“Which decoration,” the woman asked, “were you planning to feed the city next spring?”
Felix lowered the municipal plan.
Behind Hester Gill, seed trays stood in neat rows beneath glass. He could see labels now. Distribution groups. Planting intervals. Names of neighborhoods he’d spent the morning trying to keep supplied with water.
He’d called it replaceable before asking what it replaced.
“That’s a fair question.”
“It’s an unanswered question.”
Bera stood beside him with the buffer footprint. The greenhouse had sound walls, a useful elevation, and a short route to the affected return. On the city’s old plan, it remained a decorative collection.
Hester set down one tray.
