Trees adapted to the red soil brimmed with fresh purple needles of the sort that would disintegrate rather than fall. As quickly as they were gone, so were they replaced by fresh buds. Outside the windows of the gondola, the needles danced like waves on water and put her in mind of the artificial beaches of Loma Bay. She had tickets to visit again in two months and was counting the days. It would be two weeks this time—she had finally negotiated those extra two days of paid leave—and she would spend every hour of it on the sand.
She rubbed her hands together, a subtle reminder of the balmy conditions of Loma Bay. It was cold at these altitudes, and no manner of heater could keep the gondola above freezing. This was, ironically, an improvement on the situation. Ten years ago she would have been required to wear an environmental suit, but now she could wear regular cold-weather attire. The atmosphere was absolutely warming up—it was happening faster than anyone had expected…
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