Brenda Redmond was just putting the kids to bed when her phone chimed incoming text. She pulled it out to check, saw the message was from Cindy Margrave. We’ve got a problem.
What’s wrong? was Brenda’s first thought, followed by Why’s she texting me? Other than working at the station, they really didn’t have that much in common. Certainly not enough to be turning to her for help like this.
But Cindy was also a level-headed young woman, not the sort to panic and send random texts off to people with only tenuous ties. If she had a problem, she’d probably already considered and discarded all the closer possibilities of people she could turn to. Her uncle was a pilot-astronaut, and if he wasn’t out on a mission, he was probably busy with things down at the spaceport, while her aunt was head of Safety and Security. With the current situation, Betty Margrave would be far too busy to deal with anything but a serious emergency at home.
And Carl Dalton was a Shep, which meant that Cindy had lineage-right to call upon the wife of another clone of Alan Shepard for help. Although Brenda had grown up knowing her father was a clone of Gus Grissom, it was only after their family came up here to Shepardsport and she was living regularly with the creche-raised clones that she’d really come to appreciate the importance of lineage ties as their method of creating family.
And if she wanted to maintain their respect, she’d damned well better honor the tie between her and Cindy, however indirect. She texted back: What’s happened?
Immediately the three dots icon appeared under her message, indicating that Cindy was typing. Which meant that either she was struggling to organize her thoughts, or she had a lot to say.
My sister Kitty just got a text from one of her friends from Houston. Amy says her parents are both badly sick. Reading between the lines, it looks like Amy’s really scared and doesn’t know what to do. I’m not sure whether it’s serious enough that I should tell her to call 911, or just try to nurse them herself.
Ouch, that was a tough one. Kitty was twelve, and while kids that age up here on the Moon regularly worked at responsible positions, back on Earth a twelve-year-old was barely considered old enough to stay by herself for an hour or so after school. If Amy called 911 and the paramedics decided her parents needed to be transported, there’d better be a friend or family member nearby who could take in her and any siblings or they’d have to go into the care of the Texas Child Protective Services system. And Brenda had heard more than a few stories about the problems with CPS foster homes, especially the emergency ones.
Better ask some clarifying questions before suggesting any course of action. Did she say anything about what kind of symptoms they were having?
This time there was a long pause before the three-dots icon came up. Probably Cindy was asking her sister, who might well be needing to text her friend for the information. If Amy was having to deal with her parents’ illnesses, and maybe even a younger sibling or two in distress about the situation, she might not even be where she could answer her text.
But it was also time that allowed the worry hamster to get going. Brenda looked over at the nook which functioned as her children’s bedroom. Everything looked so difference now that she had the responsibility for those two young lives.
Now I understand why Mom always worried so much about us kids.
And then the text arrived, a lengthy description of gastrointestinal symptoms similar to the nasty Volcanic Two-Step that had been going around a few years ago. Except that it didn’t also make people delirious and combative, or include respiratory symptoms.
This sounded a lot more complicated than she’d expected. Brenda tried to remember which module the Dalton-Margrave family lived in. Dunwich Sector was a lot larger than it had been when her family first came up here.
I think we’d better talk face-to-face. Are you and Kitty where you can come over here?
It took a few moments before Cindy answered. I don’t think we’d better be away this late. If Aunt Betty comes back and we’re not here, she’s not going to be happy having to run us down.
Brenda looked over at the clock, realized just how close to midnight it was getting. Spencer Dawes would be winding down the Disco Ball and signing off for the night soon.
The kids would probably stay asleep, but it would be better to have someone keeping an eye on them while she was gone. She stepped out of her apartment, noticed one of the younger Grissoms in the lounge, studying.
“Ron-Jon, could you keep an eye on my kids? One of my co-workers at the station has had a family emergency come up, and I need to go down and sort things out.”
Ron-Jon looked up from his tablet. “Sure thing, Miz Brenda. You need me to go into your apartment?”
“That shouldn’t be necessary. Just stay where you can hear if they call for me. You’ve got my number, don’t you?”
At his affirmative, she thanked him and headed for the module airlock. Let’s hope it wouldn’t take too long.