Chapter Eight
Wilder tapped her ear comm. Five meters above her, within the overhanging tree fronds, an electric motor started up. A moment later, a cradle made from plaited vines descended. Wilder climbed into it and tapped her comm again to signal the motor to wind in the opposite direction, lifting her upward to her tree home.
She gripped the twisted vines affectionately. Despite the six Concordian years that had passed the strands remained strong, though they had worn to a shine in the place she always held them.
Other materials had been available to her when she’d constructed her dwelling not long after returning from the mission to the Galactic Assembly—living in a regular house had gotten old fast, especially after her long confinement aboard the Opportunity. But she preferred us
