The Garden - Melissa Scott [49]
"This is the night-garden-or rather, it's the night-garden now, when those flowers, moon-flowers, I call them, since I can't pronounce their proper name, are blooming. In daytime, it's the fountain-yard, and believe me, it looks completely different."
"I believe you," Janeway said, softly, and didn't particularly care if he heard. The moon-flowers were giving off a faint, clean scent, more like soap than any floral perfume, and the air was perfectly still and cool. She glanced up, and saw the sky vivid with stars, the ghostly band of the Milky Way still visible behind them, unaffected by the lights that guided their feet.
"A better translation might be milk-flowers," Adamant said. "Since they're related to the galaxy-shadow Revek says you call the Milky Way, and since Revek tells me 'milk' is always white."
"They bloom for one night," Revek said, "and then they die and another bloom replaces them the next night. In the morning, before the sweepers come, the fountain-yard is ankle deep in their petals."
Janeway looked at him, not knowing how to answer, but Revek was already talking to Adamant.
"Milk-flowers might be better, at that, but it's not as euphonious."
"Dinner is here," Adamant said.
The path ended in a circular area paved with the same compasslike pattern that had decorated the
bottom of the fountain. Tables were walking toward them across that circle, followed by benches and a tall, thin column on wheels. Dishes were already on the table, but they were held motionless by more of the mechanical hands. As Janeway watched, the tables formed themselves into a rough semicircle, and the column moved to its center. Arms unfolded from the central spine, bent themselves into graceful arcs, then spat thin filaments that seemed to bury themselves in the pavement. More lights flared along those filaments, gossamer, ghostly sparks that somehow gave an astonishing amount of light. In spite of herself, Janeway gasped, and heard Chakotay murmur something under his breath.
"Captain," Adamant said, and gestured to the farthest table. "Let us eat."
Janeway followed him to the table, and seated herself gingerly on one of the benches. It seemed steady enough now, but she remembered its entrance, scuttling along behind the tables, and found herself bracing her body against any sudden movement. A metal hand heaved itself up from the table, the long, multi-jointed fingers glittering rose and gold in the light from the candelabrum, and lifted the lid from the nearest dish. The savory smell, surprisingly familiar, homey even, garlic and onions mixed with the subtler scents of earthy vegetables, made Janeway's mouth water. A second, almost invisible hand, this one little more than a curved scoop like the hands of the creatures in the gardens, pushed the dish toward her, and she reached eagerly for the spoon, but Adamant forestalled her. "Allow me, Captain."
"Thank you." Janeway allowed him to ladle the thick stew onto her plate, wondering if she was expected to reciprocate. To her relief, Adamant
served himself as well, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the same ritual being repeated at the other tables.
Adamant released the dish, and another scoop-hand slid it to Revek, who helped himself. Another dish, bright bronze banded with silver, suddenly rose from the tabletop, balancing on two remarkably human-looking feet, and trudged toward her. The contents of the bowl-coarse, dark red grains, like sea salt or peastone-slid from side to side, but stopped short of the edges.
"Thilo is fond of this," Adamant said, "though I'm not. But perhaps you will like it also."
"It's