Greenhouse

by Stephanie Mylchreest

  Rich insisted on retrieving Ada’s pack which she hid on the beach when she came ashore. When they were in the pit, she gave him detailed directions as to where she buried it. It’s risky for Rich to be out in the open and I’m eager for him to make it back safely, but I see no sign of him yet.

  Back inside the tree’s thick leafy curtain, I crouch down next to Ada and relight the small candle I left by her head. I bathe her forehead with a wet compress. Ada’s condition improves after I administer melaleuca tonic to reduce her fever and help her eat a little bread soaked in water.

  I evaluate her injuries in the dim light. Her right eye is swollen painfully shut, and she is covered in bruises. She’s so different to people on the island. She’s thin; her skin is as white as milk and her hair the pale brown of a field mouse. She opens her eyes and gives me a small smile. I am embarrassed to be caught staring at her and turn to my pack.

  “Are you hungry? Would you like more bread?” I ask.

  “Yes please,” she replies. She sits up and rests her head on the broad tree trunk. She has her eyes closed again and is breathing deeply. “It’s amazing,” she whispers as her eyes flick open. I look at her quizzically. “The forest, I mean. I have never seen trees this big. Even the digital images and books on old-growth forests don’t do this justice. It’s so beautiful. The smells and sounds are so vivid, so alive.”

  “The forest is nice, I guess. We find lots of useful plants.” I shrug. “So you have books where you are from?”

  “Lots of books, on almost any subject you could imagine. Most of them are digital, of course,” she replies. I think back on the journey Delphine and I took to retrieve just a handful, I think about what those books cost us.

  Ada is talking again: “It’s disorienting not to be spinning. I mean, you’re spinning too, but the scale of the Earth makes the Coriolis effects practically negligible.”

  I’m not sure what to say. We plunge into an awkward silence for a few moments. “What happened to your friends?” I ask. “The ones who came back with you from… where you came from.”

  “Their names were Thomas and Maria,” she says sadly. “The return in the capsule was awful. They warned us it would be rough, but it was like being in the center of a space junk collision. Maria and Thomas were nauseous by the time our capsule crashed into the ocean. We had to evacuate immediately. The crash disoriented us and the swim to the island was hard. They didn’t make it…” Ada voice cracks and she wipes her eyes. We plunge into silence.

  “Rich should be back soon,” I finally say. “He’s gone to get your pack. Apparently you said it was important.” I remind myself not to buy into the fear preying on my mind. We’ve hunted enough in the forest for me to know Rich can move unseen when he needs to.

  “Thank you. Thank you to both of you. I was going mad in that pit. It was so dark and putrid.”

  “Why did they put you in there?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

  “When I told them my story—about needing to get to Washington because my people on the station require urgent assistance, they detained me for the rest of the day in someone’s house. I don’t recall his name but he seemed important. Several men came and interrogated me. They hit me when they didn’t like my answers. Then I was taken there, to the pit, in the middle of the night.” Ada shudders. “There’s nothing like the pit on the station. The oxygenators and ventilation systems mean there is always noise and clean air no matter where you are, even in the core. We always have light. I’ve never felt so… so empty before. I never want to go back there. I think I would rather die.”

  I let Ada’s words hang in the air for a moment before asking: “What’s the station?”

  “It’s where I was born. We’ve lived generations on the station. The founders sent it into orbit hundreds of years ago—the year 2100, when catastrophic climate events had wiped out most of civilization. Humanity was on the brink of losing everything, so they conceived Project Renaissance as a way to safeguard our greatest achievements.”

  I want to ask more but I think I hear something: “Put the candle out,” I whisper. Ada blows out the flame and we are in darkness once again. There are twigs snapping underfoot and we huddle closer together involuntarily. I hold my breath until there is the unmistakable sound of Rich whistling. I return his call with two short, sharp whistles of my own and next thing, Rich pushes his way into the willow tree.

  In the darkness I can just make him out. “I’m so glad to see you,” I say. “Are you still limping? Did anyone notice you?”

  “I’m a little sore, actually,” grimaces Rich.

  “Abigail isn’t here yet,” I say to Rich. “I don’t think she came looking for me when I was at the pit. I’m sure she has heard you and Ada are out though. She should be along soon and we can figure out how to get Mother and Delphine out.”

  As I speak, I relight the candle using a flint. Rich nods but seems distracted. He shifts his hands and in the solitary candlelight I realize he carries something unfamiliar, which he hands to Ada who accepts it eagerly. I ask Rich to sit by me so I can examine his leg while Ada inspects the pack which is black, rectangular and solid.

  “I tried to open it but I couldn’t figure it out,” says Rich.

  He winces as I gently dab more healing balm into his gunshot wound. He is lucky that the bullet merely grazed him. I grit my teeth as I imagine Father aiming his gun at Rich. It’s unfathomable that our own father could have shot him. It seems against the laws of nature somehow.

  Ada is fiddling with the pack and I watch with interest. “First, I have to place one hand here and one on the other side,” says Ada, pointing to a dark grey square on either side of the container. She places one hand on each square. “Then I need to press for five counts. I am the only one who can open the container. It’s programmed to recognize my hand print.”

  “Your hand print?” I ask.

  “Yes, we all have a unique hand print.” Rich and I gaze at her blankly. “The lines on your hand,” she says as the pack springs open. I turn my palm up and trace the lines. “No two people have the same markings. The container will only open if I place my hands on the outside,” continues Ada absently as she reaches inside.

  “What do you have in there?” asks Rich eagerly. We both lean forward.

  Ada pulls out two shiny metallic rectangular prisms, which reflect the dancing candle flame like a mirror. I’ve never seen anything like them. The closest object I can relate the prisms too is the surface of a cleaned metal dagger. But these are different. They’re smoother, more perfectly formed. Ada also takes out a jar of pills and swallows a couple without water.

  “It’s vitamins and antibiotics,” she says in my direction.

  I nod as though I know what that means.

  “And these,” she says, picking up the silver prisms again, “will help you understand more about the station and why I am here.” She hands a prism to each of us and I turn the object over in my hand.

  The silver prism appears to be reflective, polished metal, but it is light, like the plastic we find everywhere. We collect any plastic we can use and I’ve seen many types. The plastic objects are a legacy from before the Great Floods and somehow survived longer than almost everything else. But what I hold in my hand is a marvel. I’m awed and curious and burning to know more.

  Ada continues to rummage in the pack that Rich retrieved: “You’ll need these too,” she says. She hands me a small, unevenly shaped object I hold carefully in the palm of my hand. “Like this,” she says, reaching over to Rich. She places the object in Rich’s ear where it sits visible in the entrance to his ear canal. Rich gingerly touches his ear. He looks uncomfortable but not in pain.

  “What is it?” I hold the object up to my eye. I am not keen to insert it into my ear.

  “It will let you listen to Commander Rothman.” Something passes over Ada’s face as she says the commander’s name. “She recorded a message on the devices you’re holding. It will transmit the soun
d into the earpiece and you can view her on the screen. Here, let me help you.” Ada takes the earpiece and pushes it gently into my ear. It is unpleasant and dulls my hearing. “You turn the screen on here,” she says, pressing an invisible button on the prism.

  The prism blinks to life and a blue light shines from what Ada has called ‘the screen’. There are words written on the screen and Ada slides her finger over the prism, moving the words around and somehow manipulating what we see. I glance at Rich and he is craning to watch. I try to catch his eye but he is completely mesmerized.

  “It’s amazing,” I whisper. Neither Ada nor Rich acknowledge me.

  Words continue to travel across the screen under Ada’s touch, until an image of a woman replaces them. Her mouth is open as though she is about to speak and she has the same pale white skin as Ada. Her hair is bright red, unlike any hair color I’ve seen before. The picture remains motionless on my screen while Ada helps to turn on Rich’s silver prism.

  “Press here for a few moments—” Ada says, “—when you are ready to watch.”

  We both turn to each other, a mixture of excitement and bewilderment passing between us. Rich shrugs at me and then grins eagerly, his face illuminated in the dark by the strange blue glow emanating from the silver prism. He shuffles a little closer. We sit side by side and settle with our backs against the tree, holding the prisms and the images of the wonderful red-haired woman in our hands. I press and hold the screen for a few seconds as Ada directed.

  “My name is Mary Rothman,” says the woman on the screen. Her voice is melodic and gentle and she speaks like Ada with an unusual lilt to her words. I watch her on the screen, completely enthralled. “I am the commander of Station MMC and one of the two hundred and ninety-three survivors left on board. We have been orbiting the Earth since the dramatic rise in sea levels and cascading climatic impacts that occurred hundreds of years ago.”

  Mary smiles thinly at us through the screen, her eyes betraying her stress. “Over the ensuing centuries, humans on Earth have lost all but the most primitive technology. Here on the station, we have retained much of what has been lost. Let me show you.” The picture on the screen zooms over Mary’s shoulder and focuses on what looks like a garden behind her.

  “This is our food growing room. We call it the Green Zone,” continues Mary’s voice. I look at Rich and he is completely lost to the wonder of the images on his small screen. On my screen, Mary is still talking about the Green Zone: “We use solar panels to generate electricity which we use for heat, light and to recycle air and water.”

  The screen shows a vast room with a strange curved roof, like the surface of a ball, and huge windows, through which I can see stars that appear to be rotating. I look more closely and I’m certain that it’s the night sky I’m seeing through the glass windows of the station. The plants in the Green Zone are green and lush, not unlike our own fields at harvest time, and Mary strolls down a smooth path between the planter boxes.

  “We grow vegetables like potatoes, kale and soybeans. We also grow maize and this,” she says, sweeping her hand towards a large square tank filled with water, “is where the barramundi and tilapia live within our aquaponic system. You can observe the pump here, which brings the water from the fish tank through to our plants and another pump here, which transports the clean water filtered by our plants back to the fish tank.

  “You may notice here that the roof is curved. The station comprises a series of hollow rings on a long axis that spin to produce a centrifugal force that simulates gravity. This force is almost equal to the force of gravity on Earth and allows us to walk around the station’s rings and external corridors.”

  A diagram of the station replaces Mary’s face. Mary continues: “There are one hundred and twenty-five rings remaining. We have lost twenty-five rings over the last several hundred years, mainly through collisions with space junk. We use some rings for food harvesting, like the Green Zone, and we also have recycling, sleeping, and technical rings. If you come with me, I will show you more.”

  The screen shows Mary’s back and I can observe her clothes, which are black and form fitting. A wide, black belt circles her waist. She walks towards a large metal door that opens automatically as she approaches, without her even touching it or doing anything discernable to make it happen. Then she walks down a long passage lit with brightly glowing lights along the floor. She passes a man and a woman, also dressed in black, who walk casually in the opposite direction. They smile and wave at the screen. I can’t help smiling.

  “This is the external corridor,” says Mary. “It links everything so we can avoid entering the microgravity central core as we walk between rings. I will show you one of our sleeping residences next.” She stops in front of another door and it also slides open as she nears. She greets a handful of people, all pale-skinned and dressed in black. They are relaxing in a common area. Some are sitting on small, soft chairs reading books. Others are happily playing games or writing at tables that are built into the walls.

  “Hi Rupert,” Mary says to a teenage boy.

  “Hi Mary.” The fair-haired boy grins at me from the screen. “Would you like to show them my room?” he asks. The conversation sounds forced and unnatural. Mary smiles and he leads us to a narrow door.

  The boy touches his hand to the wall and the door opens to reveal a small room with a low bed in the center. The bed has soft white sheets that are tucked neatly over the mattress. One wall contains shelves that run from the ground to the ceiling and I’m startled to see that each shelf is full of books. Rupert opens a hidden door on the opposite wall. Rows of black clothes hang in ordered rows.

  “…and this,” says Rupert, “is my hygiene cubicle.” He gestures to the right of the clothes where there is a small room with a metal outlet, a gleaming white seat with a hole in the middle and a panel of silver buttons on the wall.

  Rupert indicates to the silver panel: “This button releases several minutes of warm water. We collect all the water and recycle it. We recycle everything on the station. It’s a closed system and we need to ensure everything is carefully rebalanced. Once I am finished, warm air dries me and ensures every last drop of water is collected in the receptacle.

  “Finally, if I press this button, the cubicle switches to lavatory mode. That goes to a different place and is treated before being returned to the water supply.” The boy smiles brilliantly. I’m a little overawed by what I’m seeing; it’s almost too fantastic to believe.

  “Thank you Rupert,” says Mary. Mary’s smiling face fills the screen once more. “I’ll show you one of our communal kitchens and dining rings now. We have five rings devoted to food preparation and dining. Most of us chose to eat at our closest kitchen but we are free to move as we wish through the station. Freedom of movement is important to us, particularly given how restricted our space is.”

  The screen shows Mary waving goodbye to the group in the sleeping quarters. I hold the screen closer to my face. I want to take in every detail of this strange world. I look up at Ada’s pale face. She is watching us intently. She smiles at me when I catch her eye. I return her smile warily.

  Mary has now entered another of the rings. This room is open and bright with long white tables filling most of the space. Round stools are just visible underneath the tables. The room is ordered, crisp and clean, in stark contrast to our village halls.

  I remember the revel in West Tisbury’s village hall. The room had been overwhelmed with noise and tantalizing odors; the intensity of the food and music only amplified by the multitude of people. It was a veritable carnival of life.

  Mary’s voice starts in my ear again and I’m drawn from my reverie. On the screen, a group of people sits at a table eating. One of them calls to Mary: “Come and join us, Commander!” Then there is Mary’s laughter, an intimate, inviting sound.

  “What’s for lunch today?” she asks.

  “We’ve got lentil and tomato soup,” says one woman shyly.

  The f
ace of the man who called to Mary to join them now fills the screen. He speaks buoyantly and gestures to the platters of food spread over the table: “We’ve also got grilled fish and roasted vegetables.”

  “This is Red,” says Mary. “He’s one of the techs on the station and manages our 3-D printers.”

  “There are lots of interesting things to do on the station,” says a softly spoken man just visible behind Red. His gaze rests on something off screen. “I’m one of the people responsible for maintaining the Collection.” His voice drifts off and Mary clears her throat. Her face appears at the center of the screen and she smiles reassuringly.

  “George is right, there are many interesting things to do here. Our physical library of books is vast. The founders wanted to save as many as possible and we devote a lot of time to their maintenance and upkeep. We also have digital versions of all our books, art and music.

  “You may wonder why the station exists,” says Mary. She waves goodbye to the group eating lunch and walks towards the door of the dining ring. She walks while she talks and we follow her out into the external corridor. “Our history is inextricably linked to the catastrophic and widespread floods and climatic disasters of the twenty-first and twenty-second centuries. The Government of the United States, fearing the worst after global sea levels rose rapidly and the ensuing widespread anarchy, funded Project Renaissance.

  “What’s the Government of the United States?” I mouth to Ada.

  “After,” she says. She gestures back at the screen.

  “Civilization as it was, before the climate crisis, unraveled quickly,” continues Mary. “My ancestors, the first brave souls that boarded the station all those centuries ago, were charged with the preservation of knowledge and culture. We call it the Collection. Our ultimate plan has always been to return to Earth with this body of knowledge—the Collection—that we have worked so hard to safeguard.”

  Mary pauses and in the moment of quiet I hear someone approaching the willow tree. I turn to Ada and she has heard it too. I elbow Rich and he extinguishes the light. We all hastily shift behind the trunk, away from the person moving through the forest. It is lighter outside now. Dawn is approaching and I hadn’t realized.