A Guide to Farming in a Mobile City-Chapter 209 : Wendy and Shelter B9

Chapter 209: Wendy and Shelter B9
Morning.
Wendy woke up early as usual.
This young girl in her early twenties lay with her cheek pressed against the smooth pillowcase, occasionally lifting her hand to stifle a yawn.
A pale yellow light, like mist, seeped into the cramped room.
It was not purely natural sunlight, but artificial illumination.
Accompanied by a low mechanical hum, the ventilation system increased its circulation frequency, pumping recycled and filtered air into every residential pod.
It carried a faint, cold smell of disinfectant and synthetic oxygen.
Yes, the place where Wendy lived was not a town on the surface, but an underground shelter.
Lifting her head slightly, Wendy’s gaze fell upon the yellowed botanical illustration hanging on the opposite wall—something she had secretly salvaged from the shelter’s old-item recycling depot.
In the illustration, a sunflower stretched toward something called the “sun.”
As she stared, Wendy rubbed her eyes.
Just like before, last night she had once again dreamed of life on the surface.
In her dream, she stood in an immense open space.
There was no metal ceiling, no humming ventilation pipes—only an endless blue dome overhead, its color clearer than even the healthiest algae in the hydroponics laboratory.
The air was damp, tinged with the earthy sweetness of soil, and laced with a floral fragrance that made her nostrils itch.
The light was different too.
It was not the cold, uniform pallor of the shelter’s lighting system, but a flowing radiance, carrying warmth.
Thinking of this, Wendy’s eyes revealed a trace of melancholy.
“What does the world on the surface look like now?”
At 6:30, the display screen on the wall lit up automatically, showing the daily announcements of the shelter.
Morning routines: tidying personal quarters, listening to the Overseer’s morning address, taking turns at the communal washing facilities, receiving synthetic nutrient meals.
Daily labor in the morning.
Educational films and resident socializing at midday.
Daily labor again in the afternoon, plus routine psychological stress tests.
Evening assembly at the hall, followed by mandatory fertility-promotion courses for residents of appropriate age.
Everything was scheduled down to the last detail.
After dressing and folding her bedding, Wendy neatened her appearance and walked to the door.
She raised her left arm, showing the resident wristband she wore, and held it against the device at the entrance.
With a soft “beep,” lines of text appeared on the device’s screen.
【Name: Wendy Carter】
【Age: 20】
【Gender: Female】
【Marital Status: Unmarried】
【Citizen Health Status: Good】
【Today’s Duty Area: Water Recycling Station】
When Wendy stepped out, she found a long line already formed in the corridor for washing. Everyone was mechanically chewing synthetic nutrient blocks, crumbs scattering across the washed-out light-blue fronts of their uniforms.
Indeed, every person here wore a uniform.
It was one of the immovable rules of the shelter.
The purpose was to remind every resident that they belonged to the collective.
When Wendy lifted her head, she saw the corridor’s display screens broadcasting the day’s news.
“This month’s agricultural zone yield has increased by 2.7%. Thanks to the hard-working citizens.”
The announcer’s face always wore that standard smile.
“Also, please remember: your safety is the foremost priority of the shelter.”
As usual, Wendy secretly switched shifts with her close friend and slipped into the shelter’s archive room, where she began her routine cleaning duties.
Compared with the various entertainment facilities of the shelter, this was actually the place she longed for the most.
The archives stored many old materials.
Through these records, Wendy had learned countless things.
Although the shelter had its own electronic system, all past records and files had been digitized and stored within it.
The archive room’s role was to serve as “insurance,” to prevent data loss in case the electronic system failed.
After all, no matter how advanced technology became, paper-based media still had its reasons to exist.
This archive room was very old, long forgotten by most people.
When Wendy pushed open the door, the corroded metal hinges gave a low creak.
The moment she entered, a musty odor of rusted metal mixed with the moldy scent of paper rushed at her. The air was stagnant, like dead water, disturbed only by the faint drafts seeping in through cracks in the ventilation pipes, stirring tiny ripples of dust.
Most of the ceiling’s fluorescent tubes had already gone dark, and the few that remained flickered intermittently, casting a sickly cold glow upon the rows of archive shelves.
The steel frames were mottled with rust, patches of paint flaking off to reveal dark red scars of oxidation. The once-neat labels were now blurred and illegible.
Yes, this archive room was very, very old, tucked away in a corner most shelter residents had long forgotten.
But Wendy liked it here, for it was quiet and free of disturbance.
Cleaning duties were scheduled only once a week.
So each visit, Wendy cherished her time.
After finishing her work, she picked up a file and began reading slowly in a corner.
The record stated that the planet she lived on was called Azure Star.
In the past, human civilization had a population of about 34 billion, spanning 15 continents, and was organized into several continental-scale alliances.
The Eastern Alliance, the Northern Union, the Western Alliance, the Star Ocean Community, and the Steel Pact.
The shelter Wendy lived in now belonged to the Steel Pact—“Shelter B9.”
The file described Shelter B9’s scale.
It consisted of 23 underground levels, including residential districts, agricultural zones, energy supply areas, a medical center, and public facilities, supported by a complete internal ventilation and circulation system.
The archive also mentioned that human civilization of the Old Era had once flourished to its peak—until the “Cataclysm” arrived.
At this, Wendy tilted her head slightly.
She knew of the Cataclysm.
The entire planet had been altered by supernatural forces, and countless monsters descended.
Curious, she read on.
The record noted that in order to combat this apocalyptic disaster, the continental alliances had each devised concrete strategies.
The Star Ocean Community assumed that the land would inevitably fall, and so they proposed pooling resources to construct colossal Arks that would sail into the oceans, avoiding the monsters on land.
The Western Alliance proposed the “Outer Space Survival” plan, constructing vast fleets of colonization spacecraft to flee toward a nearby planet of Azure Star for survival.
The Northern Union proposed the “City Fortress” plan, concentrating military power to defend major cities, turning them into bastions against the monsters.
The Steel Pact proposed the “Underground Survival” plan—building a network of underground shelters. Some could house only a thousand people, while others could accommodate hundreds of thousands.
As she read, Wendy nodded slowly.
From the present perspective, the Steel Pact’s plan seemed to have succeeded.
In truth, she longed for the colonies in space and the ocean-going Arks.
Just as she was about to continue reading, footsteps sounded outside the door.
The young girl realized something and her face tensed with unease.
The footsteps stopped at the entrance. The door creaked open, and a middle-aged man walked in.
Seeing Wendy curled up in the corner clutching a file, his face showed a trace of helplessness.
“I knew you would be here.”
The speaker was Wendy’s father, Hyde.
The power structure of Shelter B9 was straightforward.
At the top was the Overseer, followed by the Shelter Council.
Beneath them were the Medical Group, Education Group, Agricultural Group, Technical Maintenance Group, and Security Group.
And finally, the ordinary residents.
Hyde was one of the council members.
“Wendy, the Water Recycling Station is far cleaner and brighter than this place, isn’t it? Why don’t I see you running there every day?” Hyde sighed. “Finish up quickly and come back with me.”
Father and daughter left the archive room together, slowly walking along the corridor.
After casting a glance at his daughter, Hyde spoke softly.
“It’s about time you got married.”
At this, a trace of helplessness appeared on Hyde’s face.
Shelter B9 had a population of just over two thousand.
After generations of reproduction, most people in the shelter shared blood relations.
To avoid inbreeding, the shelter had to seek marriages with outsiders.
Yet Shelter B9 faced two problems.
First, the shelter had remained sealed for centuries, with no knowledge of the outside world’s current state.
Second, the seven other shelters located in the same region as B9 had long lost contact. No one knew what had become of them.
Though Wendy, in her early twenties with golden hair and a beautiful appearance, remained unmarried.
“You go on with your work. I have to attend a meeting,” he told Wendy.
Taking the elevator, Hyde arrived at the designated floor and entered the meeting room.
The council members were already seated.
The administrator of Shelter B9 was named Martha.
She was a rigid, conservative middle-aged woman.
Her face was square, as if pressed flat by a hydraulic press. Her cheekbones jutted high, and the corners of her mouth always drooped, as though she had been born without the ability to smile.
Her eye sockets were sunken, and whenever she looked at someone, it carried the weight of scrutiny—like a scanner checking a product’s barcode.
Hyde’s gaze slowly lowered, landing on Martha’s sharply pressed uniform. Three “Model of Efficiency” badges gleamed proudly upon her chest.
After the council members finished their routine progress s, Martha nodded and then spoke.
“Today I have something to announce. A subway train from Shelter L8 is heading toward our shelter.”
According to the Steel Pact’s original plan, tunnels and subways had been built to connect shelters within the same region.
This allowed for communication and intermarriage between them.
If disaster struck one shelter, residents could use the subway to evacuate to another.
At Martha’s words, the council members froze.
“Is that true, Lady Martha?” one council member asked excitedly.
After all, Shelter B9 had long lost contact with the other seven shelters, leaving their status unknown.
The subway station had been closed for ages.
Nodding, Martha’s face showed a trace of gravity.
She informed them that the signal was indeed correct, but one detail was troubling.
When she ordered attempts to contact the train, it gave no response.
Clearing her throat, Martha spoke deliberately.
“So I have determined that this train is dangerous. Shelter B9 will refuse to open the station for it.”
At once, a council member sprang to his feet.
“This is not for you to decide, Martha! Whether to open the station must be voted on by the council.”
From his tone and his direct use of her name, it was clear he had lost all patience.
He was not the only one. The other council members too were growing weary.
The Overseers of Shelter B9 had always been conservatives, refusing countless proposals for expeditions to the outside world.
When communication with other shelters was cut off, the first thing the Overseers did was to seal the subway station, preserving B9’s survival at all costs.
Now other council members also stood in opposition.
Hyde rubbed his forehead helplessly.
This time, he sided with Martha.
Facing their protests, Martha spoke calmly.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you know well that the Overseer holds the power of veto.”
“Martha, you cannot deny the shelter its external connections and exchanges based on your will alone!” a middle-aged councilman said angrily. “All these years, we have had no idea what the surface is like! Perhaps it has already become safe, and humanity can return to settle there!”
Others quickly joined in agreement.
At those words, Martha’s typically cold and unyielding expression dimmed.
“There is no chance of that,” she said slowly.
“The surface can never again be made habitable.”
“The world now must be nothing but wasteland, crawling with monsters.”
“Humanity has no place to stand.”
Perhaps it was because they had never seen Martha in this state before, but the council members fell silent in surprise.
Yet remembering the long history of the Overseers’ conservatism, their anger reignited.
“It’s understandable if you won’t explore the surface, but exchange and marriage between shelters are essential!”
An elderly woman on the council spoke firmly.
“Our shelter already has a small population. Because of generations of internal breeding, nearly everyone is related by blood. Many young men and women cannot marry. Isn’t your own son still unmarried for this very reason, Martha?”
Another young male councilman immediately followed up.
“This time, we must accept the subway. On one hand, we can learn what has happened to Shelter L8. On the other, we can arrange intermarriage.”
He spread his hands helplessly.
“This is clearly a matter of mutual benefit. Why, Lady Martha, would you refuse? Would you abandon the future of our shelter?”
That final question seemed to pierce Martha’s heart.
For the first time, the ever cold and hard Overseer revealed an unprecedented weariness on her face.
“You are right, ladies and gentlemen,” she said quietly. “This time, I will not exercise the veto. The decision will be made by your vote.”
The council immediately proceeded to vote.
Seven voted in favor, one against.
The sole dissenting vote was cast by Hyde.
The meeting thus concluded, and preparations to reopen the station began at once.