When Sam arrived at the greenhouse entrance, Mrs. Jackson was already there, leaning against one of the posts, tapping her foot. How had she arrived so quickly? There weren’t any residential areas anywhere near this part of the ship. No commercial sections, either—only greenhouses and dead zones, neither of them rated for human habitation.

Though, who was going to stop an old woman from staying overnight in the greenhouses if she took a notion to it? Sam would have asked about it, but Mrs. Jackson’s glare didn’t encourage nosy questions. Instead, he said, “Sorry. I got here as soon as I could.”

Mrs. Jackson sniffed and said, “Follow me.”

Instead of leading Sam into the greenhouses as he expected, Mrs. Jackson led him off to one side and across a warr...

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