Mouse approached the massive, metal doors. She knocked once, the door swinging open soon after. She expected a wide smile. In the months since they arrived back home, they hadn't talked much. They cast each other a smile, but something was off. Rhey noticed how quick it faded, how eager he was to avert his eyes.
“Hey Rhey,” he said, his voice low, and timid. “Thanks for coming.”
“Matt? Is everything okay?” she replied.
“Yes and no. Come on in.”
She stepped through and immediately noticed a rise in temperature. She felt a drop of water fall on her cheek. She brushed it away, looked up, and marveled at the rows of flowers above her, each row stacked on top of the other from floor to ceiling. “I’ve never been in here before.”
Oracle nodded, and laughed. “We have reasons for that. We don’t let many people in these days. There's a complicated history.”
Mouse sighed and shook her head. “So this is what you do with your time off? More work?”
“” That’s actually why I asked you to come.”
“What’s wrong?” Mouse asked.
“Stacy’s pregnant.”
Mouse’s smiled from ear to ear, her eyes wide. “Congragulations. Why is that bad? You seem so solemn.”
“I’m thinking of going homebound. I’m leaving the crew. I gotta be here for them. I don’t think I could leave them for months at a time.”
“Oh.” Mouse was silent for a moment. She wasn’t angry. She was sad. She hated the idea of losing someone on her crew when they only just started out. “That’s understandable. Don’t worry, it’s not like I'll be mad.”
“Thanks. It wasn’t the plan, but that’s how things go.”
Mouse scoffed. “Don't I know it. Take care of yourself. Homebound isn’t easy from what I hear.”
“I will, don’t you worry. You guys be safe out there.”
The Valentine Apiary saved humanity. We were a dying race, stranded on a distant rock, further from home than we'd ever been before. In its luscious gardens, we began a long and arduous journey, the whole of humanity tiptoeing on the path to healing. Our numbers were even fewer than. Did we struggle? No. We persevered.
It was a time of famine. Our livestock couldn't adapt to their new home, our crops were failing, we struggled to eat for the better part of a decade. We were so close to the edge, inches from extinction. Many among the early settlers feared the end. They knew it was coming. We weren't fond of living, not after what happened, but death isn't exactly what one would call a pleasant experience. Trust me, I know.
The Valentines were a group of nobodies who arrived at Safeharbor aboard a rusted heap of steel, the leaking bulkheads sealed with glue and prayers. The latter would serve them ill when all was said and done. Many things could be pointed to and called "the great triumph, or the first step on the ladder of progress." The Valentine apiary is the only one truly deserving of such praise.
The First apiary
The Valentines weren't welcome on the Arks. They left of their own volition, their fate taken firmly into their own hands. The years of hibernation were fairly uneventful, so I've been told. They woke up to the light of a blue sun, and a red planet that never knew how to accept them.
They had little in the way of cargo. They had supplies, tools, and personal items brought from Earth. However, nestled in the corner of their cargo hold were three white wooden boxes. The boxes were placed in glass crates, a means of keeping the creatures inside dormant and safe.
The Valentines were beekeepers. It's all they knew. When they realized Safeharbor was no place for bees, and just how close we were to the end, they took action. They established the first of Autumn's apiaries, and used their experience to force nature's hand, climate be damned.
Oh my goodness. What a font. Very good. Write more.
Wait what? Which font. I cant pick my favorite, I love them all too much. XD