Chapter Twenty-Six
Vegas and the Veranda
“The scent on the veranda always protects you from the sun.”—Pot
Vegas continued to walk through the field. In front of her was a cluster of buildings and stagnate figures swaying in the breeze. Which the footman pointed out was “nothing to be scared of being that they were scarecrows.”
Vegas pointed her H-Pad at the buildings. “Is this what I am looking for?”
“Hmmm,” said DBO, “it says here there is a place in the middle of nowhere.” DBO silently read . . .
“And?” said Vegas.
“. . . full of women who collect hemp.”
“Don’t see any women.”
“Lunchtime, ma’am,” chipped in the footman.
“Some called them units,” said DBO, “others a steading.”
“Think you’ll find it is a production plant, ma’am, of the eco variety.”
“Don’t see any production,”
