"All of us who are in the tower," Constance clarified. "We're in one camp now, all working together, and they're itching to hear what you've found outside the garden."
"Well, there was a lot of hullabaloo last time he came around, what with the botched expedition and all."
The familiar woman's voice came from behind Lamont and Abner, who turned around to see Constance Beckett emerging from the other side of the central column. The last time Lamont had seen her, she had been recovering from the debilitating effects of having left the garden, sunken-cheeked and semi-conscious. Now she looked like her old self again, and then some. She was square-shouldered, with her head held high and her orange coveralls comfortably open at the neck. Her sand-colored hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that suggested casual convenience. The overall effect was, Lamont admitted cautiously to himself, damned attractive.
Abner seemed to concur, because he sputtered: "Connie! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Are you feeling any better?"
"Night and day, Abner. I reckon you caught me in a funk before. Did you have any luck deciphering that language you were looking at?"
Lamont noticed that Abner's face was reddening. He didn't know what their last interaction had been like, but he got the impression that Beckett's question was functioning not unlike an apology, and the relief was evident in the way that Abner hastened to answer.
"Sort of, yes! Well, I don't think it's a descriptive language, I think it's a programming language. If my guess is correct, it's something like a memory tape, except that the information is stored in a multi-dimensional matrix…"
Constance lifted a hand, and Abner fell suddenly silent. "I want to hear all about it," she said, "but in a little while. I told the whole company that you'd have interesting things to share with them, and they're waiting for you."
"The company?" Abner asked.
"All of us who are in the tower," Constance clarified. "We're in one camp now, all working together, and they're itching to hear what you've found outside the garden."
Lamont looked at Rico curiously. "It is true, señor," Rico told him quietly. "Like I said, she has been busy."
"Why, sure, alright," Abner stammered, evidently off-balance. "Where can I find the, uh, company?"
Lamont guessed that, like himself, the young man was trying to put a finger on what was different about Miss Beckett. It was as if the biting edge of her restlessness had been hammered into an easy and confident sureness.
"Most of 'em are over that way," Constance answered, pointing a thumb toward the opposite side of the central column.
That was the general direction of the grove, Lamont thought.
"I'll be heading back there shortly," Constance continued. "But first, we need to talk." She turned and looked directly at Lamont.
"We do?" Lamont asked. The young woman met his gaze steadily as he pulled the butt of a forgotten cigarette out of his mouth just before it burned his lips, tossing it aside. "Alright, Miss Beckett. What's on your mind?"
"Not here," Constance said. She swept around Rico and stepped into the lift shuttle. "If you don't mind."