"I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, sorry, Mr. Ambassador, I'm getting ahead of myself. One of the big problems we have is keeping the plants trimmed back. I'm sure you realize the smush growth is a self-replicating body. What most people aren't aware of is that after the meat is harvested from the stems, and the pulp from inside them, there isn't anything we can do with a lot of the stem fiber. We can only recycle so much. The stems are pretty acidic . . . takes a lot of other waste to balance them out."
As his wife appeared in the entranceway, Waters took on the look of a man who had suddenly realized he was rambling. Getting himself back on track, he said, "So, anyway, to down a report into a memo, the Originals decided to try and find some personal uses for the leftover fiber. There are some who make pillows—strip the fibers down to weaving strings. Others carve stuff, build furniture, so on. But one of the first uses was as compost. Just took it home and threw it in the corner to have a smell that wasn't paint or ore oils. Anyway, a lot of things grow in acidic soil . . ." Waters spread his hands apart, finishing, "You can guess the rest."
As the trio turned toward Mrs. Waters, following her back out into the finished section of the apartment, Martel asked, "And every management apartment has one of these caverns dug back off of it?"
"Every apartment has one," corrected Waters easily. "Workers have to eat and breathe, too, you know."
"Those workers you were cursing over the bargaining table today, Samuel?"
Hawkes and Martel shot each other silent looks as the husband answered his wife.
"Yes, dear . . .those workers."
"A lot of them are our friends, you know."
"If they were our friends, they'd understand that I'm not the one keeping them from going outside." Turning so that all of the others present could see his face, Waters asked earnestly, "Does everybody think I want to live like an ant?" He paused for a moment, as uncomfortable as everyone else in the tiny bubble of silence, then asked again, "Do they?"
Before anyone could answer, the front monitor announced, "Carrier dropping off. Vincent Pebelion approaching."
Mrs. Waters moved to the front door. Indexing the lock, she slid the door open and ushered a couple and their two children inside. Hawkes's face opened into a smile as he greeted the man personally, saying, "Well, hello. I didn't think we'd be seeing each other again so soon." Turning to Martel, he said, "This is the man who saved my life last night."
The woman next to him smiled widely. "That's my Vinnie," she said.
Almost blushing, the man downplayed his role, saying, "I just came out the door and yelled. I had to do it, anyway—except the yelling, of course."
"Then," said Hawkes, extending his hand, "let me introduce you as a man whose sense of timing is one I appreciate."
Pebelion handed a covered dish he was carrying to Mrs. Waters so he could shake Hawkes's hand. As the ambassador introduced the part-time gardener and his family to Martel, Waters told them, "We're still trying to track down that Resolute fellow who jumped you. No luck so far, from what I hear. But anyway, after you reported the incident, I made it my business to find out who the hero was." Walking over to Pebelion, Waters punched him in the shoulder with obvious affection, saying, "Should have figured it was one of my chief vat-kickers.'' Then, turning back to the ambassador, he added, "When it got to me that it was Vinnie, I didn't see where you'd mind if we invited him to join us."
"No, of course not," answered Hawkes. "You never know, it's been a few hours. Someone must be out there getting ready to make another try for me."
Mrs. Waters laughed, telling her husband, "Didn't I tell you he was droll? He was like this the whole trip."
With that, the two wives sent the newly arrived children off to join the others. At the same time, turning his attention toward the covered dish Pebelion had handed Mrs. Waters, the ambassador asked, "And what's this?"
"It's a pot pie," answered Hawkes's savior. "Wheat crust, potato filling, sunflower seed topping."
"There's something more, isn't there, Vinn?" asked Waters, a trace of puzzlement crossing his face. "I mean beyond spice. I smell something . . . something good . . . but I,I . . . what is it?"
"I was going to let it be a surprise, Sam. Shoulda known I couldn't get past that nose of yours." Reaching toward Mrs. Waters, Pebelion pulled away the lid from the dish he had given her. As its contents' aroma filled the air, he said, "It's meat." Hawkes stared as he watched the looks that came over the faces of both Sam and Glenia Waters. As both of them simply gawked, Pebelion told them, "That's right—meat on Mars. The ambassador gave me it for savin' his life."
"Glenia's told me about meat," murmured Waters, his eyes locked on the covered dish. "She's managed to try it a few times when she's been off-world. I, you know . . . I mean . . ."
"It's really not good for you, you know," added Martel, somewhat embarrassed by everyone's amazement.
"Neither's this," added Pebelion, pulling a flask of clear liquid from his hip pocket. "But what's a party without the best of everything?"
The chatter broke down into the normal civilized responses friends make toward each other for sharing their best. All of which did not escape Hawkes's careful eye. As everyone moved to the apartment's dining area, he could not help but wonder,
If what he was seeing
