She felt Abner's hand fall heavily on her shoulder. "Connie," the young man said with a quiet firmness that caught her attention. "Do you think maybe we'd better let the captain say his peace?"
To her recollection, Constance had never before spoken to Captain Carter, not even during her orientation upon arriving on Westward. She had seen him from time to time, but rarely, and from a distance. Like a stately aristocrat among lowly peasants, he had always seemed aloof, occupied with some business that most certainly did not involve her. A ridiculous notion, of course; every decision the captain made affected the colonists profoundly—a fact that could not be better exemplified than by their current situation.
Still standing in the doorway of the elevator shuttle, with Abner hovering curiously behind her, Constance meant to ask: "What are you doing here?" But instead the words that came out of her mouth were: "Where's Lamont?"
The captain's eyebrows lifted on his high brow in apparent surprise at the question. They were black, in contrast with his gray hair. "Mr. Townsend has gone to speak with another colonist, I believe. But I was told—"
"Who?" Constance demanded. She felt a hot surge of indignation, like a firecracker in her chest. She had grown accustomed to being the first person the newspaper looked for upon arrival in the tower.
She felt Abner's hand fall heavily on her shoulder. "Connie," the young man said with a quiet firmness that caught her attention. "Do you think maybe we'd better let the captain say his peace?"
Carter stepped aside, making an opening for Constance to exit the elevator more freely. She could see now that a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered at the edges of the clearing around the central column.
Still fuming, Constance brushed Abner's hand off her shoulder and stepped out onto the mossy carpet of the clearing.
"This garden is truly remarkable," Captain Carter admitted. His voice was rich and resonant, marked by a New England accent that was simultaneously quaint and regal. "I've heard descriptions, of course, but none of them really did it justice."
Looking at the captain's gray-blue eyes, she could see that he wasn't blandly engaging in diplomacy. They were taking in the exotic scene with intense curiosity, giving her the funny impression that his brass-pommelled cane was fixed in the ground, and that he was gripping it to prevent himself from wandering off to explore. He lifted one of his large hands to point in the general direction of the grove, where the graceful crests of apartments and common buildings now rose above the surreal canopy.
"I'm told," he continued, "that some of these structures were not here when you arrived. That they were constructed rather recently—under your direction."
"Captain Carter," Constance said, finally managing to find a pathway through the gauntlet of her thoughts, "It's been weeks since you sent us here to fend for ourselves while you tended to your ship. I want to know what's put it in your head to come and visit us now."
Carter, evidently surprised by the bluntness of her inquiry, appeared to be formulating a response when a voice that Constance had not heard in some time broke in from behind her. She turned to see Miss Anna Lightfoot-Owens, standing at the edge of the clearing with Lamont Townsend beside her.
"Isn't it obvious, Constance?" Anna smiled. "He's come to set things right. He's come to take us home."
"I've heard descriptions, of course, but none of them really did it justice."
This implies no photos, video, or recordings were taken or shared. Curious.