Her whole life had been fighting—fighting for autonomy, fighting for recognition, fighting for space. She had never planned to do anything but fight.
Constance turned her head to look at the glassy projections that rose up from the moss-like bed around the rock. In their crystalline surfaces, her face was multiplied dozens of times, subtly stretched and contorted. Each version of her face seemed to have a different story to tell. A story of tragedy and loss, of deprivation and isolation. A story of grit, determination, ambition.
And then all the fractured images seemed to coalesce into a single image: That of her lying, listless and helpless, on the carpeted floor of the gallery-like space several levels below. Too weak to get up, too weak to help herself or anyone else.
Constance Beckett, who at 15 years old was ready to try her luck as a prospector in the Kuiper Belt, spending years at a time in harsh isolation with only a few rough fellow miners as company. Who at 17 years old had worked and studied and pushed to prove herself worthy of joining the first group of humans who would wrestle their livelihoods out of the soil of an extrasolar planet. Her whole life had been fighting—fighting for autonomy, fighting for recognition, fighting for space. She had never planned to do anything but fight.
And yet, for all she knew, she would have wasted away on that softly molded carpet, surrounded by warm pastel lights. She would have died if Lamont and Rosemary had not come to save her. In the end, she was weak.
She felt a hot tear begin to form in the corner of her eye and quickly turned to wipe it away. "Maybe another time, Abner," she said roughly.
"You've been taking the vitamins?" Abner asked, venturing a hand out to touch her arm.
Constance nodded, keeping her face turned away while she regained her composure.
"It gets easier," the young man continued. "The vitamins seem to help, but I think that the less time we spend here in the garden, the easier it gets. I've been down to the landing bay three times now, and every time I feel a little less dizzy, a little stronger. I think it would be good for you. And Clyde—"
"I said another time, Abner Wade!" Constance snapped. She quickly slid from the rock-like formation, standing on her feet. "It doesn't matter what we do in this place one way or another. You mind your business and I'll mind mine."
She turned away and clenched her fists. She hadn't meant to speak to him so harshly. In her mind's eye, she had seen a vision of herself accompanying the stocky young man into the elevator, traveling down into the landing bay. She had seen herself feeling dizzy and weak, swooning, stumbling into his arms. She had seen him holding her, comforting her. Helping her. Saving her.
Wouldn't that be fine? She thought, and it burned like acid behind her eyes. Constance Beckett, damsel in distress, just what he must have always wanted.
Abner pulled back and rose to his feet as well, his expression clearly registering hurt and disappointment. "Have it your way, Connie."