"This would be… wow! 180 kilos in just three days! How do you breathe such a lot?"
"Well... we have seven children." Under her mask, Mary showed an awkward smile. "What else do you do here..?"
"No reason to feel uncomfortable," the machine said with a friendly voice.
Since AIs had been granted full civil rights, as long as they could afford a body, the question of authenticity had come up. Some of the NewCits only had a poor ventilation system, purposeless, of course. The rich ones aimed to be more and more human – including exhaling air with a higher carbon ratio – and they were willing to pay for it. Humans, on the other hand, had been pushed out of their jobs and fallen into poverty. So they breathed for a living and sold their expired air to the machines. CarlX3 was one of the customers.
"Carbon dioxide is at 0.012, water at 0.35 – that’s still okay," he said and handed Mary a parcel; his artificial face formed something like sympathetic expression. Then he rolled away.
The box contained a loaf of bread, two cartons of soylk, and a piece of something like cheese.
"Tightwad!" Mary grunted and pulled off her mask just like her daughter did. Then she went to the shed to refill the bottles. Slowly, she adjusted the air pump. Just a little more CO2 would do; maybe he’d pay better then. Seven kids – you bet!
"Mummy, the next one’s coming," the girl said, "put on your mask again."
This is the last picture I've of her. Ben said it was a nice day and just snapped the two of us together. Isn't she beautiful?
The next morning she took off the mask. It had become filled with water after she fell into the pond. I ran to stop her, but I was too slow. The Gas had already acted.
We buried her below her favorite tree. We can't have more babies: We can't afford the fetal mask. I've come to terms with it. But what is going to happen to the farm? What is going to happen to us all?
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