“Wasn’t any forest when I was a boy.”
“Really?” The boy was incredulous.
“Your grandfather landed with the first wave, Charles,” his mother said with a smile; she had heard the story many times.
“Not a tree anywhere,” the old man continued, nodding. “We had robots that planted seeds, then. They’d shove one into the soil, roll on a few meters, shove another one in. Took years. Then we had to wait for the trees to grow, go to seed, spread on their own. We built with brick and stone for a generation.”
“Grampa?”
“Yeah, what Charlie?”
“What’s a ‘robot’?”
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