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angry when Marghe could not tell her. A tree grew from the floor of D Section, a tree heavy with apples, mangoes, cantaloupes. Marghe reached for a grape the size of her fist, realized it was poisoned just as she woke to a voice calling her from the ceiling.
    “…up, Marghe. Wake up.”

    She tried to say something but her throat was too dry.
    “Good,” Hiam said. “I want you to get off the bed. Come on, that’s it. Good.
    Now get a drink of water. A whole glass. Drink it all. Slowly, Marghe, slowly.” The room swooped. “Fill the glass up again. Take it to the bed. Sit down. Good. Sip it slowly.”
    Marghe did. The warm water tasted metallic.
    “Your reaction was more severe than I’d anticipated. I was beginning to wonder if I’d have to put a hood on you.”
    Marghe looked over at the medical hood. “I’m glad you didn’t.” Speaking made her breathless and hurt her throat.
    “I still might have to if you get any more dehydrated.”
    Marghe sipped until her glass was empty.
    “If you feel up to it, go to the slot and eat what you find there.”
    An apple. Marghe stared at it, confused. Had Hiam been inside her dream? She picked it up. It was cool. She felt deathly tired, too tired for subterfuge. “Are you trying to poison me?”
    “Oh, Marghe. No, I’m not poisoning you. Try and eat the apple.”

    She woke up thirsty but clear-headed. “How long this time?” she asked the ceiling.
    “Almost seventeen hours.”
    She sat up cautiously. She still felt a little dizzy, but that could be lack of food.
    The food slot hissed. It contained a glass of water and one watery pink softgel.
    She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. It was her choice; nobody had forced her to come here. The slot closed automatically when she lifted out the glass and the pill. After a moment, it slid open again. A small portion of fish, still steaming, with a bean sprout salad and another glass of water.
    When she finished, she was tired again. She lay down, trying to remember if those conversations with Hiam about genocide had been real or delirium. Marghe fell asleep trying to remember what exactly Hiam had said.

    The lights around the door to the outer access lock flared warning red, then dulled. The door hissed open. Janet Eagan was small, naked, and coughing so hard she did not have the breath to greet Marghe.
    Marghe brought her a glass of water and pulled a sheet from her bed. While Eagan drank the water, Marghe draped the sheet around her shoulders. They were bony, and pale except for freckles, but her hands and face and legs were weathered.
    The coughing eased.
    “Better?”

    Eagan nodded. “For now. Thanks.”
    “I’m Marguerite Taishan. Marghe.”
    Eagan did not offer to shake hands.
    Marghe gave her a cliptogether. While they ate, she found herself watching Eagan’s hands, which were brown and hard, callused across the palms. She had not seen hands like that since watching a carpenter at a demonstration of old-style skills.
    Eagan noticed and laid them on the table palm up.
    “Rope calluses,” she said. “For a while I crewed a ship working the coast around the southern tip of the continent. I learned a lot.”
    “I’d like to hear it.”
    “Most of it’s on disk at Port Central. I couldn’t bring it with me.”
    “Is there anything I should know before I leave?”
    Eagan laughed harshly, “Yes. It’s not like anything you can possibly imagine. If I had it to do again, I’d never set foot outside Port Central, just invite the occasional native in to tell me her story. If you have any sense, that’s what you’ll do. I’m glad to be out of it.”
    Marghe said nothing. Eagan shrugged and picked up her fork. They ate in silence.
    Marghe got up to get their dessert. She hesitated. “I’ve heard some rumors, I can’t vouch for their validity, but once you’ve heard them, you might want to give up on the decontamination and return to Jeep with me.”
    “No.”
    “Listen, anyway.” Marghe