That made her think of her friend Angela reading aloud to her kids, the simple little stories that lulled her children to sleep while she parented remotely from work. Chew, chew, chew . . . Choo, choo, choo goes the train. Rosalyn smirked, and for a moment the jungle drums faded and eased. Rosalyn had offered to cover for Angela numerous times, even just for an hour or two so she could run home to be with her kids more. But Angela was too focused on the work. On the data. “These samples,” Angela would say, holding up a capped test tube, “are my children, too.”

Rosalyn’s AR display chimed softly, trying to coax her into a different kind of soda. The indicator blinked in the corner of her vision, a bright, vibrating cola can sprouting arms and legs as it danced to get her attention. She chewed loudly, to the point where she could only just hear the babbling of the artificial brook wending its way through the memorial markers and under the glass at her feet. If any other salvagers wandered through the garden during her lunch, she would quiet down the chewing, but only a little. With Owen and Griz stabbing her in the back, it was becoming clear that she didn’t have many friends around. Rosalyn would chew as loud as she damn well wanted.

“Did you know trees can talk to each other?”

At the entrance to the garden, framed by a yawning arch, stood her onetime crewmate Alexia Courtney. Rosalyn’s AR placed a blinking arrow over Alexia’s head with a streamer showing her public profile. Petite and athletic, Alexia managed to look glamorous even in the shapeless sack of a jumpsuit they were all given to wear. Her dark eyes were wide now, and she smiled, dimples denting her cheeks.

“Hey, Alexia,” Rosalyn said, rewinding the moment a few seconds and remembering the actual question. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Trees, mm? Is that a real thing, or is this some inside joke I’m not getting?”

Lunch was over. Shuffling boots and laughter filled the corridor behind Alexia. She came a few steps into the garden and lifted her fingers, wiggling them at Rosalyn. “Little roots talking to each other. Little wagging tongues.”

“I . . . see,” Rosalyn replied slowly. Well, Alexia’s pupils weren’t dilated unnaturally, so nobody had smuggled narcotics onto the campus. There were a few synthetic drugs coming up through the market, but Merchantia piss tested for those regularly. Maybe Alexia’s AR was screwy. Sometimes the wireless patches failed to load properly and it gave Rosalyn a monster headache. So did the booze withdrawal, of course, a one-two punch that kept her lazing in bed long after she should’ve gotten up. But that was all over. New leaf, and all.

“Are you feeling okay?” Rosalyn asked. “We launch so soon, maybe you should get a quick med check before we load up . . .”