The one place on Daltia guaranteed to be hotter than outside was Jasha's greenhouse, here on Arind's holding. It was built on the lower roof of the estate house, off to one side, where the grass of the hillside covered the underground floors. Like the warehouse by the delivery point, the greenhouse was a leftover from the earliest days post-Adjustment, when food and medicine were less reliable than they are now. Jas had been messing about in both of those outbuildings since we were little, and had made them his own small kingdom before we even left for school.
It was built in the old style, with a stained steel frame and enormous sheets of triglass. Inside the air was filled with rich smells -- a thousand plants, dark soil, the compost he used to fertilise. And for all that I pretended to complain of the heat, or the instant tangle the humidity made of my unruly hair, I liked to find him in there, up to his shoulders in dirt and happy.
I didn't see him at the benches and tables where he usually worked near the sliding doors, nor at the long trough of recycled water that was harvested from the misty walls and ceiling. He must be deeper into the packed aisles of small crops and vegetation.
I turned left on instinct and wandered further in. I was conscious, as ever, that this was his domain. That what looked like a riot of green and brown and violet to me, of curling ferns and lascivious flowers, was carefully organised and arranged in an order only Jas understood.
I found him in what amounted to a tiny clearing near the southwest corner of the greenhouse. The racks and worktables here had been arranged into a square, their botanical occupants arching overhead and creating a small cozy space. An old metal bench had been salvaged from some ancient ship, and rusted patiently in a corner.
My brother sat on the ground against it, head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed. An extremely fragrant cigarette was in his hand.
Ah. So it was that type of day.
I sat down next to him on the damp concrete floor. He passed me the cigarette without opening his eyes. The first breath tasted like old rum and jet exhaust. The second drag, like some alien undersea god.
"What in the stars," I murmured, "did you do to this one?" I licked lips that felt like they should be salty and swollen, but were neither.
"Like it?"
"Mmmm. Hmm." I held the cigarette out in front of me, considered its shimmering red tip. Jasha leaned over, slowly took it from me, and inhaled. He leaned back and proceeded to hold his breath, longer than anyone should be able to. Years of practice. When he exhaled, the cloud circled up over us both. It drifted slightly away, dissipating into the waiting dark fronds of the plants from which it undoubtedly came.
"Fucked it up," he muttered.
"I highly doubt it," I said, putting it back to my mouth and holding it there. Just lightly, a bit here and there, as he slowly stood up, wavering, on the edge of my vision.
I was enjoying not knowing whether he was dancing, or whether I just couldn't see straight. What was rising and coiling up the back of my neck, though, was curiosity. This sure didn't feel like a screwup. I'd smoked failures before. What might success be?
"So," he said, an airy slurring. "What business brings you out today, Mister Skye?"
"Now you ask," I retorted.
"Of course. Be rude if I didn't." He shook his head a bit, as if to clear it.
"I forgot, actually," I said, gesturing ruefully with the much-smaller cig. He burst out laughing, took it from my hand.
"Then let us discuss matters of great importance," Jasha replied.
I snorted. "I'll try."
"I need your help."
"Ah," I said. "I seem to remember you saying so."
"Last week. At the party." He finished the smoke and put the tiny stub into a glass tray. "Too many grownups there," he said with an ironic grin. "I got impatient. Anyway, it needed more work first. I wanted to check the enzymes further, because if it can be synthesised -- but we can worry about that later."
"I have a feeling where this is heading." I pushed myself up, and shifted into the old ship chair we'd been leaning on. As always, I hoped it wouldn't crumble beneath me.
"Guess I'll formally go ahead and ask, then. Would you be willing to try something I've made?"
I had to laugh a little. How many times had he asked this? And yet it had been over a year and a half since the last occasion. It was almost nostalgic. "Alright," I said. "What's this one going to be?"
"That's just the thing," said Jasha. "I don't know yet." An uncharacteristically puzzled expression passed over his face. "Maybe I need fewer possibilities. Rule some things out, you know?" I nodded. "One thing I do know is, it's safer than just about anything we've ever done. So don't worry."
"When do you want to try it?" I asked. Part of me was still not fully committed, but I had to admit I was intrigued. "What is it, a drink? Drops?"
Jasha rubbed the back of his neck. "You're not going to like this. Right now, it's an injectable."
I took a deep breath. "You're right, I don't like that."
"I promise, I'll adapt it as soon as I can. This is the easiest way to do the tests I still need to do at the moment."
I found myself eyeing Jasha up, as he toyed with some scraps on his workbench. He seemed lost in thought again. He was wearing the loose cotton trousers he tended to favour, with a matching tank top. He was slightly taller than me, and his straight posture belied the way he leaned absently against the tabletop, as if he'd quite forgotten where he was. He did not seem like the type of person you'd want to entrust your brain chemistry to. And yet I'd done it, again and again.
In the past, I'd have relished the reckless mystery and taken whatever he'd fabricated, no questions asked. Now I asked questions. Or at least, I knew that I was supposed to. What if some day, he dreamed up some mess of a chemical that altered my ability to fly? But as I looked at my brother, still deep in thought and twirling a dried leaf between his fingers, I realised I couldn't make myself be afraid.
"I'll help, Jas," I said. "When is a good time?"
He gave me a grateful nod. "Let me see if I can get it ready by the end of this week." He looked at me, seeming to be about to add something else. But then he didn't.
"Is this another one you'd like to share with Danae?" I asked. She was one of the most well-known analysts of fine recreational substances on Daltia. It had been her idea for Jasha, who did not like naming things, to simply call his creations by their number.
"Eventually," he replied. "Perhaps."
That wasn't like him. I'd always thought he got a sly pride from knowing he helped others have fun.
"Are you worried we'll be caught?" I asked.
"I ought to be," Jas mused. "More to lose now. Same with you, if that conversation you had with Dio comes to anything."
I kept forgetting I'd agreed to that interview with the off-worlder who wanted to open a ship factory. "Who knows, maybe it'll help."
Truth was, the legality of these projects had always been pretty threadbare, even for a licensed psychobiologist like Jas. But it was honestly nothing compared to the box of trouble I had in the garage behind us. May as well go all in.
Anyway, it had always been fun before. And I had wanted an adventure. The comfort of this place I was in -- Arind's home, the security of finally having graduated -- it was what I'd looked forward to all during my final year of university. But now that I had it, I wanted more. Not to leave it behind, but to gather it up, put it to use. It seemed I stood astride the boundaries of my own younger life, still not sure how best to transcend them. I wanted to break out of it, but not lose it. Was that possible?
I shook my head. I'd smoked too much to be thinking this hard. Jasha laughed, almost as if he'd heard that thought, and tossed me a bottle of fruit drink from an ice-bag he had on his counter.
"This weekend, then," he said. "Clear the worries out of your mind. Then we'll mess with it."