Category: Narrative

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Narrative

Closer to Home

Steffi Roderick had just sat down at her desk and opened her work laptop when her phone chimed incoming text.

She pulled her phone out, saw it was from Toni Hargreaves, an old friend from her Jet Propulsion Laboratory days, now working in the IT department over in Grissom City. Can you talk?

Toni wasn’t the sort of person to waste time in idle chit-chat. Either she needed some help on a programming task, or something really bad had happened.

I can take a little time. What’s going on?

Cather just got a message from one of his old buddies in the San Bernardino Fire Department. Apparently one of the other guys got sick a couple days ago, and he went downhill really fast. By the time he realized it wasn’t just an ordinary stomachache, he was crashing.

Toni’s husband was now deputy head of safety and security over at Grissom City, but he’d worked in EMS for years before he came up here. That sort of work tended to forge tight bonds between the people doing the work, but it still seemed odd that they’d keep someone in the loop who’d been away for several years now.

How bad?

By the time they got him to the hospital, he was going into septic shock. According to what Cather said, it was like his organs were just shutting down. They’re thinking it’s connected with this thing that’s going around the nursing homes, but a lot of the crews have been on calls to nursing homes lately.

Steffi recalled her own aunt. She’d meant to write back to her dad and ask how Aunt Margaret was doing, but with everything going on up here, it had slipped her mind. Presumably nothing too terrible had happened, since he hadn’t sent any further messages about her condition. However, Steffi made a mental note to check up on the situation.

It’s been bad. Remember Sam Goldstein at JPL? I got an e-mail from him a few days ago about one of the senior researchers having to take time off because his daughter had been volunteering at one of those nursing homes. We both thought it was just an abundance of caution.

Which made her realize that she hadn’t followed up on that one either. Sam might be busy with his current projects, but she was sure he’d appreciate at least a little show of concern.

And then Toni’s response arrived. That’s apparently what a lot of people were thinking. Cather’s been talking with Medstaff a lot about the situation.

We’ve been doing a lot of talking with Medstaff here too. If you want, I can pass the information on to Dr. Thuc.

This time Toni took longer to respond, enough that Steffi thought the conversation was over and logged onto her work laptop, getting ready to go over some jobs in process for the Astronomy Department.

Go ahead and tell her, but I don’t know how much information Cather even has. Medical privacy and all that. I know he’s probably told me a lot more than he should’ve over the years. And I really need to get to work. I’ve got about a thousand lines of code to write for the robotics shop, and I’m behind because I was helping the guys down in Hydroponics with some issues with their pumps.

Steffi sent her old friend a quick good-bye, then opened a new e-mail window. First thing, pass the word to Dr. Thuc that it wasn’t just frail elders and homeless people dying of that bug going around. Then check up on Dad.

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Narrative

An Awkward Meeting

All the way to Miskatonic Sector and the Astronomy Department, Spruance Del Curtin wondered just what Dr. Doorne was going to say. She’d been so upset when he offered a pandemic as an example of exponential growth, yet had refused to explain it any further. Like it was such a horrible trespass that it couldn’t even be discussed, the way some of the older people around here talked about getting their mouths washed out with soap because they’d asked about a puzzling scene in a book, and only years later figured out that they’d stumbled onto a sex scene.

Except the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that it had something to do with whatever was going on down on Earth. The reports kept coming through about sudden bouts of sickness, usually gastrointestinal, but sometimes respiratory, hitting a whole group of people at once. And then, as quickly as they came up, they disappeared from the news.

Almost as if someone doesn’t want it talked about.

Had he stumbled across some kind of dangerous secret? Was that why so many people kept making these passive-aggressive remarks about the danger of excessive inquisitivity, but refusing to explain what he’d done that upset them? Part of him wanted to find some way to beg off this meeting, especially considering that his stomach was not overly settled right now. However, he knew it would only postpone the problem, not make it go away.

As Sprue arrived at the Astronomy Department, the department secretary looked up at him, nodded, and went straight back to her work. Which meant he was expected and should go straight back to Dr. Doorne’s office.

The Astronomy Department was laid out pretty much like any of the other science departments, with a front office that included a conference room, and a series of individual offices for the scientists to work and hold office hours for their classes. Some of the smaller departments shared a module, while some of the larger ones filled a module so completely that all but the most senior scientists had to double up.

Sprue kept his pace brisk as he walked past one door after another, some open, others closed. Astronomy was not as big as one might expect given the importance of the big optical and radio telescopes on Farside — most of the work up here was primary data collection, since all modern telescopes, whether optical or radio, had digital receiver technology. As a result, most of the astronomers actually up here either had additional degrees in engineering or had ties with an astronaut clone. And when they were in their offices, they were either busy analyzing data to determine what was worth sending down to universities on Earth or they were meeting with students.

Dr. Doorne was reading something on her tablet when Sprue arrived. However, she wasn’t so engrossed in it that he needed to knock on the doorframe to get her attention. Instead she just set it aside and retrieved a folded slingback chair from a cubbyhole behind her desk.

“Have a seat, Mr. Del Curtin.”

Still the title and surname address. Just how deep of trouble was he in? Sprue thanked her, putting a little more emphasis than usual on her academic title.

If she thought he was mocking her, she made no remark on it, just went straight to business. “Since you’re so interested in the statistical implications of the spread of a pandemic, I’ve requested your assistance with a special project I’m doing in partnership with Medstaff. If this ends up being something we write up for the scientific journals, you will be listed as a junior co-author.”

Co-authorship. Publishing credits were the currency of the academic world, and every youngster up here dreamed of having their contributions as research assistants translate into one.

All Sprue could manage to get out was, “Wow.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re excited about this project.” Dr. Doorne narrowed her eyes. “However, I want you to understand that this project is under a strict information embargo. That means you are not to breathe a word about it to anyone. Not at the radio station, not during your gym hours or at the dining hall, not in class or at work, not hanging out with your friends at your module lounge. Not a word to anyone Dr. Thuc or I have not personally cleared you to discuss it with. One leak, and you are off this project. Do you understand?”

Whatever this was, it was serious. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

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Narrative

Absence

Autumn Belfontaine had spent over an hour up at Medlab, talking with Dr. Thuc about how best to present the increasingly disturbing information coming in from Earth. It was absolutely critical to make the danger clear, especially with the growing evidence that someone in the Administration was trying to soft-pedal it by keeping people from correlating information from different cities. At the same time, it was also important to present it in a way that would not lead to panic.

When she arrived at the station, she noticed the empty receptionist’s desk, but thought that Cindy Margrave had probably just stepped out to take care of something. Maybe run a document somewhere, or just an ordinary restroom break.

That lasted only until Lou Corlin intercepted her. “Cindy still hasn’t shown up, and she’s never late.”

“Have you tried to text her?”

“She’s not answering, and I’m not sure if I should call. Especially where she and sister are sharing an apartment with their aunt and uncle and their kids.”

Autumn could appreciate the problem. When she first came over here on Captain Waite’s invitation, she’d had an apartment all to herself. But when the Expulsions began in earnest and Shepardsport’s population ballooned, she’d suddenly been asked to double up with another single woman — and it was pretty clear that the request was a politely stated command. There’d been more than a few awkward moments over calls and even text chimes interrupting someone’s sleep, or even concentration.

On the other hand, she didn’t think anyone in that household was on night shift. “I’ll call. As a director, I’ll have a little more authority than a DJ.”

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Narrative

Rumors

Spruance Del Curtin awoke to the horrifying realization that he’d forgotten to set his alarm. And here he was supposed to meet Dr. Doorne in her office at 8AM sharp.

Throwing off the covers, he squinted at his phone, realized that he wasn’t so late that he couldn’t at least wash up, and he wouldn’t have to miss breakfast. He wouldn’t be able to linger around the table, but he’d never been one for long breakfasts anyway.

A few minutes later he emerged from his apartment to find the module lounge abuzz with activity. A dozen or so people were sitting and standing around it, all talking at once to the point there was no way he could possibly pick out any one conversation.

Dennis Riordan came over to him. “Do you know what’s going on with Brenda Redmond?”

Of course he’d assume that I’d know, just because we’re both DJ’s at Shepardsport Pirate Radio. Sprue bit back the first response that came to his mind, and instead said. “As a matter of fact, no, I don’t.”

It came out a touch more acid than he’d intended, and Dennis flinched just a little. Sprue decided it might be wise to soften the effect a little. “In fact, it sounds like you probably know more about the situation than me.”

Dennis moistened his lips. “From what I heard, she got a call or a text from someone in another module, so she had Ron-Jon Landis keep an eye on her kids while she went to help them. She ended up being out so late that Ron-Jon started getting worried the kids were going to wake up and be scared their mom wasn’t there.”

“Interesting.” Sprue gave his phone a very deliberate look. “Right now I don’t have time to talk. If I don’t get to the dining commons now, I won’t have time for breakfast before I have a very important meeting.”

Dennis actually had the grace to look a bit taken aback. “Oh, OK. See you later then.”

Sprue strode off to the module’s airlock, already thinking about what he’d just heard. What could’ve happened, that Brenda Redmond would take off to another module and leave her kids under the supervision of someone who’d still be in high school back on Earth?

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Narrative

The Icy Touch of Fear

Cindy knew all too well how far away Brenda Redmond’s apartment was. Last year her boyfriend had lived in that same module, so she got to know just how long it took to get between them, especially at an hour like this, when the airlocks weren’t likely to be busy.

Except it never felt this long when she was walking back from studying with Ray and his friends. Cindy checked her phone yet again, realized that all of three minutes had gone by — yet it felt like forever.

All the time, Kitty was getting more and more updates from Amy down in Houston. From the tenor of those texts, things were getting worse rapidly. Cindy wondered if she should text Brenda again and ask how far she had gotten.

And then the doorbell chimed. Cindy hit the doorbell app on her phone, saw Brenda waving at the camera.

At least here it was all of three steps from chair to door. Brenda was breathing pretty hard, which suggested she’d taken some of the corridors at a run, pausing to rest only while she cycled through the module airlocks.

Cindy summarized everything that had happened since their last text. Brenda’s expression grew steadily more and more concerned.

“This doesn’t sound good. Have either of them been able to hold down any liquids?”

Kitty typed the question into her phone. After a moment, she looked up. “Amy says they just keep throwing everything back up.”

“Not good at all. I think she’d better call 911. Do you know if she has any other family in the area, or a friend’s place where she could stay?”

More typing, and then Kitty looked up. “Her best friend lives on the other side of the subdivision.”

“Thank heaven for best friends.” Brenda took a deep breath. “Kitty, I need you to have Amy text her friend and and let her know her parents may need to come over and pick up Amy and any siblings. Then I need Amy to call 911 and tell the dispatch operator that both her parents are sick and showing signs of severe dehydration. It’s important she does it in that order, because once she calls 911, the dispatch operator will need her to stay on the line, so she won’t want to have to switch between phone and messaging apps.”

“OK, I’ll tell her that.”

Brenda turned back to Cindy, keeping her voice low. “How are you feeling?”

Cindy took stock of her own emotional state. “OK, I guess.”

“You guess? If you’re not sure, I can stay here as long as you two need me.”

“Thanks.”

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Narrative

A Friendly Warning

Spruance Del Curtin was walking through the corridors of Dunwich Sector when someone called his name. Surprised, he turned to face the young Grissom clone standing in the doorway.

Terry Gatlin’s face remained unreadable. “I was wondering when you’d get back here.”

Why did this not sound good? He and Terry had never gotten along very well, even back in the days of the NASA clone creche. Being up here had only exacerbated things, mainly because Terry just had to take the part of certain people.

However, right now was not the time for open conflict. Best to put the best face he could manage on the situation. “I was just going to see what a colleague knew about a situation.”

Terry gave a curt nod, a quick little up and down jerk of his chin. “You are aware that certain people are concerned about your recent inquisitivity.”

Like I didn’t notice it when the commandant called me up to his office to tell me to watch my step. But admitting that, or mentioning Dr. Doorne’s displeasure in class today, would put him at a disadvantage.

No, better go on the offensive. “Who told you to tell me this?” Sprue studied Terry, judging how far to push before he risked an altercation that would attract attention he couldn’t afford.

Terry rocked back on his heels, a bouncy little motion made easier by the Moon’s lighter gravity. Was he going to answer, or would he consider that too close to ratting someone out?

“All right, you’re not going to tell me, are you?” Sprue closed the distance between them just a little, enough to let his greater height dominate the situation. He was taking a definite risk — if he was in trouble, coming across as a bully could make things even worse.

But dammit, he did not appreciate all this passive-aggressive crap. Why couldn’t they just tell him what all this was about, instead of having people dropping hints?

Terry held his ground. Grissom himself had always been a scrapper, probably to compensate for his shortness, so why should it be any surprise. “What difference does it make? Or are you determined to. make things worse for yourself? You do realize you have a reputation as a difficult individual.”

No, Terry wasn’t going to tell him who was behind this. Whoever was displeased now, they wanted to keep him wondering so he wouldn’t know who to watch out for.

Damn, but he hated this crap. Nothing to do but acknowledge and move on. He had some studying to do, especially if Dr. Doorne wanted a talk with him right after breakfast.

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Narrative

The Ties that Bind

Brenda Redmond was just putting the kids to bed when her phone chimed incoming text. She pulled it out to check, saw the message was from Cindy Margrave. We’ve got a problem.

What’s wrong? was Brenda’s first thought, followed by Why’s she texting me? Other than working at the station, they really didn’t have that much in common. Certainly not enough to be turning to her for help like this.

But Cindy was also a level-headed young woman, not the sort to panic and send random texts off to people with only tenuous ties. If she had a problem, she’d probably already considered and discarded all the closer possibilities of people she could turn to. Her uncle was a pilot-astronaut, and if he wasn’t out on a mission, he was probably busy with things down at the spaceport, while her aunt was head of Safety and Security. With the current situation, Betty Margrave would be far too busy to deal with anything but a serious emergency at home.

And Carl Dalton was a Shep, which meant that Cindy had lineage-right to call upon the wife of another clone of Alan Shepard for help. Although Brenda had grown up knowing her father was a clone of Gus Grissom, it was only after their family came up here to Shepardsport and she was living regularly with the creche-raised clones that she’d really come to appreciate the importance of lineage ties as their method of creating family.

And if she wanted to maintain their respect, she’d damned well better honor the tie between her and Cindy, however indirect. She texted back: What’s happened?

Immediately the three dots icon appeared under her message, indicating that Cindy was typing. Which meant that either she was struggling to organize her thoughts, or she had a lot to say.

My sister Kitty just got a text from one of her friends from Houston. Amy says her parents are both badly sick. Reading between the lines, it looks like Amy’s really scared and doesn’t know what to do. I’m not sure whether it’s serious enough that I should tell her to call 911, or just try to nurse them herself.

Ouch, that was a tough one. Kitty was twelve, and while kids that age up here on the Moon regularly worked at responsible positions, back on Earth a twelve-year-old was barely considered old enough to stay by herself for an hour or so after school. If Amy called 911 and the paramedics decided her parents needed to be transported, there’d better be a friend or family member nearby who could take in her and any siblings or they’d have to go into the care of the Texas Child Protective Services system. And Brenda had heard more than a few stories about the problems with CPS foster homes, especially the emergency ones.

Better ask some clarifying questions before suggesting any course of action. Did she say anything about what kind of symptoms they were having?

This time there was a long pause before the three-dots icon came up. Probably Cindy was asking her sister, who might well be needing to text her friend for the information. If Amy was having to deal with her parents’ illnesses, and maybe even a younger sibling or two in distress about the situation, she might not even be where she could answer her text.

But it was also time that allowed the worry hamster to get going. Brenda looked over at the nook which functioned as her children’s bedroom. Everything looked so difference now that she had the responsibility for those two young lives.

Now I understand why Mom always worried so much about us kids.

And then the text arrived, a lengthy description of gastrointestinal symptoms similar to the nasty Volcanic Two-Step that had been going around a few years ago. Except that it didn’t also make people delirious and combative, or include respiratory symptoms.

This sounded a lot more complicated than she’d expected. Brenda tried to remember which module the Dalton-Margrave family lived in. Dunwich Sector was a lot larger than it had been when her family first came up here.

I think we’d better talk face-to-face. Are you and Kitty where you can come over here?

It took a few moments before Cindy answered. I don’t think we’d better be away this late. If Aunt Betty comes back and we’re not here, she’s not going to be happy having to run us down.

Brenda looked over at the clock, realized just how close to midnight it was getting. Spencer Dawes would be winding down the Disco Ball and signing off for the night soon.

The kids would probably stay asleep, but it would be better to have someone keeping an eye on them while she was gone. She stepped out of her apartment, noticed one of the younger Grissoms in the lounge, studying.

“Ron-Jon, could you keep an eye on my kids? One of my co-workers at the station has had a family emergency come up, and I need to go down and sort things out.”

Ron-Jon looked up from his tablet. “Sure thing, Miz Brenda. You need me to go into your apartment?”

“That shouldn’t be necessary. Just stay where you can hear if they call for me. You’ve got my number, don’t you?”

At his affirmative, she thanked him and headed for the module airlock. Let’s hope it wouldn’t take too long.

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Narrative

The Least of These

By the time Cindy Margrave got back from the gym after her daily mandatory exercise session, she just wanted to get to bed. However, tomorrow she had a test in her chemistry course, and while she had done some studying, she really needed to review everything one last time.

At least the module lounge was quiet at this hour. Although her aunt and uncle had been able to secure a larger apartment, it was still crowded enough that it wasn’t exactly conducive to study. And she really didn’t want to go all the way up to Miskatonic Sector to use the study carrels in the library.

She settled into the chair in the furthest corner, glad that the two guys were keeping their voices low. From the looks of it, they were playing Space Race, although she couldn’t get a good enough view of the cards to be certain.

She was almost through with the aldehyde series when she felt a tug on the sleeve of her tracksuit. She looked up from her tablet to the wide eyes of her younger sister. Who’s supposed to be in bed already.

“What’s wrong, Kitty?”

“Amy just PMed me. Both her folks are sick, bad.”

Amy? Cindy tried to place the name. Kitty was such a social butterfly, there was just no keeping track of all her friends, even in a community as small as Shepardsport. Not to mention all Kitty’s online friends, with whom she spent about as much time as anyone up here.

Better just ask. Especially with whatever was going on back on Earth, any sickness in a community in as tight of quarters as everyone lived up here would be disastrous.

“She’s still in Houston. We were classmates, remember?”

Cindy didn’t want to admit that she honestly didn’t remember many of her sister’s classmates. It would sound too much like she didn’t care. Kitty had been just old enough to be distressed by the abrupt break from their old life when Uncle Carl and Aunt Betty took them in after Mom and Dad’s accident, and getting sent up here had been a second uprooting just as she was finally beginning to trust that her life would be stable.

“Sort of, but it’s been a long time, and I was pretty busy.” Hoping that would suffice to comfort her sister, she asked a few clarifying questions.

Kitty was a little shaky on details, but probably because Amy hadn’t been very clear on them. Up here, everybody got trained in remaining calm in a crisis and being able to deliver a coherent, organized report on one’s situation. Cindy knew she wouldn’t have been able to perform much better if she’d been called upon to report their parents’ accident to a 911 operator.

However, Cindy wasn’t sure if telling Amy to call 911 would be the best advice. It didn’t sound like they were in immediate danger, and when you were a kid, illnesses that weren’t actually that dangerous could be scary if both your folks came down with them at once.

Cindy wished there were someone she could talk to right now. However, Uncle Carl was out of town on a mission, taking supplies to some of the outlying scientific outposts, and Aunt Betty was spending more time up at the Safety and Security offices in Arkham Sector than she did here.

Who else could she turn to? Maybe some of her co-workers from the station? While Spruance Del Curtin would probably love to get any tidbits of information he could find, there was no way on Earth, the Moon or Mars that she was going to tell him about this.

On the other hand, what about Brenda Redmond? She was just enough older to be taken seriously, but young enough to still remember what it was like to be a kid, even if she was married and had two kids of her own.

Better text her first and see if she was where she could talk.

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Narrative

Ill Wind Rising

Someone already had the stereo on when Spruance Del Curtin arrived at the lounge of his residence module. The Tea Time crew was just signing off for the evening, setting up one last Rolling Stones song before Spencer Dawes signed on and got the Disco Ball spinning.

Wonder what he’s going to be playing tonight? Although it might not be easy to hear over the hubbub of multiple conversations going at once. Sprue looked around the room, already crowded. From the looks of it, a bunch of people had brought folding chairs out of their apartments to supplement the furniture usually in the lounge.

He could retreat to his apartment, since his roommate had mandatory exercise time in the gym, and then work responsibility down at Aquaculture. However, right now Sprue really wasn’t excited about trying to study in an apartment not much bigger than most walk-in closets back on Earth.

Over in the far corner, Brenda and her kids were all huddled around a tablet. From the sound of it, they were doing a FaceTime conversation with Drew. With the new rules going into force, it didn’t matter whether he was still back in the Roosa Barracks or had flown in, it was all the contact Brenda and the kids were going to get with him for a long time.

She glanced up at Sprue, but didn’t say anything. However, the tension at the corners of her mouth suggested she did not approve of his being here.

Maybe it would be just as well if he did find somewhere else to study tonight. Given how many people around here were not residents of this module, it might be just as well to go see if any of the neighboring modules had a sufficiently quiet lounge that he could study without disruption.

As he was approaching the module airlock, his phone dinged: incoming text. He pulled it out to see a text from Dr. Doorne on the lock screen: I need to talk to you.

Not a good sign. If she just needed to confer with him about a project for class, she’d probably have texted with you. To you suggested annoyance, even a bawling-0ut in the offing, never mind that current events had superseded any information embargo that may have been in place.

But there was no use trying to avoid the situation. He texted back how soon?

He’d halfway hoped she’d take her time answering. Instead, her reply came right back: Tomorrow, 0800 at my office.

His first thought was annoyance at just how she knew when he was available. Then he remembered that she’d had everyone give her their schedules along with their phone numbers and e-mail addresses the first day of class.

Which made it impossible to pretend that he had another obligation at that time and would need to reschedule, or beg off entirely. Nothing to do but text back that he’d be there.

And in the meantime, he’d better be prepared to the nines. Which made it essential to find someplace where he could actually go over the material. Particularly the statistical information on the station’s listenership that he’d downloaded this afternoon.

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Narrative

Ripples from a Thrown Stone

By the time Spruance Del Curtin arrived at the Shepardsport dining commons, the place was already crowded and filled with a hubbub of people all talking at once. At least it wasn’t so bad that a line had formed just to get in and find a seat, unlike the days right after the cyberattack on Slayton Field. Of course it helped that the pilots’ table was relatively empty tonight.

Hardly surprising, if pilots from other settlements were no longer permitted to come up here to eat and socialize. Having to stay in BOQ down at the port facilities and have your meal brought by delivery robot would not be fun, but at least there was a decent lounge in that module, so they could hang out. It wasn’t like having to order your lunch to your desk three days a week because it was the only time you could squeeze in your office hours, like he’d had to do with his previous teaching responsibility.

On the other hand, would the pilots’ table be reduced to make room for more regular seating? It would make sense, but he could also imagine the Shepardsport pilots perceiving it as having something taken away from them.

As Sprue worked his way between the tables, he scanned for familiar faces as well as empty seats. Although regular seating was first-come first-served, people really didn’t appreciate having a complete stranger just drop in. Not to mention that the conversation might not necessarily be the sort you could jump straight into, since a lot of people tended to sit with other people who shared a specialty. The Medlab table was almost a formal assignment, although more because medstaff tended to have rather odd ideas of what constituted appropriate mealtime conversation. But dropping in on a table full of scientists or engineers all talking shop was a good way to spend a meal in confusion.

The station crew had never really developed a table of their own, although they did often sit with one another when they could. However, both Qunn Merton and Spencer Dawes were sitting at full tables, or at least tables where Sprue could tell he would not be overly welcome.

And then Sprue heard someone calling his name. Surprised, he turned to face one of his own clone-brothers. For an awkward moment Sprue fumbled before recognizing him: Chandler Armitage, adopted son of the former governor of New Hampshire.

“How about coming over and sitting with me? A bunch of the guys really want to hear your take on things.”

Unspoken because you’re with Shepardsport Pirate Radio, so you know things. Sprue cast a glance up at the head table, at the empty seat in the middle where Captain Waite usually sat. No, Sprue had not forgotten the awkward interview in the commandant’s office — had it only been a couple of days ago?

But to turn down a chance to sit at the pilots’ table? Not just the opportunity — appearing to slight a pilot’s invitation, and especially someone like Chandler, whose mother had been disappeared by the Administration, was not exactly the way to advance yourself around here.

Better to join Commander Armitage, and just watch his step. But how to sound like he was answering their questions while giving them no real information?