The walk back to the central part of the greenhouses felt longer than the walk out had. Sam shifted the weight of the little maintenance bot and hoped they'd arrive soon. Even the lighting seemed dimmer than when they’d made their way to the wheat areas.

“We should probably hurry,” Eleanor said. “The light is getting low already.”

That wasn’t his imagination? “What’s wrong with the light?”

“Nothing. The greenhouse lights are set to dim and then go off on some bizarre schedule. Something to do with Earth and seasonal rhythms.  Mrs. Jackson says the plants do best with a natural environment.”

“The oxy trees in Central Park seem to do OK without anything fancy like that.”

“But they’re not exactly an...

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