Category: Narrative

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Narrative

Under a Shadow

Although Lou Corlin understood why Brenda Redmond had insisted on being the only one to take her friend’s situation to Medlab, he really wished she’d let him join her. It wasn’t like he was a little kid who needed to be protected from potential fallout. He was a legal adult, and he was accustomed to shouldering adult responsibilities.

Still, once Brenda had made that decision, he pretty much had to respect it. She hadn’t completely shut him out of the loop — she’d let him know that higher-ups on Medstaff were looking at the situation, which indicated that she hadn’t gotten into immediate trouble. But she’d made it clear to him that she wanted him to stay out of it from here on out, if only to protect him from any possible fallout.

So here he was at the station offices, having finished his air shift, listening to the Timeline Brothers cracking jokes and generally cutting up. The Alternative Lunch was both alternative music and alternate history, and today’s book was about a world in which space exploration stopped after the early lunar landings instead of consolidating those gains for a push to Mars. Needless to say, the Timeline Brothers pretty clearly considered the whole idea ridiculous. Why would either the US or the old USSR put all that much money and effort into building a space infrastructure to go to the Moon, and then abandon it all?

Except he recalled something Cather Hargreaves had said when talking about their ur-brother’s narrow escape and its historical significance, which only made sense if one presupposed that such a world did indeed exist. Lou knew that Cather and his family listened to Shepardsport Pirate Radio pretty often, even if it wasn’t exactly a station in good odor with command over at Grissom City. What would Cather think to hear those remarks?

As Lou came out to the front office, he noticed Cindy Margrave gathering up her belongings. She was usually out by the time he’d finished the handoff and logged his final set of songs, but today she must’ve had to deal with something at the last minute and was running late.

“How are things going?”

“As well as they can, given the situation.” Cindy was trying to sound positive, probably from the habits of working here, even if she was now off duty.

“Want to walk to the dining commons together and talk?”

Cindy hesitated, then agreed that, given they both worked here, it would probably pass muster as professional rather than personal.

After a little shop talk, Lou finally broached the subject more directly. “How’s things going with Amy?”

Cindy glanced away, a momentary visual flinch. “We’re in contact, but they still won’t let her have her phone back. Everything’s coming through someone at that makeshift orphanage of theirs, like they don’t trust her to communicate directly.”

“And they’re probably acting like you should be grateful they allow her to communicate at all with someone who’s under a Writ of Expulsion.” Lou might not work in the newsroom, but he was all too aware of the political situation.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Cindy was definitely shedding her professional receptionist persona and letting her teenage self back out. “I don’t think the people running that place appreciate the idea that one of their charges has connections. They don’t dare completely cut her off from the outside universe, but they sure want to make sure only things that make them look good get out.”

“Color me shocked.” Although Lou wasn’t usually much for sarcasm, right now it seemed appropriate.

Then he switched back to a more serious tone. “So how are her folks doing?”

“Not well. Apparently her dad didn’t make it, and even if her mom pulls through, she’s going to need a lot of regeneration. And that’s assuming she can even get it, and they don’t just go here’s your wheelchair, here’s your prosthetics.”

“Which means that in either case, she’s not going to be in any shape to take custody of her children for a long time, and with things in such complete chaos, there’s no way to get in contact with extended family unless they’re right there in Houston.”

“Which they aren’t, as I understand. She’s got grandparents somewhere in Kansas or Nebraska, but that’s assuming they haven’t succumbed to that virus. Even if travel weren’t pretty much shut down right now, there’s no way they’d be sending children off to stay with elderly and vulnerable family members. So it looks like she’s going to be stuck indefinitely, with the staff being as crazy controlling as Brenda’s afraid her friend’s parents are.”

“Not a good situation. But at least it sounds like she’s alive and healthy, and this thing isn’t sweeping through that place like a prairie fire through dry grass.”

Cindy admitted that it did appear that way, as long as the staff wasn’t fabricating responses in an effort to conceal a far worse situation. In any case, they were approaching the entrance to the dining commons. It was probably best for them to enter separately, since they’d probably sit with their own friends and family.

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Narrative

A Promised Meeting

Getting back to Shepardsport had proven harder than Chandler Armitage had anticipated. He’d been supposed to fly straight back, but just as he was heading down to do the final checks on his lander, he’d gotten the word that he was needed to take some parts and supplies out to a minor outpost that had experienced a critical failure. Yes, they did have backup systems, but those systems are like a spare tire on a car. They’re designed to carry you far enough to get your primary systems repaired or replaced, no more.

At least the people at the outpost had the necessary skill sets to do the repair on their own, so the delivery was just a matter of using a robot to set the boxes out on the lunar regolith. The settlers had send their own robot out to retrieve them, and all communication had been via radio. Neither Chandler nor his pilot had needed to get out of the lander, let alone enter the outpost’s habitat.

In the old days — had it only been a few months? Already it felt like an eternity ago — they probably would’ve been welcomed inside, maybe even fed supper and invited to stay overnight to rest. Most modern outposts had a sufficiently elastic oxygen budget that they could extend hospitality to the occasional visitors. It wasn’t just a matter of building in redundancy to absorb shocks, although that was an important engineering principle. There was also the human factor, the need to make connections with the larger world at a personal level, not just voices on a speaker and images on a screen.

A problem that remained even now that he was home — or at least as much home as this settlement could ever be. He still felt homesick for his native New Hampshire, and wondered what had become of his mother when President Flannigan had cracked down on the Granite State’s resistance to his policies against clones and replaced her with a governor of his own choosing.

It always comes back worst when I’m not busy. He considered that thought. Normally he would have plenty to occupy himself. Not just his professional duties, overseeing the maintenance of his lander, keeping himself up to date on training and his secondary specialty, but also social activities here or in whatever settlement he was visiting.

But the current crisis meant that last was no longer an option. He understood why it was necessary for the pilots to stay down here, away from the rest of the settlement. Hell, some of the scuttlebutt he was hearing from his old flying buddies from his carrier days was downright terrifying. But the loss of his usual diversions made it altogether too easy to brood.

On the other hand, he did have some unfinished business to take care of. Although he’d been raised in a regular family — or as regular as a family can be when one parent is a senior politician — he appreciated the importance of astronaut lineages among his clone-brothers who’d grown up in the NASA clone creche.

Yes, there was Spruance Del Curtin’s text. Might as well see if he was where he could talk about whatever the data was that was bothering him so much.

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Narrative

Disappointment

At least we’re doing this privately. Brenda Redmond still felt like a kid called to the principal’s office, sitting in Dr. Thuc’s private office in the back recesses of Medlab.

The older woman gave her a sad look, the sort Brenda had come to associate with an authority figure who had expected better of you. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring her concerns about Robbie Sandberg’s situation here to Medlab.

At least you didn’t drag Lou Corlin or his family into it. As far as anyone here will know, you came here entirely on your own initiative, based on your friendship with Robbie.

“Ms. Redmond.” Dr. Thuc kept her voice level, professional, even if her eyes could not quite hide her attitude about the situation. “I have looked over the information you gave Dr. Gorman. I agree that it is concerning, but there are very strict standards for what qualifies as cause to believe that a person is in immediate danger that justifies what would normally be a breach of privacy. After talking with the judge advocate general at Grissom City, we’ve agreed that there simply is not enough evidence in this one brief and admittedly disorganized message to conclude that we are dealing with a situation that involves actual risk of domestic violence, as opposed to teen angst about difficulties with adult authority.”

Brenda swallowed hard. No. I will not burst into tears. I will not sulk or pout. I will not behave like a thwarted child. I’m a grown woman and I have a reputation to uphold, as a mother, as an Air Force officer’s wife, as a DJ at Shepardsport Pirate Radio.

But she could feel her lower lip wobbling, the tears of frustration welling up in the corners of her eyes. Dammit, it was so unfair, that some bureaucratic hoop she couldn’t quite get through was making it impossible to find out whether Robbie was safe, or if the very act of trying to contact her could put her at risk of her parents’ irrational hatred of clones.

She took a deep breath. It required a major effort of will to force her voice into the professional tones she would use on the air while reporting a solar storm warning. “Then what evidence would you need to see?”

Was that the hint of a smile on Dr. Thuc’s lips, a shadow of regret? “You know I can’t tell you that, Ms. Redmond.”

Brenda had expected that answer. Given the situation, her question could very well be interpreted as, what do you need to see so I can fake it? never mind that she’d actually meant how can I present the evidence better?

However, Dr. Thuc wasn’t finished speaking. “However, it may be possible to arrange for contact to be made by a neutral individual, someone who is less likely to arouse the ire of her parents. If that enables us to ascertain her situation, we can determine how to proceed.”

“Thank you.” The words sounded so forced that Brenda felt she had to repeat them, to try to get some genuine emotion in them. “Thank you so much.”

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Narrative

Routes Forward

As soon as Brenda Redmond received the text from Dr. Thuc, she could tell it had to be bad news. I need to talk to you, stat. was not a good sign.

Could she be in trouble, just for asking whether it was possible for anyone in Medlab to check on Robbie’s location? Although she hadn’t considered her inquiry unreasonable, old memories lingered from childhood. She’d caught two teachers in a row who were very close to retirement, and who had rather old-fashioned notions about the proper bounds of children’s curiosity. Both of them also considered public humiliation an excellent aid to memory.

But there was no time to dwell upon the past, not when she needed to focus on the present situation. Which meant finding the necessary fortitude to present herself at Medlab, mentally prepared for whatever response she received.

At least this message hadn’t come through in the middle of her air shift at Shepardsport Pirate Radio. However, receiving it while she was supposed to be helping teach a class was awkward in its own way. No, her senior teacher was not pleased that she should be summoned away, and clearly considered it to be something she’d brought down upon herself.

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Narrative

Difficult Situations

It’s a good thing we’re still in readiness mode right now, Dr. Barbie Thuc thought as she went through her documents. There’s no way I could deal with the administrative stuff if I were also having to deal with a flood of patients in Medlab’s limited facilities. Which makes it absolutely essential we make sure our quarantine procedures remain rock-solid.

At least Autumn Belfontaine’s question had been easy to deal with. Dr. Thuc had heard some rumint about the Russians making some headway on the genetic front — not surprising, given the huge emphasis the Soviet Union had placed on their secret genetic engineering programs during the Cold War. However, as of now she’d heard nothing about any success in that area.

Best to counsel caution, to suggest that nothing be said publicly until they had information from a source they could rely upon. While maintaining a hopeful attitude was important, raising false hopes could actually do far more harm to morale by ending in a crashing disappointment when they proved unfounded.

Thankfully, Autumn had been in complete agreement. Another person, especially someone with close friends or family back on Earth, might have been more eager to grasp at straws. But Autumn was also a professional news reporter, and had a strong sense of her responsibility to the facts.

On the other hand, Brenda Redmond’s request was not going to be so easy to deal with. Dr. Thuc had to admit her own sympathies in the matter. The e-mail from Brenda’s old high-school friend was alarming. Just reading it left Dr. Thuc with a sense of terror bordering on panic, and the fact that Brenda had received no further contact from Ms. Sandburg was concerning.

However, those facts did not constitute hard evidence that Ms. Sandburg was in danger, to the point that it became licit to seek privacy-covered information about her whereabouts. Not exactly news that Brenda was going to want to hear.

And Brenda had inherited her dad’s scrappy temperament. Just how likely would she be to try to argue her case when told no?

She is the mother of two young children, and the wife of an Air Force officer. If we were dealing with family, there’d be more cause for concern, but I don’t think she’d do anything rash for an old friend she hasn’t spoken with for years.

Still, it would be wise to break the news in person, where she could judge the younger woman’s reaction, rather than via phone or text. And talk to Steffi Roderick down at IT, just in case there were some possibilities she’d overlooked.

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Narrative

A Ray of Hope

Autumn Belfontaine was sitting in the newsroom, sorting through one after another report of disaster on a level not seen since the 1918 Spanish Flu. If anything, the current situation was worse for the simple reason that the world of 1918 had not been nearly so connected, so that many places were spared for the simple reason that they were too far away for people to get to them during the incubation of the disease.

Today, only the Martian settlements were that far away. Even the Moon was a mere three days’ flight from Earth, if one were to take a direct flight. There’d been a close call with the Indian space program’s pre-flight quarantine procedures already, but it had been caught because the person had a layover on Harmony Station just long enough for them to become ill on the Sakura rather than after they’d gotten down. However, it had put a big chunk of Japan’s space infrastructure out of operation while everyone aboard both station and ferry had to quarantine.

And there’s some speculation that the next person to turn up sick on the way to the Moon will simply “fall out of an airlock.”

Autumn didn’t like the idea that someone could be so careless with everyone’s safety, but she could understand the motivations behind it. Schedules were tight enough in ordinary times, and with a big chunk of the cislunar spacelift capacity out of action, there’d be a feeling that they couldn’t afford to lose more on “just in case” precautions.

But now, with some kind of illness at Schirrasburg which might be the diablovirus, it became even more urgent. Lunans lived in far tighter quarters than Earthlings anywhere but Tokyo or Hong Kong. Even the various scientific outposts and mining bases, while isolated from each other, still had very little pressurized volume per person, which meant that everyone was in constant contact.

And then she noticed something on one of the Russian wire services. An anonymous source in the Imperial Household was reporting that Tsar Constantine had met via teleconference with Academician Nikolai Voronsky, head of the Russian genetic engineering program. Apparently Voronsky was reporting success in sequencing the genome of the diablovirus in its three major variants.

Which raised a serious conundrum for her. On one hand, people really needed some hope right now, with the news of disaster being moderated only by the fact that whole regions on Earth were no longer reporting at all. On the other, this was not exactly a reliable source. Heck, it was hardly above the level of “gossip sheet.” Was it a responsible thing to actually report it?

She retrieved her phone. Time to pass this to the people in Medlab, see if anyone down there had a good idea of its veracity.

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Narrative

Is This a Promotion or a Punishment?

Spruance Del Curtin had been scared when he reported to Dr. Doorne, although he wasn’t going to let anyone see it. Now, knowing that he wouldn’t be fired, he should’ve been relieved.

Except he wasn’t. Dr. Doorne was presenting this new assignment as a promotion: he was going to get to participate in the actual analysis of the data, right along with the actual scientists. While the rest of his class was working with old data sets with known answers, he was actually going to get to see and participate in science in progress. Which meant that Dr. Doorne was serious about that co-authorship.

Except everything about it left him feeling very strange. In particular, this business of liaisoning with IT, which sounded very much like he was going to be working down there at least part of the time. Just how was it going to be arranged? Was he going to be Dr. Doorne’s representative when she needed something out of IT, or was he going to be working down there as well as in her office?

If it was the latter, he could find himself with two bosses on the same project. He had some experience with that, especially when Shepardsport Pirate Radio had first been set up and the lines of command weren’t as clear as they’d become. It wasn’t exactly a situation he was eager to repeat — but neither was he eager to blow what could be a very good chance to get noticed in a good way by higher-ups.

Definitely he was going to have to keep an eye on things.

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Narrative

We Must Do Lunch Sometime

Brenda Redmond found it strange to be coming up to the dining commons without the children in tow. Almost as if she were naked.

But both of them were having lunch with their training groups today. It wasn’t an every-day occurrence that lessons ran over and they had to have a meal sent to their classrooms, but it was rare that both her children would on the same day.

No use worrying about it. She’d gone to lunch alone a lot of times when she was single. Even if she did still live with her folks, both of them had jobs that tended to make it difficult to eat lunch as a family. Heck, half the time Dad had been so busy he couldn’t even get away from Engineering for supper.

Things had settled down as the settlement had expanded its life-support capacity to handle all the Expulsees with a comfortable margin of error. But by then she’d married Drew and tended to sit with the other pilots’ families, and once the kids came along, she’d gotten used to eating as a family, reminding the kids of their table manners when they’d rather play with their food and goof off instead of eating and freeing up the seats for the next person.

As she was walking through the dining commons in search of a free seat, she heard a familiar voice calling her name. She walked over to join Lou Corlin. “You must’ve made good time up here.”

“The Timeline Brothers showed up early, so we got most of the handoff done before it was actually time to sign off. That and I got lucky at all my airlocks.” Lou helped her into her seat, a gallantry that seemed like something out of a movie. “So how did it go?”

“Gym went fine. I think we’re finally getting a handle on the wear and tear on the equipment, especially now that the new gym has room for three times the amount of machines. Right after the the first wave of Expulsions, Dad was complaining that Fitness shouldn’t be so astonished they were having constant problems when their machines didn’t even get any down time for preventative maintenance.”

Lou lowered his voice. “Actually, I was wondering whether you learned anything at Medlab.”

“Yeah, right.” The words came out awkwardly and Brenda could feel her cheeks grow warm. “I talked with Dr. Gorman, and he did seem to take me seriously. But he said he’d have to pass it to someone with more authority, so right now I’m playing the waiting game.”

Lou commiserated. “Do you want me to let Toni know now, or would it be better to stand pat until we actually know something?”

Brenda considered that question. “Maybe tell her we’re hitting some delays, but don’t make a big deal of it. She’s pretty high in the IT hierarchy over at Grissom City, so she’s probably got a lot of stuff to keep her occupied as it is.”

Lou allowed that she was probably right, and shifted the conversation to something more neutral. The table was starting to fill up, and it was inappropriate to carry on a conversation about private matters in front of others.

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Narrative

A Change of Assignment

All the way to the Astronomy Department, Spruance Del Curtin battled a sense of dread. Last night’s confrontation had been unpleasant, particularly since he’d had to choose between discussing how he’d been noticing patterns in the data for this project and admitting that he’d listened in on his boss’s phone conversation with her husband. If he’d thought about the possibility earlier, he could’ve prepared a plausible reason to be using the newsroom computer at that hour. But he’d never expected the commandant and head of IT to pick right then to meet Autumn Belfontaine in the newsroom. And once Captain Waite was bearing down on him, trying to think one up would only ensure he got suspected of lying.

Which meant that now he was going to have to face Dr. Doorne with the admission that he’d allowed his curiosity about the patterns in the data to get the better of him. She’d been quite clear on the importance that he not know what the data represented, so that he could approach it purely as numbers and avoid inserting his own biases into it.

He did not like the thought of being kicked off the project. This was real science, as real and important as his work as a DJ for Shepardsport Pirate Radio. If he’d been able to stay out of trouble, he would’ve had the recommendation of a major figure in the field, someone whose talents and skillsets were sufficiently unusual that it was considered worthwhile to actually bring her up her to do hands-on work with the telescopes, not just handle the data once it got down to Earth.

But there could be no avoiding the issue. Even if Captain Waite hadn’t told her about last night, it was only a matter of time before he did. In the meantime, Sprue needed to be on that data. Worst case, Dr. Doorne would decide those data sets needed to be re-sanitized by someone else. If he didn’t show up at all, there’d be no escaping a serious blot on his permanent record.

As usual, the Astronomy Department was quiet at this hour. But then it was relatively small, since almost all astronomy these days was data. The days of glass photographic plates was long gone — even optical telescopes used imaging technology to digitize the starfields for transmission and analysis. Anyone who was actually up here either was doing essential hands-on work like Dr. Doorne, who was also an electrical engineer, or was married to someone with a Writ of Expulsion against them.

Sprue had expected to find her in her office. Instead, she was in the main office, talking to her son. “Daddy’s going to be OK, Rusty. Now it’s time to go with Miz Lizzy.”

Some times it was hard to remember the kid was only four years old. But kids up here grew up fast. A four-year-0ld was already old enough to help the older kids with simple jobs like wrangling floorbots, and to help teach the twos and threes basic skills.

With her son handed off, Dr. Doorne turned to face Sprue. “Ah, Mr. Del Curtin, we need to talk. Come with me to my office.”

Sprue’s guts clenched, but he kept his face expressionless as he walked beside her. At least this way you get it over and done with.

The computer on which he’d been working for the last several days was now pushed against the wall. He took the indicated seat and prepared for the dressing-down.

But Dr. Doorne didn’t loom over him and yell, just sat down at her desk and looked straight into his eyes. “Captain Waite has told me about your independent investigations. While your initiative would otherwise be commendable, it puts me into an awkward position. Obviously, I can no longer have you doing this job now that you’ve noticed patterns in the data and took it upon yourself to find out what they mean.”

She paused to let him stew. How badly would it hurt him to get dismissed? Would it put his regular work in danger, or his future training units? More importantly, would it imperil his position at Shepardsport Pirate Radio?

Just when he wondered if he was expected to say something on his own behalf, Dr. Doorne’s stern expression softened. “On the other hand, your independent research shows that you are definitely ready to participate in the next stage of this project. I do have two other students of mine beginning the data sanitization and verification process, and they can double-check your work for the last few days just in case your interest in its meaning introduced any unconscious bias.”

By force of will Sprue kept his mouth from falling agape like a fish out of water. He wasn’t being fired, or even disciplined. Instead, he was getting a promotion.

More importantly, why did he have this gut feeling that it was not necessarily a good thing?

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Narrative

An Uncomfortable Request

Brenda Redmond was no stranger to Medlab. She’d been up here plenty of times for routine health checkups, prenatal care and childbirth, all the usual stuff. But today was different — she couldn’t shake a sense of dread, of wondering if she’d made a big mistake in telling Lou Corlin she was going to do this herself.

At the time her arguments had made sense: she was married and had two children, and her husband was an Air Force officer and a pilot-astronaut. Dr. Thuc and the rest of Medstaff would take her a lot more seriously than Lou, who was three years younger than her and still trying to get his steady girlfriend transferred over here.

Now that she was walking up the corridor to the entrance with the big red cross on the double doors, she wasn’t so sure. Just how much evidence did she really have that Robbie was in danger? That text had been worrisome, but its disjointed expression could also be chalked up to panic.

Which is not tolerated up here. You either learn to keep your head about you, or you never get any positions of trust or responsibility. Effectively, you remain a child for the rest of your life.

With those thoughts Brenda quelled the butterflies in her stomach and pushed the doors open. She was not going to give in to her anxieties and back out.

Several people were sitting in the waiting room. Brenda recognized most of them on sight — Shepardsport was still small enough that a person with a good memory for faces could — but a few were unfamiliar. Just people she didn’t have any connection with, or actual outsiders?

That thought made her uncomfortable in a way she’d never known before. Shepardsport had been founded to support scientific activity on Farside, and openness and collegiality were at the heart of science. Although Brenda was aware that scientists often fell short of that ideal, jealously guarding their own turf, it still bothered her that she should immediately treat outsider as suspect, maybe dangerous.

This was what the diablovirus had done to them. Shepardsport was walling up like a fortress, if not physically, then mentally.

As a mother she understood — she would do whatever it took to keep her children safe. If it meant that the outlying settlements which depended upon Shepardsport Medlab found no help here, it was the price of safety for her own.

Still, it left her uncomfortable, especially when she was supposed to be on a mission of mercy for an old friend. But right now she needed to deal with the receptionist, who could become a gatekeeper as easily as a facilitator.

As was the case in so many offices here in Shepardsport, the receptionist was pretty clearly a teenager. Mature enough to be entrusted with being the department’s public face, but not yet ready for more substantial responsibilities in the actual workings of the department.

Brenda’s expectations proved correct: the young woman listened attentively, without attempting to brush her off or diminish her concerns. At length she made a call, talked to someone.

“Dr. Gorman will speak with you .”

Brenda was surprised to be connected with someone so quickly and easily. Not just the absence of waiting, but also the lack of any hint of criticism, of a desire to know why she hadn’t made an appointment or followed any of the other usual formalities for non-emergency visits.

Dr. Gorman was an older man, gray haired and a little stooped even in lunar gravity. Unlike Dr. Thuc, he was a civilian, which may have accounted for his willingness to speak to her.

Brenda explained the situation, the puzzling e-mail only a few days ago. “The very lack of clear, coherent detail makes me think that whatever breach Robbie had with her folks is serious. I want to contact her, make sure she’s safe, but if she’s under their roof, it’s possible that contacting her could put her in danger.”

“So you are expecting to have us be able to do what on her behalf?”

Here was the kicker: he was going to make her explicitly request Medstaff’s aid, rather than picking up on the significance of her description. Phrase it badly and she could ensure Robbie got no help.

“We’re hoping that someone in Medstaff would have the necessary authority to obtain the geolocation metadata for her phone. If she’s definitely not in her parents’ area, I’ll know whether it’s safe to contact her directly, or if I need to find an intermediary.”

“Ah, a commendable caution. However, I will need to confer with my colleagues and ensure that this intervention will be permissible.”

He then took down her phone number, so he could let her know how the decision went. At least it’s not a no, Brenda told herself.

Still, it was disheartening to know that there would still be a wait.