The night before, Cindy Margrave had noticed the sudden drop in Shepardsport Pirate Radio’s broadcast quality, but no one had texted her to come down to the station offices. Not surprising, given that she was just the receptionist, and her technical skills were pretty much limited to running the station switchboard. Like as not, she’d just be underfoot if she went running down there to see what was going on.
With nothing else to do, she’d focused on her studying and hoped that things were resolved by morning. Ever since the family had been sent up here, she’d learned some hard lessons in the importance of not worrying about matters over which she had no control.
However, it had been pretty clear when she woke up that no, the problem was not resolved. Given that the dj’s announcements sounded like they were using the remote broadcast setup, she figured that the technical crew had done what they could, then knocked off when it got too late. As long as the remote gear held on, it was better that everyone get a good night’s sleep and tackle matters in the morning.
It was a sentiment she could agree with, especially after the time she’d pulled an all-nighter to study and ended up making a complete hash of her final exam after doing so well on all her quizzes and tests. No doubt she’d get down to the station offices to discover the technical crew hard at work sorting out the issues.
In the meantime, she needed to get to the dining commons and get her breakfast. Sure, she could have breakfast sent to the station offices, but she really didn’t want to have to eat food that had gone cold. Especially if it was something like sausages or cheese omelets, it could be downright nasty.
The dining commons was quiet at such an early hour. Normally there would be some people at the pilots’ table, but with all the pilots having to quarantine down in Flight Ops, the long table had been removed and replaced with more of the small round tables for the rest of the community.
She looked around for anyone she recognized, but saw only some of the technical staff, people who had to deal with stuff that needed attention 24/7. Nobody invited her to join them, and she wasn’t going to intrude on anyone by asking if she could.
Still, it felt awkward to have to sit alone. Usually she could wait until her sister and cousins were ready to go, but today she needed to be to work early.
As she scanned the QR code at her seat, she realized that she’d gotten a text sometime during the night. While she waited for the serverbot to deliver her breakfast, she pulled it up and read it.
It took her a moment to recognize the name. Michelle Walstrand had always gone by “Shelly” in school, and it had only been during some big tests that Cindy had even discovered her actual name.
Still, it was good to hear from her again. The message was brief, asking where she was and how she was doing — and quite honestly it had the feel of someone going down a long list of former contacts and sending the same text.
But she was definitely not going to ignore it. Better to at least write back, let Shelly know she was safe on Farside, that so far far they’d kept the pandemic out of the lunar settlements.
Even as she started to write, she paused. Would it sound like boasting? Would it sound inconsiderate of whatever losses Shelly might have suffered in the meantime?
Cindy deleted the text, then began again, choosing her words more carefully this time. Make their safety more tenuous, emphasize the privations of living on the high frontier, and maybe it wouldn’t sound condescending.