The leaves were the thin blue of a cloudless lateafternoon summer sky. The trunks were a dark midnight blue.

"You haven't been here since before the most recent growth cycle, have you?" Dr. Schumar asked.

"No," St. Clair replied.

He hadn't been to the greenhouse in months. The trees stretched up from a series of squat rectangular boxes filled with chemically treated soil. The tallest was now almost thirty feet high. The last time St. Clair had seen them, the biggest was less than ten feet.

St. Clair was struck by the beauty of the trees. "Only God can make one of these, my ass," he said under his breath.

They were breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. The instant the word formed in his brain he realized how true it was. On every level.

"They're growing faster with each passing cycle," Schumar was saying. "Frankly, the growth spurts in a tree this age are incredible. And even a little disconcerting when you think about it." As he looked up at the soft blue leaves of the trees, his face was grave. "I'm glad we have them under lock and key. There's no telling what might-"

"Wait a minute," Hubert St. Clair interrupted all at once. "What the hell is that?"

Even as he pointed up under a tightly bundled knot of leaves, he was scrambling onto the edge of a planting box.

It became more difficult to breathe the closer he got to the trees. He had been told they needed to be spaced far apart in the beds. If they were any closer together, it would be impossible to breathe while standing between them.

Head tipped back, St. Clair examined the underside of the leaf cluster.

Some kind of blue growths had sprouted up on the branches. Hidden beneath the leaves, they looked almost like bumpy beehives. He didn't see any insects.

"Dammit, you've got some kind of infestation here," St. Clair snapped. "Get some DDT before we lose these blasted things altogether."