GARRISON REEVES
After finishing his weeklong assignment on the energy film farm and ready for his duties on the main Ring project, Garrison had earned a day of downtime.
He got to know the other people on his crew. One of his coworkers, Jan Coughlin, had worked with clan Reeves on the Rendezvous reconstruction project five years ago, before moving on. Though Jan expressed deep sympathy for the loss of Garrison’s family, he gave the distinct impression that he had butted heads with Olaf Reeves. Garrison couldn’t fault him for that.
The Big Ring construction workers were chosen from a large pool of qualified applicants. Everyone from the project supervisors down to the lowest girder assembler understood the basics of zero-gravity assembly and high-tech engineering. Garrison was part of the team, and a part of history.
And he was eager to tell Seth about it.
During downtime, most of the Fireheart construction workers gathered in community modules to watch entertainment loops, play games, or socialize. Garrison, though, requisitioned a scout pod and flew to the greenhouse dome, promising his coworkers that he would bring back a load of fresh produce. “Strawberries, please,” Jan Coughlin said. “Lots of strawberries.”
Garrison promised to get them, but that wasn’t the reason he wanted to see the green priests. He was going to send a message to his son.
After he entered the greenhouse dome, the lush fecundity of the place struck him immediately. The moist air, the smell of worldtree fronds and green crops filled the air with the exotic scents of subtle spices. A Roamer worker approached with a bunch of freshly pulled carrots like a trophy in her muddy hands. “Come to get your hands dirty, or just to pick up?”
“A pickup for the Big Ring construction crew,” he said, because that was his legitimate excuse. “Strawberries were specifically requested.”
The woman snorted. “Jan Coughlin always requests strawberries. And the carrots are ready, too.”
“I’d also like to see the green priests. Are they…?”
“You’ll be able to find them.”
As soon as he entered the central greenhouse, he saw Celli and Solimar close to the giant trees. They bent down to dig in the imported mulch, planting flower bulbs. Both wore only traditional loincloths; they were entirely hairless with green skin the color of a worldtree frond. Solimar had a broad chest and muscular arms, while Celli was slender with small bare breasts.
They looked up at him at the same time. “Would you like to help us plant some of the bulbs?” Celli asked. “A trader brought yellow tulips from Earth.”
Garrison didn’t think he had ever seen a real tulip. Normally in Roamer installations, every scrap of resources had to be useful, every bit of waste recycled. “Aren’t flowers a luxury?”
Solimar said, “That depends on how you measure it. A little beauty is necessary too.” The two moved together so seamlessly: Solimar hollowing out a divot in the dirt, Celli selecting a bulb and placing it in the hole, then the two of them covering it up and packing down the soil.
“You are new to Fireheart,” Celli said. “Recently assigned?”
“Yes, one of the new construction workers. I wondered if I could engage your services to send a telink message?”
Solimar gave a casual nod. “Someone back home?”
“My son, Seth—he’s eleven, and I just left him at Academ.”
Celli brightened. “We send messages there all the time.” She stood up, didn’t bother to wipe the dirt from her fingers, and reached out to touch the wide worldtree trunk. “What do you need to tell him?”
Garrison felt the words catch in his throat. He had so much to say, but Seth already knew it. “Tell him I miss him, and I’m proud of him, and that I hope to see him soon.” It was the best he could think of.
Solimar joined Celli in the telink. “That’s all? How about some details?”
Encouraged, Garrison started talking about Fireheart Station, describing his week rigging and folding the energy-absorbent film; then he talked about the Big Ring and the construction work he was doing. As he rambled, the two dutifully relayed the words into the tree; a counterpart green priest at Newstation would receive them through his treeling. When Garrison finished, he was satisfied. “Yes, I think that’ll do it.”
Solimar and Celli smiled back at him. “Is there anything else?”
Garrison drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the worldtrees. “There is one more thing. I’d like to send another message—to someone named Orli Covitz.…”