“I can see that it must be,” he agreed, still staring out. He drank deeply. Had he switched, then, from resisting sleep through alcohol to pursuing it?

“This horizon is so crowded and cluttered, compared to home. I’m afraid I find these sealed arcologies a touch claustrophobic.”

“And where is home, for you?” He turned to watch her.

“South Continent. Vandeville.”

“So you grew up around terraforming.”

“The Komarrans would say, that wasn’t terraforming, that was just soil conditioning.” He chuckled along with her, at her deadpan rendition of Komarran techno-snobbery. She continued, “They’re right, of course. It wasn’t as though we had to start by spending half a millennium altering an entire planet’s atmosphere. The only thing that made it hard for us, back in the Time of Isolation, was trying to do it with practically no technology. Still… I loved the open spaces at home. I miss that wide sky, horizon to horizon.”

“That’s true in any city, domed or not. So you’re a country girl?”

“In part. Though I liked Vorbarr Sultana when I was at university. It had other kinds of horizons.”

“Did you study botany? I noticed the library rack on the wall of your plant room. Impressive.”

“No. It’s just a hobby.”

“Oh? I could have mistaken it for a passion. Or a profession.”

“No. I didn’t know what I wanted, then.”

“Do you know now?”

She laughed a little, uneasily. When she didn’t answer, he merely smiled, and strolled along the balcony examining her plantings. He stopped before the skellytum, squatting in its pot like some bright red alien Buddha, tendrils raised in a pose of placid supplication. “I have to ask,” he said plaintively, “what is this thing?”

“It’s a bonsai’d skellytum.”

“Really! That’s a — I didn’t know you could do that to a skellytum. They’re usually five meters tall. And a really ugly brown.”