Doug
Donnan
Executive
Editor/OMNI-GENRE+MAGAZINE!
donnan.doug@yahoo.com
The Plant Manager
by
Doug Donnan
[ 2023 / Poco Madre
California ]
“So what you’re telling me is that you
operate
this whole multi-complex
hydroponics project by
yourself?” the reporter asked
as he flipped open
his little notebook and
struggled to steady his
Bic pen.
“That’s pretty much correct Mr. Cull,” Robby
replied confidently as he
expertly steered the
speeding aluminum golf cart on
a sweeping turn
around a veritable sea of
towering yellow-eared
corn stalks. “This entire
heliotropic government
‘Greenland’ project is my
responsibility. We’ve
got it all inside here,” he
said as he swept his
left hand skyward at the
stretching emerald filtered
glass and photo-cell
covering, “corn, beans, lettuce,
dozens of varieties of fruit,
you name it and we
grow it.” This solar powered
multi-field facility
will turn out enough raw
produce to feed the entire
population of several third
world countries.”
“That’s pretty impressive by anybody’s
standards,”
the wide eyed reporter sighed
as Robby finally
slowed a bit to negotiate on
to a cut off fork in
the narrow Astro Turf cart
path. “But, you keep
saying ‘we’…
“Robots!” Robby exclaimed as he pointed off
in the
distance at a vast cornucopia
of domestic and exotic
melons. “You see, I have at
my disposal a veritable
army of robotic farmhands.
Highly ultra mobile ir-
rigation distributors, or
HUMIDS as I call them, a
tireless battalion of
photo-tropic pickers, automa-
ton hybrid harvester
tractobots, and on and on. And
the kicker is I can pretty
much control them all
from right here in this
solar powered cart!”
It’s all truly amazing,” Cull said as he
snapped
off a series of pictures
from his cell phone.
[‘Later that day’]
As the midday sun dipped behind the far
off stand
and steeples of the Santa Ana
mountains, the solar
plexi-glass cover of the
enormous spreading facili-
ty was beginning to shadow
over with a diffuse almost
opaque shroud.
“Maybe we could stop for a bit of lunch or
early
dinner. I think I have just
about everything I need
for my write up on your
Greenland Operation here
Mr.… say, just what is your
last name anyway?”
Robby was just then pulling up to one of the
ubiquitous elongated green
and white striped field
sheds. He set the pedal brake
on the cart and
turned to face the rotund,
belly-rubbing reporter
seated next to him. “Just
Robby,” he replied rather
curtly. “Lunch?” he now
seemed somewhat miffed,
perhaps offended by the
suggestion.
“Yeh, you know…food,” Cull mimed with a
childish
hand gesture to his pursing
lips. “You do eat don’t
you? I mean you’re surrounded
by the worlds biggest
smorgasbord for Christ’s
sake. Don’t you ever sample
the fruits of your labor
here…so to speak?” Cull
tried with an impish smile
and a playful slap on the
driver’s squared and
decidedly rigid shoulder.
“Food…sustenance?” Robby responded
indifferently
with a cold, steely eyed leer
not unlike that of a
stalking panther. “We don’t
require that sir. Perhaps,
that is why ‘we’ are
now in charge!”
_____ THE
END _____
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