“Your family will be proud of you,” Otema said.

Nira looked a little uncertain. “My family is already proud of me. I acquired new quarters for them in the worm hive that just opened for habitation, but they do not understand the priesthood. I am the only one in my family who even showed an interest in the trees.”

Otema was surprised. “Perhaps I have been in the priesthood too long. I thought all Therons were devoted to the forest, each in their own way.”

Nira looked away. “On the Caillié my family’s ancestors were slated to be systems engineers, maintenance experts, and repairmen. The Khalis would have been extremely useful if Theroc had turned out to be a rugged planet.” She shrugged. “But on Theroc, their skills are almost irrelevant. Oh, they keep the systems running and they do their jobs, but they don’t love it.”

“Their work is still important to life or death,” Otema said. The potted treelings seemed to be listening to the conversation. “Just in a different way than they expected. And yours … you know your own calling, Nira.”

“Yes, and I want nothing more in my life,” she said.

On their fourth day of travel, as the Voracious Curiosity passed through the Horizon Cluster and narrowed the distance to Ildira, Rlinda Kett invited them to join her for dinner. “It’s about time you had some introduction to Ildiran culture. Besides, I’m one of the few people in the Hansa who can produce decent Ildiran cuisine. It’s rather a challenge, you know, especially getting the right ingredients.”

Nira was eager for an unusual meal, though her food supplements and the faint tingle from skin photosynthesis would keep her from growing too hungry. Wearing her normal garments, not knowing how else to prepare, Nira followed Otema to the galley adjacent to the captain’s personal quarters. Since Nira was new to social functions and diplomatic callings, she viewed this meal as practice for when they arrived on Ildira.

Wearing a static-filmed apron that shed stains and droplets of food, Rlinda looked up from her cooking. She used gleaming pots over portable heaters. Nira could smell sizzling oils and pungent spices. Colored sauces filled different jars and bowls, and the large merchant woman moved like a whirlwind, cooking five different dishes at once.

“I keep thinking about our new cargo,” Rlinda said, continuing her culinary activities. “I’m anxious to try original recipes using Theron ingredients, but you’re probably tired of food from your home world. Still, I’d appreciate any advice you might have?” She raised her eyebrows hopefully.

In a solemn voice, Otema said, “Green priests, alas, are not known for their gourmet skills. Cooking is not one of our studies as we serve the worldforest.”

“I was afraid of that.” Rlinda whisked a gelatinous film before it could stick to the bottom of a saucepan.