In the red mirror, the People sought Humanity’s past, gleaned their present, and contemplated their future. The young colony placed human watchers to observe nest and sanctuary, they were watched in turn, as decisions were mused upon. They were treated with patience, as suits the benign. Only on execution of malignant actions were they considered threatening. As all threats must be, they were swiftly expelled.

  —Abalone Shell on the White Beach, A New History Of Theta Mars

  Sister Young found Madeline DuCourt in the ship’s garden. Red and green algae grew in thick mats within glass tanks. Fresh produce hung suspended from hydroponic columns. Mushrooms sent forth strong aromas from the vat she had opened, her hands black with growth medium.

  “Journeywoman,” Sister Young said in greeting, dipping her head.

  “Sister,” DuCourt replied, eyes remaining fixated on the caps and nets of mycelium that passed between her fingers. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to speak with you regarding the Teeth of the Lion,” Sister Young said. She had brought her desk with her, as she always did. “I understand you knew him personally before the Expulsion.”

  “Yes, I knew James. We worked together at the head offices. That was before…” she sighed heavily, “everything.”

  DuCourt replaced the lid on the vat, collected her vessel of fungi and sat on one of the many benches. The ship’s garden was a functional place. It grew only necessary botanicals. There were no flowers, but there were fruit trees, and green sprouts, and the smell of water in the air. They were not alone here. Crew worked quietly throughout, and off duty personnel strolled the isles, running fingertips over soft leaves.

  DuCourt rubbed medium between her forefinger and thumb. “Have you spent much time on planets, Sister Young?” she asked.

  “On occasion my mission takes me to world surfaces,” Sister Young said, unfolding the legs of her desk. “I have never stayed more than a short while.”

  “Soil, Sister Young, have you ever touched it? It is nothing like this medium used here. It is wild, alive.” A smile crossed the old woman’s face. “I never thought much of gardening before—I had no reason to think of it as anything but a trivial distraction then—thought I did care for a tree. Have you ever heard of a Sweet Willow, Sister Young?”

  “No, trees fall outside of my expertise.”

  “It’s not a Willow at all really. Nothing on Theta Mars was named correctly, when you look into the histories. That first colony ship was packed with settlers. Farmers and miners and a few medical doctors, not xeno-botanists. So they named things for what they looked like, not what they were. Sweet Willow, to them, looked like a willow. I can’t say that I know that it does. I’ve never seen a willow. I suppose they were homesick, after so long in space, I know I am.” DuCourt paused, tracing the lines on her palms with her eyes.

  “If we could return to the subject of the Teeth—” Sister Young attempted to interject. DuCourt continued rambling as though without interruption.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Warning: Venomous Man-Eater. That’s what the plaque on the planter said. The Wyrm Corps had brought the tree up from the southern jungles nearly a century before I started working at the building. I was just a secretary then, and thought I would be always. It grew in the front courtyard, all twisted and dark. It reeked of rotten fruit and dripped thick sap that stained my good shoes and the hems of my skirts. Sweet Willow is carnivorous, you see, there were other plants like it, creeping jeanies, lemon ivy, of course I didn’t know about those then. All I knew was that the Journeymen who brought the tree home with them from an expedition were the experts on all life on Theta Mars, and if they had put up that placard, then who was I to ignore their warning?” she chuckled, rubbing idly at the flaking medium as it dried. “Then one day, I looked out into the courtyard and what do I see but the new Journeyman, sitting on the planter’s edge poking at the Sweet Willow’s roots. I went out to warm him. I thought he must not have seen the sign, and he was so young, barely eighteen, I dismissed entirely that he had already earned his Journeyman’s blue.

  “I asked him if he knew that tree was dangerous, and he showed me where its thorns had been pruned. I asked him what he was doing, and he told me ‘feeding it a ham sandwich.’” she laughed again, eyes misty, lost on far away memories. “The Sweet Willow has a poison in the sap that lures and kills insects. For a human to be harmed, you’d have to drink it like syrup. Even still, the Wyrm Corps pruned its thorns, and shooed away the bugs, sequestered that willow in the colony capital to shiver and choke on smog. They labeled it dangerous a century ago. I and many others believed them, but James didn’t. He always sought the truth of things, without fear.

  “He had me sit beside him on the planter’s edge and mixed the sap with water. Diluted, it smelled of cherry blossoms. Have you ever smelled it? Theta Martian imitation cherry perfume? It was one of our luxury exports, but we didn’t know how it was made, where it came from, we didn’t know many things, we ignorant many. We only lived there, you see, we didn’t cherish the planet as we should have. I’ve always wondered why he was the first—the only—to meet them where they were, where they had always been, since our ships made planet-fall. He might have been the only one who was looking.”

  “There was no sign at this time that he was considering any of the actions he later took?” Sister Young asked. She had never smelled this perfume the Journeywoman spoke of. Luxury exports were outside the expertise of the order of Learning.

  “How could there have been?” DuCourt said, voice strained. “He didn’t know her then, as anything more than a specimen of study.”

  “You hold to your previous statements that the Teeth of the Lion is not the instigator of the colony expulsion?” Sister Young questioned.

  DuCourt’s mouth drew into a hard line. “You’ve read my statements then? What is this, Sister Young? Another inquisition?”

  “No, Journeywoman, it is not,” she said. “But I must follow the tenants of my order.”

  “You must, must you?” DuCourt said softly. “What if your order proves to be wrong? Mine was.”

  “I am not aboard this ship to question philosophy,” Sister Young said. “I am here to learn the truths. Now, is there anything you are willing to tell me about the Teeth of the Lion?”

  “I do not know the man of whom you speak,” said DuCourt, fists clenching.

  “No? You were reported to have sought him out shortly before the kidnappings began, before the terror attacks on Capstone Industries—”

  “If you must call anyone a terrorist, save it for that bastard Capstone!” hissed DuCourt. “Yes, I knew James Haddock. I knew him very well. He was a dear friend of mine. I searched for him when he disappeared, and left flowers at the monuments with his mother. I met with the man who returned, yes, but he is not James. That man is what was left of what Capstone failed to destroy. He was James once, but he isn’t anymore. I ask you, Sister, who is responsible for that?”

  The Journeywoman stood, and left the garden, forgetting her basket of mushrooms behind on the bench. Sister Young did not follow her, remaining in her seat to complete her shorthand record of the conversation.