Of growth. Of proving this could work.
Callisto had said six months. We were at two months total now. Four more to go.
We'd make it. Somehow, we'd make it.
The System pulsed quietly.
[STABILITY MILESTONE ACHIEVED]
[TWO WEEKS CONTINUOUS OPERATION]
[BONUS: +200 NP, +100 EXP]
[COHESION: 52]
[MORALE: HIGH]
Tomorrow would bring new problems. But tonight, New Haven was stable.
That was enough.
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