Chapter 9 — The City Has No Smell

Nguyen Huyen did not call Tung right after he put the red label on the valve box. She knew he was in a state where he just wanted to work with his hands and didn't want to hear another question from the person who specialized in putting questions in the file. She waited until morning, when the city began to hear the sound of vegetable trucks and the night watchmen changed shifts.

Tung answered the phone at station number 3.

“I have something to say.”

“About last night's data?”

“About the solvent workshop minutes.”

The line was silent. Huyen heard the pump running behind him, rhythmic but not really quiet.

“You say it.”

“I deleted a line describing the smell in the original.”

“You told me.”

"I didn't mention this part: I knew that line could be important. I kept it in my sketchbook, but I didn't put it in the board submission. After the incident, I said I was just following procedure. That's not entirely true."

Tung did not ask what that line said. He asked why she spoke now.

“Because I'm asking your system to disclose things that could make the report look bad.”

“And you think you have the right?”

"I don't know. I just know that if I don't say anything, I will make my mistakes the standard for others."

Tung hung up the phone after saying "let me work".

Huyen went to the center and opened the old filing cabinet. The original copy of the minutes is in a paper box with no photos, only the code. She took out a sketchbook, a tape recording and a list of participants in that year's council. Diem, who recently scored heavily in the rehearsal room, is also on the old list. Huyen called her and asked if she remembered the solvent sample.

“I remember the sweet smell,” Diem said. “And remember you told us to write it down but it wasn't certain.”

“Did I tell you?”

"I said don't use the word 'abnormal' if you don't know what the substance is."

Huyen closed her eyes. “Do I delete your notes?”

"I don't know. But then the minutes only had 'low smell'."

The answer does not condemn Huyen. It made her condemn herself more accurately.

At noon, Quynh called Huyen to the project office. She had received a request from the center for minute data and wanted to know if the old records had any relevance to the current assessment.

“There is no direct evidence,” Huyen said. “But it shows how a description of sensation is withdrawn from a report without a substance name.”

“You want to include the past in the Clean Class file?”

"I wanted to put it in the methods and limitations section. It's not to say the two incidents are the same."

Quynh flipped the stack of papers. “Do you know that if the report said the appraiser had missed data, questions would be raised about the entire center?”

"I know."

“I might as well be questioned for protecting the Unsullied.”

“That's why I spoke first.”

Quynh looked at her, more tired than angry. "I don't want the city to abandon the system because of a story that is told too easily. There are real estates that are no longer tormented by sewer smells."

“I don't want the city to keep the system because a number is too easy to tell.”

Two people sat opposite, between them was a file box and a quietly running air purifier. Quynh said she used to take care of her asthmatic mother. Every morning, her mother had to close the door because of the smell of the water treatment tank. When Clean Class runs, mom can sleep. So she is so used to seeing its benefits before looking at the hidden part.

Huyen did not mention his mother. She simply said: “The benefits do not need to be erased for the risks to be seen.”

Quynh agreed to include a "lessons from previous reviews" section in the public record, but wanted Huyen to re-read the words. “Uncertainty should be disclosed with the data, not used as a reason to exclude data from the record,” Huyen wrote.

In the afternoon, Huyen found Tung at the spare parts warehouse. He was removing the old calibration box, with a thin layer of oil on his hands.

“You don't need to answer yesterday's call,” Huyen said.

“I'm not angry because you deleted a line.”

“What are you angry about?”

“I'm angry because I see myself in that story.”

Huyen was silent.

“One time my team received spare parts,” Tung said. "I signed and received enough. I didn't read the addendum requiring seven cycles. I thought someone else would handle it. Then the station ran, no one complained about the valve sound, and I forgot about that line."

“Do you delete it?”

“No. But leaving it in the file without doing anything is one way to make it disappear.”

Huyen looked at his hand. “What do you want me to do about that?”

“Put my name in the person responsible for the technical part.”

“Are you sure?”

"No. But if it's just written that the system lacks spare parts, people will think that the spare parts just won't come back. There are decisions made by specific people."

Huyen opened the computer. "I will record that you discovered, proposed and are handling it. Do not record that you are responsible for things you are not authorized to do."

Tung looked at her. “You still separate the clause.”

“That's what I can do.”

“Sometimes it makes others think she has no emotions.”

“There was a time when my emotions made my profile miss a line.”

He didn't say more, but gave her a memory card. In it is the minute-by-minute data of station number 3, including automatic compensation cycles that the public schedule does not show.

“Are you allowed to take me?”

"I have permission to give it to the group for evaluation. You are a member of the group."

“If asked?”

“I said I gave it.”

Huyen took the card and didn't say thank you in an easy sentence. She asked him to sign the delivery note. Tung signed, then said: "Don't turn your signature into a shield."

"I know."

“Do you really know?”

Huyen stopped writing. “I'm studying.”

In the evening, she enters data into three tables. Table one is the perceived odor. Table two is the spray schedule and sensors. Table three are the things omitted because they are not in the sample: valve sound, symptoms, market context, height of air layer. The system does not allow table three to be named “soft data”. Huyen sets "observation conditions".

At the end of the file, she attached the minutes from the past year. The deleted line was restored in the appendix, clearly stating the person who deleted it was Huyen and the reason she wrote it at that time. She did not use the word "negligence" to make light of it. “Methodological decisions have consequences,” she writes.

Quynh read the draft and called back.

“This question will be asked a lot.”

“So keep it.”

“Aren't you afraid of losing your job?”

"Have."

“Still keeping it?”

“If I delete it, I no longer know who I am protecting.”

Quynh was silent, then said she would include this version in the evaluation group.

An texted at 11 p.m.: "I breathed well at the market today." Huyen asked what else he did. An replied: "Dad opened the stall door, I stood by the river breeze. The spray truck didn't pass."

Huyen added it to the map. A result without smell, without pattern, but with time and action. It doesn't show the cause, but it does show something that can be done: change standing position, open the door, avoid spraying hours.

In the archive room, blank paper lies next to old records. Huyen looked at those two things and understood that honesty would not make her cleaner. It just leaves the stain with a name, date and person responsible.

Tomorrow, the group will test the attack plus first. They will need people to believe that just because it's not enough doesn't mean it's useless. Huyen doesn't know how to convince. She just knows not to start with a smoothed line.

Before leaving the center, Huyen called Diem and asked if she wanted to participate in the outdoor trial. Diem said she did not want to be filmed or introduced as the person who recorded the smell in old records. Huyen agrees. She only listed Diem as council member number 4, unless Diem chose otherwise.

Tu sent a box of description cards, Nghi sent a list of market smells, and Tung sent a diagram of the spray station in the field. The documents are not consistent. Some say "sweet", some say "resin", some say "headache". Huyen does not fixate on a single language. She created a glossary and clearly noted who used which words.

Quynh asked if a test session could make people expect too much. Huyen said if they announce a narrow goal, participants will know they are contributing to a question and not accepting a promise. Quynh suggested printing the sentence "testing does not determine the cause" at the top of the ballot. Nghi said that sentence bored people, but it still had to be printed.

Tung checked the notification transmitter again. He discovered that the culture house's speakers were cracking on the last sound, making the word "closed" sound almost like "open" in the noise. They changed the speakers, added text boards and arrows. Huyen noted that it was an approach error, not a small communication error.

The night before the test, the team arranged supplies into boxes colored according to the task. An writes the label in large letters. Tu stuck a card in the last box: "If you don't know where to put it, don't hide it under the table."

Huyen smiled, but kept still. Tomorrow morning, they won't just do a smell test. They will test how a city observes itself without making the observer disappear from the records.

Before locking the door, Huyen checked the memory card access and sent the work schedule to Diem. Tomorrow, participants will learn that the test can be stopped at any time if they are uncomfortable. No one should have to trade their safety for a nice row of data.