Quinn Merton struggled against his urge to push the kids away. It wasn’t their fault that the only way to talk with Major Sutton right now was FaceTime, even when he was in town.
Rick Sutton was the closest thing they had to a parental figure right now. Although he had been raised in a regular family, having been adopted out of the creche as an infant before he could even remember any other life, he took the obligations of astronaut lineage seriously.
But then we Armstrongs are always straight arrows. That’s why a lot of the early astronauts thought our ur-brother was a cold fish.
Rick Sutton looked tired tonight, but he was still making time for his younger clone-brothers. On the other hand, his appearance might be more the result of an emotional drain than a physical one. After all, he had family back on Earth, and he had to be concerned about their situation.
Quinn tried to imagine what it would be like, to know some of your nearest and dearest were in harm’s way and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. A Cooper probably would have prayed for their well-being, but Armstrongs tended toward deism. Sometimes Quinn wondered if a more personal conceptualization of the supernatural would provide comfort in times like these.
Whatever his elder brother’s reason for looking tired, the man did need his rest. Which meant Quinn needed to find a graceful way to draw the conversation to a close without sounding as if he were scolding any of his younger brothers for selfishness.
Although I suppose I could remind them that they have a bedtime they need to keep. Tomorrow’s going to come earlier than any of us want.
That was when one of the apartment doors opened. Quinn could hear a voice, but not make out any words. However, from the rhythm of speech, it sounded like the person was talking on the phone with someone.
And they were coming this way. If whoever was on the phone was talking about something sensitive and didn’t want a roommate or other family members to hear, they might come out here in search of privacy. The perfect excuse to nudge his clone-brothers into winding up their conversation and getting back to their own quarters to turn in for the night.
Everything seemed so simple — not a one of them put up more than ritual objections before telling Major Sutton good-bye and heading off to bed. Which was probably just as well, Quinn realized as he looked at the battery indicator on his tablet. He was going to need to get that thing plugged back in ASAP.
And then Alice Murchison came around the corner, obviously winding up her conversation. “As a matter of fact, he’s right here. I’ll let him know.”
Quinn’s stomach tightened at the realization that he was obviously the object of that remark. He closed his tablet’s case and rose to face her. “Are you looking for me, ma’am?”
“As a matter of fact, I was. I just got a call from Jen Redmond over at Food and Nutrition. She was wondering if you’d be willing to be her teaching assistant for a basic health and nutrition class next quarter.”
Quinn considered the proposition. On one hand, it would be a bit of a come-down after having spent the current quarter teaching his own class, even if it was just fourth-grade math. On the other hand, saying no to a senior division chief was not a good way to win favor with the upper-level administration.”
He decided to hedge his bets. “I suppose I could pick it up, if Training has someone else lined up to take over the course I’m teaching right now. The kids are really picking things up fast, and I’d rather not leave them in the lurch.”
“Perfectly understandable. I’ll have Jen talk to Deena tomorrow about what it’d take to make the switch. From the sound of things, she’s planning it as a big class, with the teaching assistants handling weekly break-out sessions for small group discussions, sort of like a lecture and discussion class in Earthside universities. Thanks.”
Quinn managed to get some coherent words of gratitude out of his mouth, and then Alice was enering the module airlock, off to the corridor that connected the residential modules of Dunwich Sector to the other sectors. Alone, he realized just how tense he’d become — and that he’d been anticipating some kind of bad news. A reprimand for some kind of failing? An extra shift he’d need to take because someone else couldn’t do it?
Not surprising, given how much bad news was coming up from Earth now that IT had their Internet connection fixed. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, some fresh horror would flash across the video screens.