Caretaker Brookfield watered his tiger tooth aloe sparingly and allowed himself a thought of a smile. The light dimmed beyond the buffalo thorn trees in the same way a large cloud might call an early end to a bright day. The floor moved a little in the way it normally did around this time and a gentle breeze brought the sound of a familiar voice to the caretaker and his burgeoning smile.

 

“Sam!” The voice called Brookfield. “Five minutes to rain!”

 

Silence. Sam Brookfield continued with his appreciation of the plants in his care. After another call from the approaching voice, the caretaker called back, “I’m over here! Next to the bushwillow!” Caretaker Oakwood walked towards him with more energy than his usual amble.

 

“Did you hear?”

 

“That depends,” said Brookfield, knowing full well that Oakwood had something to tell him.

 

“They reached Leonis.” The younger of the two looked expectantly at the elder. He wore sunglasses and the full uniform of the Caretakers. He managed, Brookfield noticed again, to make anything he wore look ill-fitting. The unkempt mousy hair didn’t help. “Word was received an hour ago from Admiral Selassie’s son.”

 

“You do know that message is a year old.” Sam stood up straight from his stooped position. His always-irritated face stared unblinking at Oakwood. “The transmission would have taken a year to get to us.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Funny that it should be received the day before we go to the gates.”

 

Ren Oakwood nodded slowly, his hands in his pockets. “Sam, why weren’t you at the meeting just now? Bandara wasn’t happy.”

 

“Then why didn’t he call for me? He knows where I am. I don’t need to be at meetings.” Brookfield turned to inspect the leaves of another of his plants.

 

“They’re terminating Asia.” He decided to not dally with this bombshell.

 

Sam dropped the trowel he was holding. Slowly he turned his head towards and away from his colleague. “They can’t do that.” Oakwood looked for the right words. In the end, he used those of Captain Bandara.

 

“There aren’t the resources that were originally available. It’s too risky, now.” He shook his head and decided to leave it at that until after Sam spoke.

 

“The river! It has the only river.” They couldn’t look at each other. “What about Africa?”

 

Ren nodded. “We’re OK. So are Antarctica and Europe. They say that without Asia, we’re much more likely to make it through the gates to Leonis. It’s the sheer size and the instability of the gate network.” Sam sat down on the grass and looked into the distance at nothing in particular. Oakwood joined him on the ground.

 

“The only river left,” repeated the devastated Brookfield, his voice now a whisper, “is in Asia.” He closed his eyes. “It’s funny but I remember India.” Ren looked at him with an odd look, “You know that isn’t possible.”

 

“My grandfather was born in India. In a place called Fort Cochin. He told me of his childhood days spent under the giant banyan tree at the end of his street where he would read about England and the trees they had there; how he would someday walk in the green fields in summer.” Sam’s brow furrowed in sadness. “Of course, he wasn’t to know then that he would spend his entire teens inside a bomb shelter while most of the world was burned to a crisp. I remember being under that tree in India. Even though it was not me at all.”

 

Ren shifted in the grass. “So that’s why you joined the program.”

 

“I tried for Asia.” Features loosened, eyes opened. “But I like Africa fine.”

 

“Asia has a banyan tree,” ventured Ren, softly.

 

“I know. The last one.” His lips quivered almost imperceptibly, and a tear came to his eye. “The last one.”

 

With that, he walked very slowly over to the buffalo thorn trees, passed gently through his beloved impala lilies, stopped, and put his hands flat against the glass. Looking out into the blackness he could see the doomed botanical ship, Asia with its river and its living treasures, soon to be lost forever. Sam sighed, wept, and went back to pick up his trowel. It started raining ever so lightly.