Chapter 3 – Main Verte
Poussez, petites plantes!
Gérard might have ribbed her for speaking to her plants, but Amélie firmly believed in spending time with them beyond basic maintenance. Besides, plants weren't just a hobby—they were her livelihood. Especially after the Omnic Crisis caused such devastation, there were many like Vishkar Corporation who wanted to simply pave over everything with "modernity."
"But what about the forests? The gardens? The fields?" she'd asked upon being told that the company had applied through a subsidiary to redevelop sections of Paris damaged during the conflict. "They want to build over the Parc floral de Paris instead of growing it back? Disgusting!"
This threat to the natural beauty enshrined in her hometown motivated Amélie to turn her little garden into something more. Tapping into a "cultural preservation fund" under the logic that simply replacing everything with orderly, bright-white photon constructs was simply un-French, Mdme. Lacroix received a large grant from Overwatch itself.
"If we lose our art and creativity, the world will be lessened" she said with conviction during the ceremony in which the funds were handed over. "We mustn't forget who we are."
Similar monies were allocated to the Rushmore Restoration Society, Bailey Builders, and Pyramid Raisers as the Omnic Crisis left no country untouched. Some even said the God Programs made it a priority to destroy heritage items to demoralize their human opponents. Publically, Overwatch scoffed at this but behind closed doors, it wasn't considered too farfetched for true artificial intelligence to develop a sense of spite.
In direct response to destruction wrought by the war, her greenhouse appeared at striking speed over destroyed shops. Over a city block long, it would house hundreds of different types of plants. On opening day, Amélie found herself approached by the shopkeepers who used to run the street and whose land rights had been purchased to make way.
"Watch out for the street ruffians" they'd said. "Those little pigs will probably dig up your flowers out of boredom."
Sure enough, she later caught several kids running pell-mell through the aisles of green. A few pots tipped, spilling soil onto the clean floor.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"Playing" replied a short girl whose hair looked unwashed.
"You're just like those shopkeepers" pouted a boy upon noticing Amélie's obvious upper-class clothing. He cruelly imitated the voice of an old woman while making shooing gestures. "Go away, street rats! Find someone else to bother!"
What bothers me she thought is that we have the ability to conjure cities out of light, yet children roam the streets unsupervised, uncared for, and hungry.
She motioned for the five youngsters to follow.
"No way" called out the girl who'd responded to Amélie's first inquiry, dismissing the invitation. "We're not going with you to the police station! There's nobody for us to go home to anyway."
"Do you want a meal and shower or not?"
Rapid, hushed conversation among the intruders. She only caught snips of it, but most centered around "why would someone like her do this?"
Her husband had offhandedly mentioned some "chronal accelerator" device invented by a gorilla that had reached human levels of intelligence (possibly beyond) through genetic augmentation. Yet children lived on the streets.
Without saying anything, the quintet sulked after Amélie as if she were leading them off to something unpleasant.
Upon reaching the Lacroix residence, the gaggle of children stopped to stare.
"It's huge!"
"What do you think her husband does?"
"I wonder if they have kids our age?"
Amélie laughed, a sound that they found strangely comforting.
"This is positively modest by Parisian standards" she said, not thinking anything of it, a small two-level crammed between many others just like it.
"But you have a house!" gasped the boy who'd mocked her before.
"Take turns in the shower while I make lunch."
It occurred to her that Gérard might not approve of this. But he wasn't here-away on some Overwatch business again. Technical issues with equipment loaned to the Egyptian Army, he'd said.
As she suspected, these were war orphans. Their parents had been killed in various Omnic-related clashes over the years; some were slain by Omnics directly, while others died in the unrest that followed. The world had poured almost all its resources into Overwatch to put down the Omnics and then physical reconstruction efforts/security after the war ended, leaving precious little for civilian "comforts" like "social services."
And we thought the Americans were bad about, as they say, all guns, no butter she fumed.
Sent on their way with full stomachs and feeling squeaky clean for the first time in ages, the children were told "Come back to the greenhouse on Wednesday, 0700 hours." She would happily feed and pay them to keep order (she realized the irony in this considering what she'd first found them doing); even if it got them off the streets for a few hours every couple days it was better than their current situation. It might not fit well with her existing budget which assumed almost sole proprietorship, but she vowed to make it work.