I awoke with a start, fragments of a strange dream fading away before I could grasp them. Amara had been there, her face echoing in my mind, though the context eluded me. I lay still for a moment, allowing my breathing to steady. Dawn's light was just beginning to filter through the windows, casting a soft glow across my modest quarters.

After a few minutes of contemplation, I rose and began my morning routine. I prepared a simple breakfast of cooked grains and fruit while reviewing the day's schedule. My plan was to venture out into the colony to capture a diverse range of voices and perspectives. As New Eden's appointed historian, I carried the weighty responsibility of documenting our people's stories with accuracy, empathy and truth, even if the people weren't that interested in the work I was doing.

I gathered my equipment methodically - notebook, recorder, tablet - double-checking that everything was working. Although technology granted me invaluable tools like digital archives, there was something profound about the tangible permanence of the written word. I flipped through my journal, tracing fingers over sketches and scrawled notes from previous interviews. Each offered a unique lens into the experience of an individual. A type of physical reminder that these people would one day be memories. How I record them today will be how they are viewed long after they are gone.

My first stop today is the community center Market. Then, I plan to visit the engineering workshops on the outskirts of town and eventually end up in the agricultural zone, where I will interview the leading crop production scientist.

After gathering my things, I took one last look around my living quarters. The mix of real books and digital archives seemed fitting for my endeavour - blending old and new, Earth and New Eden. With a slow exhale, I departed into the colony, my mind open and senses attuned. Each story would add shape and colour to the unfolding portrait of our fledgling society. My task was to listen, observe, and document with care - to honour humanity in all its complexity that I encountered on this day and maybe lead the future by avoiding the mistakes of the past.

* * *

As I made my way through the colony, The aroma of freshly baked goods wafted through the air as the market vendors began their preparations. My first destination was the bustling center of our community.

The market always felt alive with energy, even this early. Open vendors called out about their wares while shoppers moved between the stalls, inspecting the fruits, vegetables and other goods on display. I wove my way through the growing crowd, smiling and nodding in greeting but not stopping to chat just yet. My goal was to wander and observe for a bit, taking in the diversity of faces and interactions.

After a while, I paused near a fruit stand, watching people inspect the colourful produce. I noticed a middle-aged woman selecting purple melon-like fruits. She seemed approachable, so I walked up and introduced myself. "Good morning, my name is Eliot. I'm the colony's appointed historian and I'm documenting perspectives on life in New Eden. Would you be open to sharing your thoughts about current issues or topics affecting citizens?"

The woman gave me a quizzical look, then smiled. "Well, aren't you the curious one," she said warmly. "I'm Talia. Let's see, something on my mind lately is the talk of expanding the agricultural zones..."

I listened intently as Talia shared her views, asking a few follow-up questions to understand her perspective more deeply. After thanking her, I continued wandering through the market, pausing to have similar conversations with a mix of people. A farmer told me his hopes for genetically modifying crops to withstand New Eden's climate outside the filter dome. A teacher described the challenge of developing educational programs for the colony's youth. Each viewpoint added nuance to my understanding of the community's experiences.

As I spoke with more citizens, I noticed the occasional curious glance in my direction. My role as a historian still seemed to generate a bit of intrigue when people saw me wandering about. I remained focused on listening and capturing each story, knowing that all perspectives had value in compiling an honest portrait of our society. The market buzzed with life around me as I documented a fragment of New Eden on this day.

I made my way towards the southern market district, where many of the colony's artisans and skilled workers had set up workshops. I aimed to document a wide range of perspectives, including those on the leading edge of technological innovation.

Turning a corner, I spotted a compact engineering shop with hand-crafted metalwork adorning the entrance. Inside, a lanky figure tinkered with some wiring at a cluttered workbench. Clearing my throat, I called out, "Excuse me? My name is Eliot Thatcher, the colony's historian. I hoped to speak with you about recent technology innovations and maybe get your thoughts on life here in New Eden."

The young man looked up, pushing a mop of unruly hair off his forehead. His eyes glinted with curiosity as he set down his tools and came over. "I'm Tavon Weld, and what is it that I can do for New Eden's most notorious storyteller?" he asked with a crooked grin. It seemed that though I had never met Tavon before, he certainly knew of me.

I explained my goal of documenting diverse viewpoints, including his perspective on technology's role in the colony. Tavon nodded thoughtfully, then gestured for me to take a seat in front of his counter. "I'll chat if you let me tinker while we talk," he said. "These gadgets help me think."

I set up my recording device as Tavon grabbed some scraps of metal and wire. Soon, his nimble fingers were crafting some mysterious contraption while he shared his vision for enhancing New Eden's tech infrastructure. As an engineer, Tavon had given this a lot of thought. He described plans for improved power generation and distribution, as well as networking capabilities to connect our settlement with the others. Tavon clearly took pride in his technical skills and saw technology as crucial for our colony's future success.

Yet he was also strongly suspicious of the recent rolling blackouts during our darkest months, seeing them as short-sighted and disruptive. In his view, the blackouts strained already limited resources and made it harder for him to work on very delicate electronics, having to constantly be hooked up to power backup sources so as to not lose power during important processes like programming software. He mentions how infuriating it is when he's working on his computer, and the power goes out before he can save his work. I could see the frustration in his eyes as he explained this, though his tone remained even. The gadget taking shape in his hands seemed an outlet for that energy as he moulded metal and linked circuits.

"The official explanation doesn't add up," Tavon said, lowering his voice as if about to share a secret. "My monitoring system tracks massive power draws from the botanical research lab before each failure." He paused, meeting my gaze with an intensity that told me he'd given this a lot of thought. "I think they're consuming way more energy than they claim."

I nodded slowly, taking in this revelation. Tavon did not seem like one to make accusations lightly. As a respected engineer, his insights carried weight. If he suspected the research lab was drawing more power than reported, jeopardizing the grid, there was likely truth to it. Still, these were serious allegations. I would need more than circumstantial data to substantiate them in the archives. "Have you brought your findings to the authorities?" I asked.

Tavon shook his head, his unruly hair falling across his forehead. "I have no definitive proof. Only my own energy readouts, which they could easily dismiss." He leaned back against the counter of his shop, fingers drumming on the unfinished gadget before him. I could almost see the calculations running behind his eyes. "But I'll keep digging," he said finally. "Something about this doesn't sit right with me."

I admired his determination to get to the bottom of this, though I worried where it might lead. Questioning the colony's authorities could ruffle feathers and put targets on their backs. But if Tavon was right, and the truth was being obscured, didn't we have a duty to pursue it? As a historian, my role was to shed light on the facts, no matter how uncomfortable. "Let me know if you learn anything more," I said. "I'll do the same."

Tavon's mouth quirked in a crooked grin. "Ever the truth-seeker, eh Thatcher?" He turned his focus back to the device taking shape beneath his nimble fingers. "We'll get to the bottom of this. The people deserve to know what's really going on, and I have a feeling you're just the man for the job."

I nodded, impressed by Tavon's technical prowess. Though I yearned to dig deeper into the obscured truth he mentioned, his ingenious modifications to my recorder would prove invaluable. My historian's curiosity was piqued, yet pursuing facts required patience. There would be time to unravel this mystery, but for now, I was grateful for Tavon's support.

I was shocked, speechless, shaking my head in amazement as I watched Tavon hand me back my recorder. I hadn't even noticed him picking it up from the table where I had left it.

"Thank you," I finally managed to say. "I was worried it was on its last legs. The budget at the archives has been painfully tight lately."

I moved to stop the recording, only to find the device had been off the entire time we spoke. It appeared Tavon had deactivated it while tinkering during our interview. I supposed I would have to rely solely on memory to document our conversation. A tinge of laughter bubbled up as I smiled, realizing that Tavon's maneuver to "fix" my recorder was probably a bit more sly than I had first thought, and it meant losing valuable insights from our talk.

"Thank you for your insights, Tavon," I said sincerely. His perspective on the blackouts was certainly worth investigating further.

"come back any time," he said with a friendly wink.

After leaving Ton's shop, I rented a Swift from an automated rental station near the central plaza. The Swift is a one-wheel electric unicycle used for efficient transportation across longer distances in the colony. As the colony's historian, I frequently need to traverse between the main habitation zones and the agricultural areas on the outskirts. The Swift's dynamic gyroscope and low profile allow it to expertly maneuver the varied terrain.

I mounted the Swift, feeling it dynamically balance beneath me as the onboard computer established equilibrium. Leaning forward triggered the electric motor, propelling me smoothly ahead. It only took moments for me to get the hang of steering by shifting my weight. The Swift accelerated, carrying me down New Eden's central avenue.

I relished the feeling of the wind against my face as I picked up speed. All around me, the sights of the colony streamed past in a blend of metal, glass, and alien greenery that never ceased to amaze me. The avenue curved gracefully between habitation blocks, their exteriors alive with hanging vines and rooftop gardens. In the distance, the agricultural zones and hydroponic farms glinted under the midday sun.

As I cruised farther from the colony center, the dwellings gave way to open parks and recreation fields. Children laughed and played while adults relaxed beneath alien trees with shimmering golden leaves. Seeing these pockets of tranquillity amidst the ambitious technological undertakings of the colony helped ground my work in the simple joys that make a place feel like home.

The avenue passed through a meadow of swaying frond-like plants in hues of purple and blue. Their gentle chiming filled the air as the fronds collided in the breeze. I had always found this sound soothing. Amara would be able to explain the evolutionary purpose of the chimes, I thought, making a mental note to ask her the next time we spoke.

The dwellings grew sparse as I reached the outer districts. Here, the avenue was lined with storage facilities and industrial buildings that supported the colony's operations. While visually plain, these structures were just as important as the grand central domes to New Eden's functioning.

Up ahead, the avenue reached the agricultural zone, marked by a towering hydroponics facility. It was here that I spoke with the farmers about their work in cultivating crops. The Swift carried me steadily onward, closing the distance as I mentally reviewed my notes and prepared for the next round of interviews.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Pulling up to the hydroponic facility, I parked my Swift in the designated charging station, where workers who rode in would leave their Swifts for the day. Stepping off the vehicle, I took a moment to admire the imposing structure that loomed before me.

The hydroponic greenhouse was an architectural marvel designed to maximize crop yields through precisely controlled conditions. It stood over ten stories tall, a towering semicircle constructed from panels of durable transparent aluminum. During the day, the angled panels captured and focused sunlight into the interior like a massive lens. At night, powerful grow lights supplemented the natural light. A web of pipes and misters wove throughout the structure, delivering optimized nutrients and humidity to the crops.

I made my way to the entrance, a set of large sliding doors in the greenhouse's base. As soon as they parted, I was hit by a wall of thick, earthy air. The interior temperature and humidity were tuned to ideal levels for the variety of fruits, vegetables, grains and legumes being grown inside. Condensation beaded on every surface, collecting and funnelling back into the irrigation system.

The scale of the operation was impressive. The interior stretched on for acres, divided into sections for different crop types. Suspended troughs overflowing with lush greens and vines wound upward in a spiralling pattern, maximizing the use of vertical space. The orderly rows and towering columns of foliage were impressive in their uniformity and vibrant health.

Workers maneuvered along the crop rows aboard utility carts, inspecting plants and gathering harvests. I recognized Amara conferring with a team near a bank of equipment monitoring the greenhouse conditions. Before I could call out to her, she concluded her discussion and moved onward, disappearing among the foliage. I was surprised to see her out here, but it made sense when I thought about it, being the leading botanist researcher in our colony.

I proceeded along the perimeter pathway, gazing up at the seemingly endless crops that blotted out the arched ceiling high overhead. The sheer abundance and variety of food being grown was staggering, a testament to human ingenuity and adaptation. Hydroponics allowed the colony to supplement native edible plants with familiar staples from Earth. Seeing the fruits of such labour gave me a profound appreciation for the settlers' tireless efforts to build a sustainable new home.

I reminded myself I was here to speak with the farmers, to hear their stories firsthand. Their work taming this land was no less important than Amara's scientific endeavours. I would give their voices equal weight in my writings, showing the interconnected nature of life in the colony.

I made my way along the perimeter pathway towards the main office, a side door set into the wall of the massive greenhouse. As a colony historian, I needed to sign in as a visitor and fill out some forms about protecting the privacy of the workers before I could conduct any interviews.

The door opened into a small reception area with a counter and chairs. I approached the attendant, a young man with curly red hair, who greeted me with a smile.

"Good morning! How can I help you today?"

I introduced myself. "I'm Eliot Thatcher, the colony historian. I'm here to discuss their work with some of your farmers and technicians. I just need to sign in and take care of any necessary forms."

"Of course! Let me pull up the visitor paperwork on the system here." The attendant's fingers danced across the screen embedded in the counter. "Can I get your full name and colony ID number?"

I provided the information, and the attendant generated the forms, handing me a digital clipboard to review and sign off on. They were standard privacy notices about recording devices and disseminating any identifying details from the interviews. I scribbled my signature on the touch display before handing it back.

"Wonderful, you're all set," the attendant said, taking back the clipboard. "I'll notify Eric Blott that you've arrived. He's one of our senior technicians and will give you a tour while you're here."

"That would be terrific, thank you."

The receptionist gestured to the chairs. "Feel free to have a seat. Eric will be out in just a moment to meet you."

I took a seat, setting down my bag and removing my notebook and recorder to review my notes one last time. The tools of my trade had become extensions of myself. I could spend hours absorbed in interview preparations, though I tried to avoid getting lost in my own thoughts. Being present and engaged was key.

After a few minutes, the interior door slid open, and a tall, slender man with close-cropped blond hair stepped through. He spotted me and came over, hand extended.

"You must be Eliot. I'm Eric Blott, a lead technician at the organics production facility. A pleasure to meet you."

I stood and shook his hand. "It's my pleasure. Thank you for taking the time to show me around today."

"Of course, I'm happy to. Shall we get started?"

Eric led me through the door into a wide corridor behind the main greenhouse space. It connected the various technical control rooms that monitored the environmental systems, irrigation, and crop health analytics. Eric provided an overview of the highly controlled conditions needed to cultivate such a wide variety of plants. His passion for the meticulous orchestration of the greenhouse's interconnected systems was readily apparent.

We discussed his team's work developing optimal light spectrums, humidity levels, and nutrient mixtures for various crops. The sheer complexity was astounding and spoke to humanity's adaptability in transforming inhospitable environments into places where life could flourish. Eric emphasized that it took the combined expertise of botanists, engineers, and technicians to make the hydroponics systems effective.

I asked about any major challenges they had faced. Eric cited examples like pathogen outbreaks that required quarantining sections, equipment failures from corrosive condensation, and optimizations to reduce resource water and mineral consumption.

Eric led me through a set of large doors into the main greenhouse interior. The instant change in humidity and earthy aroma of lush vegetation enveloped me. As we walked beneath the towering hydroponic columns, Eric explained the facility's climate control capabilities.

"One of our biggest challenges is regulating temperature and light cycles to optimize growth," he said, gesturing to the translucent ceiling panels high above. "During the sunny months, the angle of the panels provides ample light while also using adjustable shade cloths to control intensity and prevent overexposure. In the darker sunless months, the interior lighting arrays kick into overdrive to supplement the natural sunlight, though we do lose some production."

We passed by a bank of ceiling spotlights emitting a pinkish hue. Eric explained they were tuned to the optimal spectrum for fruiting plants like tomatoes and peppers. Other sections used different combinations of metal halide and high-pressure sodium bulbs to support various crop needs. However, most of the lighting appeared to be high-efficiency light-emitting diodes. The orchestration required to illuminate the greenhouse interior was astounding.

Eric led me through a doorway into an adjacent wing housing shorter, bushier plants. The lighting here was richly blue-green, nearly aquatic in tone. "Leafy greens, herbs, and other low-growth crops thrive under these wavelengths," Eric noted, answering my unspoken question.

I paused to examine a thriving basil plant, inhaling its aromatic scent. Eric patiently answered my questions about nutrient solutions, allowing me to satisfy my curiosity. I appreciated his hands-on engagement, which provided the context I sought for my writings.

We continued through several crop sections, discussing challenges like managing pests without chemicals and maintaining strict light deprivation to control flowering. Eric highlighted the need for constant vigilance, both human and technological, to catch any issues before they could cascade. I was struck by the blend of natural processes and meticulous control required to cultivate such abundance.

Our final stop was a sector housing various fruiting vines trailing vertically along mesh trellises. Eric pointed out how the towering crop columns maximized space utilization in the vast greenhouse. I could just make out workers on platforms selectively harvesting ripe fruits.

"Managing the vertical crop flow and fruiting cycles requires precise control," Eric noted. We stagger plantings to ensure consistent yields year-round, and supplementing with grow lights compensates for less natural light exposure at lower tiers."

I watched as a worker plucked plump tomatoes, depositing them in a waiting basket. It was fascinating to see agriculture on such a large and technical scale after touring the smaller community gardens nearer the colony center. Both were integral parts of sustaining the people of the colony, one with technical advancements and the other with implementation on a massive scale.

After about an hour of touring the massive greenhouse complex with Eric, he led me to a small break room away from the main work areas. As we sat down, Eric offered coffee grown right here in the facility and then sat down opposite me heavily. The easygoing technician who had patiently explained every meticulous detail of the operation seemed to melt away, replaced by someone more solemn.

"There is a reason I invited you here, Eliot. There are things you should know that are happening off the record," Eric began, his voice low despite our isolation. Things the public doesn't hear about. I have been struggling to bring the trials we face to the surface, but I think the public is becoming disillusioned, and it's starting to finally feel like the right time." he ended ominously.

My journalistic instincts seized on this change - there was more beneath the surface. I set down my coffee and leaned in intently.

"Such as?" I prompted, hoping Erick would continue.

Eric rubbed his eyes, seeming to debate with himself how much to reveal.

"The crop failures last season that were blamed on equipment issues? It was actually due to power disruptions during the dark months."

I furrowed my brow, confused by the discrepancy between the official statement and what Eric was implying. Power disruptions severe enough to lose entire crops? That seemed impossible for a technologically advanced colony like New Eden.

Eric correctly read my skeptical expression and continued.

"The leadership wants to expand too quickly, prioritizing rapid growth over sustainability. So they pushed the power generation infrastructure past safe limits, causing rolling blackouts when demand exceeded supply."

My earlier conversation with Tavon surfaced unbidden, as did his concerns about the colony leaders withholding technological advances from the people. Eric's revelation felt aligned with those whispers of dissent.

"The blackouts caused interruptions to the light cycles for photoperiod-sensitive crops," Eric went on, urgency entering his voice. "Some plants failed to flower properly and never set fruit. We lost nearly a quarter of projected yields."

I struggled to reconcile this failure with the flawless facade of abundance I had witnessed touring the greenhouse. The implications were troubling, hinting at a colony pushed to the brink in the name of swift expansion. It was a stark contrast to the idyllic impression conveyed by the leadership.

"Those crop losses jeopardized our food security during the sunless season. If it happens again..." Eric trailed off, the unspoken possibilities hanging ominously.

I leaned back, letting out a slow breath as the weight of Eric's confidential disclosure washed over me. My role as colony historian obligated me to record the truth, no matter how unflattering. Yet this truth could destabilize the social order we had sacrificed so much to build. I found myself at a crossroads, uncertain which path upheld my duties.

Eric seemed to sense my turmoil. He placed a hand on my shoulder. "I know you'll do the right thing, Eliot. The people deserve transparency, even if it's uncomfortable. Maybe especially if it's uncomfortable."

With that, he stood up and gestured to the door back into the greenhouse interior. "We should get back to the tour. Let me show you the packing operations."

I followed Eric mutely, my thoughts churning. His revelations had shaken my faith in the colony's leadership and their narrative of seamless prosperity. I would need time to process the implications. But one thing was certain, I was going to get to the bottom of this problem.

Tavon nodded thoughtfully as Eliot finished explaining his plans to document the colony's five-hundredth anniversary. Though they had only just met, Tavon felt an easy rapport with the young historian. There was something familiar in Eliot's desire to uncover the truth, no matter how messy or inconvenient it might be.

As they walked to the charging station where Eliot had parked his vehicle, Eric considered warning him, as Eric had warned Tavon Weld years ago when he first started voicing concerns about the colony's leadership. But he held back, sensing Eliot's resolute spirit and not wanting to discourage the historian's work.

When they arrived at the charging bay, Eric extended his hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Eliot. I look forward to seeing your work on the colony's anniversary." He hesitated, then added gently, "Just...be careful where you shine your light. Shadows sometimes have sharp edges."

Eliot's expression grew thoughtful at Eric's cryptic advice. He grasped the engineer's hand firmly. "Thank you for your time today, Eric. I appreciate you sharing your perspective and your work. Please don't hesitate to reach out if you think of anything else relevant to my research."

Eric nodded, stepping back as Eliot climbed onto his one-wheeled vehicle. He watched the historian depart, hoping he had struck the right balance in their brief interaction. As the Swift disappeared from view, Eric turned and headed back into the greenhouse, ready to tackle replacing the sprinkler system in zone three.

The wind rushes past as I glide home on my electric unicycle after meeting with Eric. The hum of the wheel beneath me fades into the background as I take in the landscape around me.

Despite having lived in New Eden for years now, the beauty of this place still takes my breath away. The rolling plains stretch as far as the eye can see, dotted with bioluminescent trees glowing in shades of purple and blue. As the sun begins to set, long shadows stretch across the terrain. I breathe deeply, taking in the fresh floral scents unique to this world.

My mind wanders back to my conversation with Eric. He seems cautious, even cryptic at times, yet thoughtful and principled. I don't fully understand his veiled warning, but I appreciate his willingness to share his perspective. There is much yet to learn about the inner workings of this colony.

Up ahead, as I pass the massive botanical garden grounds, I spot Amara working in one of the botanical gardens. Her dedication and grace are evident from a distance as she tends to the vegetation. Her movements are as graceful as a tree swaying in a light wind. As I pass by slowly, she glances up, brushing a strand of dark hair from her eyes, and gives me a smile and wave. I return the gesture, and her inner and outer beauty once again strikes me.

As I continue on, I resolve to heed Eric's advice and tread carefully while staying true to my duty as a historian. There are always multiple sides to a story. My role is to document them all, bringing light even to the sharpest shadows.