They were giving her everything she needed to build the rocket. Bolts, sheets, fusion conversion unit, fuel pipe, sparkers. All of it in the package, sliding down the ramp towards her. Anna watched a Ganglian worker push the box away from his truck, where it landed in the barn entrance, half in shadow. 

Beetles crawled around the doorway, segments of their long brown bodies glowing bronze in the sun. Anna watched the worker turn, get into his truck, and drive away without a word. That would be the last Anna saw of the Ganglians for twelve days. 

She tore the lid open. A sheet was taped inside. “Anna 51628: To be returned if incomplete 96.84, and worker 51628 to return to usual duties.” The glare of the sun landed hard on her shaved head. Inside the greenhouses, hydration sprays pulsed through polycarbonate sheeting. At the near end she could make out two shapes: men standing side by side, their hands in the rhyberry branches. They were picking the green-gold fruit, and laying them into punnets. The Ganglians didn’t like their berries crushed. Even a single bruised fruit meant a whole box discarded. The work quota was eight punnets a day. Work over quota, and you could earn an extra stamp on your clock card. 20 stamps for a bottle of vodka the size of a bottle of nail polish. 40 for a sanctioned hour off work. 500 for a rocket.