As the Theron ambassador to Earth, Otema had done her work for the trees, butting heads with the ambitious Hansa. Stern and inflexible, the old woman had earned herself the nickname “Iron Lady” by resisting Chairman Wenceslas’s methods of persuasion, and stonewalling the Hanseatic League’s strident demands for more green priests. Otema did not yet know who would be chosen as her successor, but she did not envy that person the job that lay ahead.

As Otema disembarked from the shuttle in the landing clearing, she moved slowly but precisely, not because she was frail but because her every movement was careful. She stood under the sunlight of Theroc, looking up to the turgid sea of treetops. She spread her green-skinned arms wide, closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath to inhale the song of the worldtrees.

Even through the undertone of hidden fear, from the forest’s drowsy mind she felt a flurry of welcome, a vibration of acceptance and happiness. She heard the greetings of fellow green priests who remained here, as well as a fainter echo of the others with their own treelings scattered across the Spiral Arm.

“Ah, thank you,” Otema said aloud, knowing the trees would hear, as would all the other priests. She felt revitalized, a dozen years younger.

Long before many green priests reached her age, they grew so weary of life that they allowed themselves to rejoin the forest—not dying in the usual sense, but letting themselves be absorbed into the database of trees so that their cells were incorporated in the ever-growing biological network. But Otema did not feel her work was finished yet.

Yarrod, a prominent green priest, met her at the shuttle. “We are glad to have you back with us, Otema. Father Idriss and Mother Alexa have also requested to see you, as soon as you feel refreshed.”

“I feel refreshed just by being back among the worldtrees, Yarrod. There is no sense waiting.” She turned and led the way, and the male priest hurried after her.

In the throne chamber, Idriss and Alexa wore formal garments of office and tall headdresses as they sat in their ornate chairs. Idriss beamed when he saw Otema, and Alexa stood up. “We are so glad you have returned, Ambassador, from your long and arduous service.” Alexa gave a soft smile. “The many years on Earth have drained you. You must be pleased to commune with the trees again, here on your home soil.”

Otema straightened her ambassadorial robes, which were dyed with various jungle symbols and thought patterns of the worldtrees. She bowed, her limbs flexible despite her extreme age. “Nevertheless, if the forest should ask me to continue in my capacity as ambassador, I would be glad to serve.”

Father Idriss raised a large dark-skinned hand. “Have no worry about that, Otema. Your duties are in the best of hands, and our relations with Earth will build upon what you have already accomplished.”