imagine. Vyborg will need guidelines from you as to who should be monitored on a regular basis. He will also need personnel and/or automated equipment to accomplish said monitoring.
DEPARTURE Plus 268 Days
And this is where we grow most of our fruit," Holly was saying as she and Kris Cardenas strolled leisurely through the orchard's long straight rows of trees: oranges on their left, limes on their right. Grapefruit and lemons were behind them; they were approaching apples, pears, and peaches. The trees were lined up as precisely as marching cadets.
Cardenas had arrived aboard the habitat the day before. Now she seemed lost in wonder. "I haven't seen a tree in so many years...." She turned and laughed, head upturned. "Not one tree since I left Selene and here you've got a whole orchard full of them! It's like California, almost!"
Holly asked, "There aren't any trees on Ceres?"
"Not a one," replied Cardenas, a bright smile on her youthful face. "Nothing but hydroponics tanks."
"We have hydroponics farms, too," Holly said, "as a backup in case any troubles come up with the crops."
"And bees!" Cardenas exclaimed. "Aren't those bees?"
"Uh-huh. We need them for pollinating the trees. They make their hives in those white boxes over there." Holly pointed toward a set of square white skeps sitting among the trees. Laughing, she added, "Would you believe, one of my hardest problems was finding a couple of beekeepers."
Cardenas looked at her with those brilliant blue eyes of hers. "You know, you really don't realize how much you miss open spaces and trees and ... well, even grass, for god's sake. Not until you see something like this again."
They walked on through the orchard, heading for the farms out beyond the trees. Eberly had given Holly the task of showing Dr. Cardenas around the habitat. He called it orientation; Holly called it fun.
As they walked through the neatly aligned rows of trees, they heard a thin, quavering voice off to their left. Singing.
"Who's that?" Cardenas wondered.
Holly ducked through the low branches of a young peach tree and cut toward the edge of the orchard, Cardenas close behind her.
The orchard ended in an earthen embankment that led down to the irrigation canal. Water flowed smoothly through the sloping concrete walls of the canal. Up ahead of them they saw a solitary man lugging a double armful of sticks and leafy bushes, singing in a high, scratchy voice. Spanish, Holly thought. It sounds like a Spanish folk song.
"Hello," Cardenas called to the man.
He dropped his burden and squinted through the late afternoon sunlight at them. Holly saw he was elderly. No, he looked old. Lean body half bent with age, skinny arms, wispy white hair that floated about his head like a halo, scraggly dead white beard. She had never seen a truly old person before. He wore a droopy shirt that had once been white, sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and shapeless, baggy blue jeans.
"Hola!" he called back to them.
The two women approached him. "We heard you singing," Holly said.
"It was very lovely," Cardenas added.
"Thank you," said the man. "I am Diego Alejandro Ignacio Romero. My friends call me Don Diego, because of my age. I am not truly a nobleman."
The women introduced themselves. Then Holly asked, "You must work for the maintenance department, right?"
Don Diego smiled, revealing perfect teeth. "My occupation is in the communications department. On Earth, I taught history. Or tried to."
"What are you doing here, then?"
"The Church was not happy with my studies of the Counterreformation and the Inquisition."
"No, I mean, working out here by the canal."
"Oh, this? This is my hobby. I am attempting to create a little wilderness."
He gestured along the canal, and Holly saw that there were bushes and small trees set up haphazardly along the sloping packed-earth banks. Someone had moved a few good-sized rocks here and there, as well.
"Wilderness?"
"Yes," said Don Diego. "This habitat is too
DEPARTURE Plus 268 Days
And this is where we grow most of our fruit," Holly was saying as she and Kris Cardenas strolled leisurely through the orchard's long straight rows of trees: oranges on their left, limes on their right. Grapefruit and lemons were behind them; they were approaching apples, pears, and peaches. The trees were lined up as precisely as marching cadets.
Cardenas had arrived aboard the habitat the day before. Now she seemed lost in wonder. "I haven't seen a tree in so many years...." She turned and laughed, head upturned. "Not one tree since I left Selene and here you've got a whole orchard full of them! It's like California, almost!"
Holly asked, "There aren't any trees on Ceres?"
"Not a one," replied Cardenas, a bright smile on her youthful face. "Nothing but hydroponics tanks."
"We have hydroponics farms, too," Holly said, "as a backup in case any troubles come up with the crops."
"And bees!" Cardenas exclaimed. "Aren't those bees?"
"Uh-huh. We need them for pollinating the trees. They make their hives in those white boxes over there." Holly pointed toward a set of square white skeps sitting among the trees. Laughing, she added, "Would you believe, one of my hardest problems was finding a couple of beekeepers."
Cardenas looked at her with those brilliant blue eyes of hers. "You know, you really don't realize how much you miss open spaces and trees and ... well, even grass, for god's sake. Not until you see something like this again."
They walked on through the orchard, heading for the farms out beyond the trees. Eberly had given Holly the task of showing Dr. Cardenas around the habitat. He called it orientation; Holly called it fun.
As they walked through the neatly aligned rows of trees, they heard a thin, quavering voice off to their left. Singing.
"Who's that?" Cardenas wondered.
Holly ducked through the low branches of a young peach tree and cut toward the edge of the orchard, Cardenas close behind her.
The orchard ended in an earthen embankment that led down to the irrigation canal. Water flowed smoothly through the sloping concrete walls of the canal. Up ahead of them they saw a solitary man lugging a double armful of sticks and leafy bushes, singing in a high, scratchy voice. Spanish, Holly thought. It sounds like a Spanish folk song.
"Hello," Cardenas called to the man.
He dropped his burden and squinted through the late afternoon sunlight at them. Holly saw he was elderly. No, he looked old. Lean body half bent with age, skinny arms, wispy white hair that floated about his head like a halo, scraggly dead white beard. She had never seen a truly old person before. He wore a droopy shirt that had once been white, sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and shapeless, baggy blue jeans.
"Hola!" he called back to them.
The two women approached him. "We heard you singing," Holly said.
"It was very lovely," Cardenas added.
"Thank you," said the man. "I am Diego Alejandro Ignacio Romero. My friends call me Don Diego, because of my age. I am not truly a nobleman."
The women introduced themselves. Then Holly asked, "You must work for the maintenance department, right?"
Don Diego smiled, revealing perfect teeth. "My occupation is in the communications department. On Earth, I taught history. Or tried to."
"What are you doing here, then?"
"The Church was not happy with my studies of the Counterreformation and the Inquisition."
"No, I mean, working out here by the canal."
"Oh, this? This is my hobby. I am attempting to create a little wilderness."
He gestured along the canal, and Holly saw that there were bushes and small trees set up haphazardly along the sloping packed-earth banks. Someone had moved a few good-sized rocks here and there, as well.
"Wilderness?"
"Yes," said Don Diego. "This habitat is too
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