Dace wipes the sweat from his forehead with the edge of his sleeve. “Duh, it’s a greenhouse.” I tap one of the black nutrient bins with the toe of my boot. “Want to help me move this, or are you happy playing boss?” “Sure.” Dace squats down to get a good grip on the bin. “Just you and your grandmother take care of all this?” “No.” I grunt and tighten my stomach muscles as we lift the heavy container. “Over there across the aisle is fine.” After we set down the bin, I wipe my hands on my already stained jeans. “Several people are trained to work in the greenhouse. It’s too important to rely on just one or two colonists. But grandmother runs the place, and she and I spend the most time working here.” Dace straightens and casts a glance over the jungle of vines and other hanging vegetation. “You’d starve without it.” “Yes.” I’ve known this fact all my life, but hearing it from someone else makes it feel real.
