Quinn Merton got down to Innsmouth Sector and the spaceport facilities to find his elder clone-brother already waiting for him. At least Rick Sutton didn’t open the conversation with, “What took you so long?” Like as not he had a good idea of the reason why: someone bringing a big piece of equipment through an airlock between modules, such that all traffic had to wait until it was through.
Instead, Rick cast a quick look around him. “Let’s go down to one of the conference rooms to talk about this.”
Make that definite about this being something to keep quiet. Although as a pilot-astronaut stationed down in Coopersville, Rick didn’t have an office up here, he did have access to any of several small rooms where pilots could confer in private, either with other pilots or with non-pilot staff here in Shepardsport. They might not be completely soundproofed, but they were sufficiently enclosed that casual passers-by would not overhear.
Once they were inside and the door closed, Rick went straight to business. No preliminary small talk, just a stern, “Now this is not for public dissemination, but I think you deserve to know this now.”
“Understood.”
“You do know I have a cousin who lives out in the LA Basin and works as a paramedic.”
Even as Quinn answered in the affirmative, he considered what it must be like to grow up in a real family. Even if Rick knew he was adopted from when he was a little kid, it would still be so much different from growing up in the creche.
Rick’s expression grew solemn. “I just got an e-mail from him. Yesterday they went out to a welfare check, some guy living in an old van in an alley. Apparently they found him dead, and from the looks of the mess in there, he’d been pretty sick before the end. From what he’s been hearing online in some private groups for first responders, stuff like this is happening in a lot of places.”
Quinn considered it, recalled some of Autumn Belfontaine’s low-voiced phone conversations. “Then why isn’t it getting into the media?”
Was that a hint of an ironic smile. “That was what I was going to ask you, considering that you’re part of the media yourself.”
“I’m just a DJ, and I only have one air shift a week anyway. It might be different if I were working in the news department, but the only time I handle news is when I have to read solar storm warnings.”
Quinn paused, considering how much he wanted to tell his elder clone-brother. Finally, he decided to give Rick an abbreviated and rather general account of the news director’s comings and goings. “I think she knows something is going on, but for one or another reason she’s just monitoring things, not reporting on them, and not letting any of the junior reporters either. That’s why I e-mailed you earlier, hoping that maybe you’d know something.”
“Which was probably the best course of action you could’ve taken. Especially given the current political situation, she may want to avoid saying anything until she has a definite handle on just what is going on.”
“Understood.” Quinn considered how many times Shepardsport Pirate Radio had broken news that the Flannigan Administration was trying to keep secret, or had countered their distortions and outright falsehoods. A single rash statement could blow that carefully built good reputation.
“In the meantime, take care. If you need to get something to me quickly, just keep it discreet.”
Quinn promised he would. The walk back up to his quarters felt very lonely.