‘For the second time!’ it blurts, seeing my confusion. The smile falters. When the expression returns it is forced, subdued. It looks at the white concrete roof. A leg twitches. Another piece of information I haven’t been told. Perhaps because of my low station?

‘Thank Jazari. We are Ificans proud,’ it murmurs at the hardened floor. ‘Might beyond measure.’

‘Measure beyond might,’ I say.

And now my fear has returned.

It doesn’t need to tell me, although I sense it will. We descend into the building, which is dark and overly warm. Bo cultivates vegetation in the main section. Each time I come its growing something new, and I want to examine its product, but we never spend enough time before I have to leave. This may be design. There are huge looming organics with wide hanging leaves connected to an array of machinery at the furthest end. Smaller flowering vegetations powdered with rich perfume, their colours glowing even in the dark. The scent of damp earth is a balm. We wind through aisles with vegetation beds on both sides, pushing by the thick leaves of bigger organisms. One particular vegetable catches my eye; it bears oval, dark seeds covered in thick, coarse fur. I reach for her. Bo looks back, sees me.

‘What’s this?’ I ask.

‘Sapodilla.’

‘What’s its use?’

‘They produce a resin we use for mechanical production. They never tell me how, I don’t ask. I just grow them.’

‘I’ve never seen it.’

‘I’ll give you a few seeds before you leave. Sapodilla needs plenty of heat, so you might need to readjust your generator.’

We move on. I’m scanning placards as we pass. Bromeliad, heliconia, poinsettia. The colours and variations are a dream, red the most dominant, until I see a small tree of green bananas and almost cry out Wait, but Bo won’t stop, taking me to the back exit and out into the dusty central compound. There’s a cool of the shadowed buildings that’s pleasant. The breeze is slight and of low degree. I strain my ears for insects, but there aren’t any. We walk across the compound, straight all the way to the next building, the smallest. The walls say BUILDING FOUR in tall black letters.

It told me this was empty. The building was always empty. There’s a large double door, digitally locked. It’s metal, inches thick, reflecting our blurred images, a cloud of various colours and no features. Bo sight-reads its daymark for entry. The door clicks, slides open.