“My fingers tell me.” She tossed a handful of thins into her basket and dusted soil from her hands. “After so many years, it’s automatic.”

“You had a garden before?”

“I did. Quite a large one. On the roof of my office. So many of us did.”

“Us?”

“In the sciences. We knew what was coming and filled every space we could find.” She bent over her row again. “My soil was a lot better than what we have here, but we’re working on it. You know what they say about beggars and choosers.”

“You did science before? What kind?” I knew, but probably she could explain it better than Rubio.

“Astrophysics. I study . . . studied . . . the planets of our solar system.”

I recalled her hunched over that screen full of exotic images. “You mean, like Mars?”

“Indeed.” She turned her head and smiled across the rows, like to a bright student. “Particularly Mars. Specifically, its climate. Well, I used to.”

“You don’t anymore?”

“No, dear. Hardly anyone can.”

“Why not?”

“Too busy surviving. Did Rousseau send you up here to report on me?”

“What? No!” Her blunt accusation startled me. “I’m just . . . curious. I don’t know much about science.”

From the shadow of her hat brim, her eyes drilled into me. “I’m not allowed to talk about it, you know. I can’t afford to get turned out on the streets, not at my age.”

I raised both palms. “I wouldn’t . . .”

“Not any of it. He says it’s bad for morale.”

Bad. Not loony or wrong. “Why would talking about Mars be bad for morale?”

“Oh, not Mars the planet. Mars the colony.” She slapped her palm over her mouth as if she’d let fly a belch. “Damn. There I go.”

“You mean the expedition base?”

“No, the settlement. And what happened to it.” Again, the hand clamped over the mouth, as if both had minds of their own. She gave the softest of moans. “It’s wrong to deny it . . .”

What happened to it. A new mystery. Was her hint-dropping a way of talking about it while pretending not to? Peeto had showed me that site about the Mars expedition being a hoax, but he hadn’t mentioned a colony, a settlement. Here was the crazy part, I decided. Her job had been everything. Losing it sent her over the edge into believing what she wished for? I mean, if there were people actually living on Mars, we’d all know about it, wouldn’t we? So, wasn’t it overbearing, even silly of Rousseau to worry about some old woman’s delusional fantasy? He seemed hardly concerned with what went on off the Island, so what was his problem with Mars?

“Would you talk about it if I promise mum’s the word?”

She bowed over the kale again. “No, no. It’s not a good idea. For either of us.”