“Oh—and this is Silver,” Tony went on obediently. “She works in Hydroponics most of the time.” Silver nodded. Her medium-short hair drifted in soft platinum waves, and Leo wondered if it was the source of her nickname. She had the sort of strong facial bones that are sharp and unhappily awkward at thirteen, arrestingly elegant at thirty-five, now not quite halfway through their transition. Her blue gaze was cooler and less shy than the busy Claire’s, who was already distracted by some new demand from Andy. Claire retrieved the baby and re-attached his safety line.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Van Atta,” Silver added particularly. She pirouetted in air, with eyes that cried silently, Notice me! Leo noticed that all twenty of her manicured fingernails were lacquered pink.

Van Atta’s answering smile was secretive and smug. “Afternoon, Silver. How’s it going?”

“We have one more tube to plant after this one. We’ll be finished ahead of shift change,” Silver offered.

“Fine, fine,” said Van Atta jovially. “Ah—do try to remember to arrange yourself right-side up when you’re talking to a downsider, Sugarplum.”

Silver inverted herself hastily to match Van Atta’s orientation. Since the room was radially arranged, right-side-up was a purely Van Atta-centric direction, Leo noted dryly. Where had he met the man before?

“Well, carry on, girls.” Van Atta led out, Leo following, Tony bringing up the rear regretfully, looking back over his shoulder.

Andy had returned his attention to his mother, his determined little hands foraging up her shirt, on which dark stains were spreading in autonomic response. Apparently that was one bit of ancient biology the company had not altered. The milk dispensers were certainly ideally pre-adapted to life in free fall, after all. And even diapers had a heroic history in the dawn of space travel, Leo had heard.