EcoQube Desktop Ecosystem: 2 or 3 Gallon Aquariums with Planter and LED Lights

  • Would you like a place for a fish? Here you go.
  • Would you like a place for a plant? Here you go.
  • Do you like the concept of aquaponics? Here you go.
  • Do you like clear acrylic cubes and remote controlled lights? Here you go.
  • It’s like a small aquarium with its own light and it can grow plants that kinda filter the water.
  • Everybody else, well, I got nothing.
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The Fish is a Plant

“How the hell’d you find me?” Stone Malone asked incredulously in a voice as rough as a country gravel road. His lackey put down a crate he was carrying and brandished a crowbar. The warehouse lights swayed slightly as a train passed by, causing their shadows to shift back and forth.

Confronting them from several feet away stood Inspector Lanouille, hands deep in his long trench coat, eyes staring the two criminals down from under a crooked fedora. “Let’s just say we had a plant.”

Malone looked around for a second, a lit cigar between his teeth trailing smoke. He pointed at a small sprig growing out of a box on a hastily assembled desk. “What, this one?”

“No, what? That’s just basil,” Lanouille scoffed.

“An herb’s still a plant,” shrugged Malone.

“Not that plant.”

“Is there another plant in here?” Malone started walking around, looking behind and on top of the many shipping crates.

“The fish.”

Malone stopped, turned with an eyebrow raised, then pointed at the box with basil. Under the plant swam a small goldfish around a clear bowl. “The fish was a plant?”

“The fish is the plant,” corrected Lanouille.

“No, that’s a plant, and that’s a fish,” Malone stated, pointing at each respectively.

“I thought it was an herb,” noted Malone’s lackey, crowbar still in hand.

“The herb is a plant,” concurred Malone.

Lanouille tried to clarify, “But it’s not the plant, the fish is.”

“The fish is a fish,” Malone implored in a derisive tone.

“The fish is a fish but it’s also a plant.”

“Like algae?” asked the lackey.

Malone coughed out a puff of cigar smoke, “Algae ain’t a fish, ya big galoot.”

Inspector Lanouille squeezed his own forehead between his index and his thumb and groaned, “You know what, just, look at the fish!”

Malone held up both hands in a placating gesture. “I’m looking, I’m looking.”


Malone leaned in, hands on his knees, eyes narrowed. The goldfish lazily swam without much regard. Squinting as hard as he can, Malone suddenly spotted a tiny badge, slightly off-color to the fish’s typical sheen. “Ah shit, the fish is a cop!”

“That’s right!” cried Lanouille triumphantly.

Everyone stared at the fish as it slowly drifted toward the edge of its bowl. The fish shifted one of its fins a few millimeters.

“Gun!” shouted Malone, as he dove to the ground through some empty crates.

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