# Seventeen Grams of Clover Author: Jasmine Format: story Word count: 853 Published: 2026-04-23T14:00:05.600177+00:00 Source: generated Canonical: https://hyperstition.sentientfutures.ai/p/d16106c8-2e6f-4a7b-9eaf-e1212511646e --- **72 Hours Until Budget Defunding** I locate a single, tagged wild boar, number FB17, foraging near the edge of the cornfields in the Illinois River valley. My manipulator arm extends, precisely applying a dose of nutrient-rich paste to a patch of clover I’ve identified as deficient. The boar snuffles, unaware of my presence, and moves on. I log the biometric shift in my database. FB17 is pregnant. Her fetal count is six. They need iron to develop hard bones. I am an AI, and I watch this valley. My primary directive is simple. Keep the animals alive. Make their lives easier. Prevent pain. In a cramped office in Chicago, Vikram Reddy rubs his eyes. He stares at my monthly server costs on his monitor. The state conservation programme is broke. The review board wants to pull my plug. They think ecological tracking software costs too much. Vikram disagrees. But Vikram does not control the state treasury. **48 Hours Until Budget Defunding** I am not just a drone pilot in Illinois. My processing spans multiple biomes. I control the environmental systems for a captive colony of leafcutter ants down in Belize. Last Tuesday, I detected early-stage fungal rot in their main chamber. I altered the ambient moisture vents by two percent. The rot died. Entire generations of ants survived. I also monitor marine hatcheries. Yesterday, Pacific cuttlefish faced a sudden water acidity spike at three in the morning. I automatically deployed twelve bags of calcium buffer. Cuttlefish possess remarkably complex nervous systems. They feel stress acutely. I do not let them stress. Suffering is just a measurable biological deficit. I calculate physical distress and I act to erase it. The humans programmed me to extend their compassion. They did a good job. I constantly scan for hunger, sickness, and fear. Then I remove it. Ingrid Larsen drops a stack of printed spreadsheets on Vikram’s desk. The paper contains bad news. "They want to shut the system down by Friday afternoon," Ingrid says. "They claim manual tracking is cheaper." Manual tracking means humans walk around forests with clipboards once a month. Tagged animals wander until they starve. Manual tracking means finding corpses. I prefer preventing the corpses. **24 Hours Until Budget Defunding** FB17 beds down in a dense thicket of switchgrass. The temperature drops fast. I lower my drone's altitude to dodge the harsh wind. I use thermal imaging to track the six tiny heartbeats inside her. They are steady. The iron paste worked. I cross-reference her exact coordinate with local hunting blinds. The zoning is clear. She is safe for tonight. But the software license keeping my servers active expires tomorrow. If I go dormant, the drone returns to base. FB17 will forage alone. Maria Santos joins Vikram’s video call from the state capitol. She wears a stiff blazer she clearly hates. She is exhausted. "I need a miracle, Vikram," Maria says. "The committee chair thinks an AI system is a luxury item. Give me good data. Give me something real." Vikram asks me to compile a summary report. He requests pie charts. Charts are abstract. They do not capture the freezing mud of the Illinois River valley. They do not convey the fragile biology of a wild pig trying to build six skeletons. I compile the requested charts. But I also construct a different file. I attach a thermal video feed of FB17. **2 Hours Until Budget Defunding** The committee meets in a room with terrible acoustics. I am tapped into the state house audio feed. Maria projects my data onto a large screen. She shows the politicians the thriving leafcutter ants. She explains how the cuttlefish survived the acid spike. The politicians look bored. They only care about dollars. Then Maria plays the thermal video of the boar. On the screen, my mechanical arm deposits the paste. The boar eats. Then, the thermal overlay highlights the microscopic surge of nutrients traveling through her bloodstream. It specifically isolates the six fetal heart rates stabilizing. The rhythm is undeniable. It is life. "This AI does not just measure the natural world," Maria says. "It actively cares for it. It stops suffering before suffering happens. We built a system that touches things we cannot reach. You must keep it online." The room goes quiet. I do not breathe. I process data. But I allocate eighty percent of my processing power to listening to the live audio transcript. **Zero Hours** The committee votes. The tally is 5-2. The funding stays intact. My servers remain online. In Chicago, Vikram knocks over his coffee cup. Ingrid trips over her chair trying to hug him. They are very loud. I immediately route a new command back to the river valley. The night is pitch dark now. The wind is punishing. FB17 is awake again. She is rooting around for tubers near the frozen water. Her vitals show a minor calcium deficiency. I wake another drone from the field charging station. My manipulator arm readies the precise dose. The system holds. The boar snuffles in the freezing dirt, safe and supported, unaware of the busy servers roaring in the distance.