It had been a long, difficult day, and Betty Margrave really needed a rest. Here they’d just finally managed to get their own Internet connectivity problems straightened out, and now Reggie was helping Vitali Grigorenko up at Gagarinsk with their Internet outage.
It probably didn’t help that her husband wasn’t able to be with her, even when he was back in town between missions. Betty understood the necessity of quarantining the pilot-astronauts, since no matter how careful they were, they did have interactions with people from the other settlements, and with people from Earth.
You’ve gotten through his deployments when he was still on active duty with the Marine Corps. Months on end with him halfway around the world, nothing but e-mails and weeks-old letters. There’s really no reason it should be bothering you so much.
And then she opened the door to their apartment and heard sobs. She looked around, wondering whether one of the kids had gotten hurt but didn’t think it was bad enough to bother Medlab. And then she saw Kitty sitting hunched over a laptop, tears streaming down her eyes.
Good god, girl, if you’re bawling because some boy dumped you, get over it. It’s just a breakup.
She caught herself before she could actually say the words. No, better not assume, even if she was tired and not really in the mood to have to deal with the sheer intensity of teen and tween emotions. Kitty had lost enough already — her parents, and now two homes and sets of friends — and while she’d been trying to put a good face on things, it was a very fragile mask.
Betty sat down beside her niece. “What’s wrong, Kitty.”
“I can’t get hold of Amy.” There was barely-controlled panic in that voice, for all that Kitty tried to hold it level and sound mature.
Betty tried to place the name. Ah, yes, one of Kitty’s friends back in Houston. They still communicated occasionally, although sometimes Betty wondered if the girl was going behind her parents’ backs to keep in contact with a friend who’d be regarded as tainted by being in a household headed by a clone of Alan Shepard.
A few careful questions brought forth the story of Amy’s frightened texts right before the malware had taken out Shepardsport’s Internet connection, how Kitty and Cindy had enlisted Brenda Redmond to guide them through giving Amy advice on dealing with her parents’ sudden illness. For a girl who’d barely be in middle school back on Earth, Kitty had handled it very well, and had borne up patiently while communications with Earth were cut off. But now that texts were clearly being delivered to Amy’s phone once again, but not being read, the girl was on the verge of panic.
Small wonder, considering how much could be going wrong. Even if she had been taken in by a friend’s parents, it’s possible that she wasn’t able to stay. Or that she’s been able to stay healthy herself.
No, there was no use speculating. Long ago she’d learned the danger of letting one’s mind onto the hamster wheel of worry — she wouldn’t have stayed sane as a military wife if she hadn’t.
Right now the best thing she could do was comfort Kitty, reassure her that she’d done quite well in her efforts to help her friend. And then, when Kitty was calm enough to hear that she might need to wait, discuss what resources might be available to find out what was going on.