Constance felt her cheeks warm with indignation. She took a step closer to the newspaperman, so that the smoke of his cigarette tickled her nose, and lowered her voice menacingly. "We ain't an inconvenience. And this ain't a mistake. We're colonists, and this is a colony."
Lamont winced visibly. "That's not what I was trying to convey," he admitted.
"But it's true?" Constance pressed.
"All right, yes. There's still work to be done repairing Westward. In fact, there are some technicians down in the landing bay right now looking for parts that we might requisition to help."
"Well, that would be a fine thing," Constance said sarcastically. "Monty, you saw what happened to me and the rest of the expedition when we left the garden before. Even if folks have been taking the supplements—and I know for a fact that not everyone has—they'd be useless for days. Maybe longer, and maybe worse than useless. How's a crew that's trying to repair the ship gonna feel about that?"
"Chief Santana is diverting resources now," Lamont explained. "Everybody understands that there will be some temporary inconvenience, but that's the price we pay for making this mistake in the first place. Best to pay it now while we still can."
Constance felt her cheeks warm with indignation. She took a step closer to the newspaperman, so that the smoke of his cigarette tickled her nose, and lowered her voice menacingly. "We ain't an inconvenience. And this ain't a mistake. We're colonists, and this is a colony." She waved a hand in the direction that the path led. While they had stopped to talk, the others ahead of them had disappeared along its meandering length.
"All I'm asking is that you hear the captain out, Constance," Lamont implored quietly. "As long as you're here, you're being influenced by the tower. The decisions you think you're making may not be your own."
"Maybe," Constance admitted, cocking her head. "Or maybe y'all don't like it when we actually think for ourselves." Without waiting for a response, she pivoted on her heel and resumed her walk up the path, not knowing or caring whether Lamont was still behind her.
For a few minutes, she fumed as she walked, her eyes fixed on the translucent flagstones that illuminated softly in response to footfalls. Finally, she forced herself to look up and gauge her surroundings. She knew from experience that one had to frequently check for landmarks in the distance in order to arrive at one's intended destination. The paths wound in an ambling way around a multitude of distracting features, frequently splitting in forks or crossing asymmetrical intersections. It was easy to lose one's way and end up in an entirely different destination than intended. This was especially true because the layout of the garden appeared to be in a state of slow but constant flux. It would be difficult to specify how any particular feature might have changed from one day to the next, but Constance was certain that the layout of the place was considerably different than when they had first arrived. Fortunately, the new communal structures that the colonists had lately erected in cooperation with the garden served as an easy point of reference, rising visibly over most of the pastel canopy. Thinking of it, Constance shook her head at the others' ignorance. All they could see was the babbling brooks, the musical crystals, the diversions. What they mistook for a colony, she now understood to be a playpen. Perhaps it was time to set them right.