In normal times, the Roosa Barracks was a lively place. Maybe not as lively as the main concourse of Grissom City, but for a pilot-astronaut, there was always the company of one’s colleagues. Spontaneous games of poker or Magic: the Gathering in the dining commons, all-night bull sessions in the lounge of the BOQ.
But all that had gone by the wayside due to the present emergency. By order of the commandant, everyone was to remain in quarters during their off-duty hours.
Drew Reinholt looked around his room, considering how it had never felt all that small before. Of course it wasn’t as if this were an isolation cell — he did have full Internet access. A few taps on his tablet and he could talk with anyone in the three worlds. Of course communication with anyone outside the Earth-Moon system would be subject to light-speed lag, which made a phone conversation impossible, but text messaging worked just as well.
However, he was really supposed to be using this time to go over the new revisions on the landers’ instrumentation. The software was supposed to have gone into service over the next several weeks, but with the current crisis, the implementation was going to be delayed For The Duration. However, Flight Ops wanted everyone getting up to speed so they’d be ready as soon as NASA green-lighted the change-over. Which meant you were expected to spend pretty much every spare hour either studying or practicing on the simulators.
He hadn’t really been listening to the music — everything was pretty much familiar, so it made perfect background music. But when it stopped right in the middle of a song, his attention went straight to it.
For a moment he thought the stream had been interrupted again — not surprising when the Administration really didn’t like Shepardsport Pirate Radio. But then the DJ came on. “We interrupt this program for breaking news.”
And then Autumn Belfontaine took over the mic, reporting a most disturbing discovery. Drew knew that stuff was pretty messed up down on Earth, even in the US. It wasn’t surprising that a fast-moving disease like the diablovirus, which could incapacitate people in hours, would leave a lot of kids at loose ends, enough to swamp a city’s child-protection services. But what the heck was with this business of taking kids out of unofficial foster homes and stuffing them into makeshift orphanages in the very schools that had been closed to slow the spread of the virus? Was this thing driving people subtly crazy, such that they seemed rational, but their judgement went to heck?
At least his kids were safe with Brenda over on Farside, and her family was right there in Shepardsport, just a few modules away from their apartment. And much as he’d like to be with them right now, he was getting a thorough appreciation for why it was necessary that pilots be kept away from a settlement’s general population.
All the same, he was definitely scheduling some time to talk with his kids tonight. Screen time might be a poor substitute for romping with them like he would when he was able to visit, but it was better than nothing.