"We're being split apart," Miss Anna continued, "just like the vision said we would. And nothing I've tried has brought them back to us for any length of time."
"Look at us," Miss Anna answered, lifting her head to nod toward the small group of colonists occupying the area beyond the half-finished fence. In addition to Sarah and the children, a few other people were engaged in more or less idle activities, mostly involving the exotic diversions of the garden. Nadia was reclined near the bank of the stream that meandered through the level, branching into pools and tumbling brooks. The water was crystal clear, but if one dipped one's fingers into it, as Nadia was doing, swirling colors formed in the ripples, creating something like a kinetic painting. Peter was sitting cross-legged in the patch of mushroom-like organisms that released a constantly changing and apparently infinite variety of novel and evocative scents. Cassius sat a distance apart, surrounded by a collection of books, near a wiry blue plant that made a sound similar to wind chimes. As far as Constance knew, the dour surgeon had said hardly a word to anyone since he had been found unconscious in the elevator shuttle after the disastrous expedition.
The overall effect was striking: Despite the small space and routine monotony of the colonist deck, life aboard Westward was characterized by lively business, with a litany of activities that kept everyone occupied most of the time. Something about the garden seemed to lull people into a placated stupor. Some of them experienced it as a peaceful euphoria. For others, it settled in as a detached melancholy. For Constance, it was a feeling of unfocused agitation in which every action she could think of seemed equally meaningless. During her time in this place, she had found only one experience that had relieved her of that feeling. Involuntarily, she turned her eyes from the placid group and looked in the direction of the grove.
"We're being split apart," Miss Anna continued, "just like the vision said we would. And nothing I've tried has brought them back to us for any length of time."
Constance disengaged from the older woman's arms, folding her own arms across her chest. "What if you're the one who's wrong?" She asked boldly. "Have you tried it?"
Miss Anna shook her head. "No," she answered, "and I won't. Not for anything."
"Why not?" Constance pressed.
Miss Anna raised a hand to her collar bone, touching the ring that Constance knew she wore as a pendant from her neck. "Because I know who I'd see," she replied quietly. "And I know my limits."
"Well, you can't go saying something is bad just because you're afraid of it," Constance reproved her. "What kind of attitude is that for a colonist? The way I see it, maybe it's the folks on this side who've lost the mission. Folks are going to the grove because it's taking them somewhere new—not their bodies, but their minds. Ain't that better than what's happening here?"
Miss Anna pressed her lips together in a stubborn expression. "You can't cleave the mind from the body, Constance." She stooped down to pick up her cane before using it to gesture toward the outer perimeter of the garden, where stars shown among ghostly wisps of nebula with pure and vibrant clarity. "Somewhere out there, there's a place for us. A real place, with soil and storms. A place for our bodies and our minds. This ain't it."