Tag: Autumn Belfontaine

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Ripples

At the receptionist’s desk, Cindy Margrave tried not to pay too much attention as Autumn Belfontaine walked Colonel Hearne to the door. It was a gesture of courtesy — he certainly knew how to get back out of the station offices by himself. But honor was due to the commander of the last flight of the Falcon, who’d kept the crippled orbiter’s crew alive until the Incomparable Nekrasov could rescue them with Baikal.

Right now they were just making small talk, pleasantries that offered no clue about why the chief of Flight Operations should need to talk to the station’s news director. Cindy caught something about University of Minnesota, from which both of them had graduated, albeit decades apart. Probably just a reminiscence of some feature of the campus that loomed large in both their memories.

It’s probably just as well he didn’t come up here during Spruance Del Curtain’s shift. Sprue’s the sort of guy who sees something like this as a challenge to get around social conventions to find out what’s gong on.

And he’d gotten in trouble over those antics more than once. It probably didn’t help that he tended to view himself as the smartest guy in the room, and figure he could find a way around restrictions. It was an attitude that had probably put the kibosh on any chance of his ever being selected for pilot training, and it was a wonder he hadn’t been kicked off the station staff.

Although he had been more subdued lately, ever since he started doing that project for Dr. Doorne. Which reminded Cindy that she had a project of her own to finish. The sales director wanted her to do a research project for him, and she still had a lot of work to do. With less than an hour left on her shift, she needed to buckle down and get focused.

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In the Shadow of Uncertainty

Autumn Belfontaine had not expected to get a visit from the head of Flight Operations. She knew that Bill Hearne had been a friend of her father’s, but her father had died before she was even born.

And there’s a lot of survivor guilt there. Colonel Hearne was commanding American Eagle during the NASA Massacre.

But here he was, visiting in person rather than just texting or e-mailing his questions. Autumn was getting the impression that it was a personal matter and he didn’t want records of it to be on any official NASA systems.

Which made her wish she could give him some better information. “Unfortunately, we’re not getting a whole lot of information either. A lot of the wire services have gone down, especially the Web-based ones. Even the AP and Reuters have been spotty, and I’m thinking they’ve lost a lot of their correspondents. Quite honestly, I’m getting better information from the websites of the various local radio and TV stations, especially if I’m trying to move beyond the big cities.”

That got her a nod. “Alice has been following the radio stations in the area she grew up, checking their farm reports to try to get an idea of what’s going on up there.”

Autumn recalled that Colonel Hearne’s wife had grown up on a wheat farm near Duluth. The age difference between them had imposed a distance that their both being Minnesotans and graduates of U of Minnesota couldn’t quite bridge. “I’d been following Radio K, at least until they switched to some kind of automated format after the university sent everyone home. Some of the on-air personalities have been updating their blogs, but even that’s gotten hit-and-miss.”

She paused, realized she was hesitating because what she wanted to say was a shift from reporting to editorializing. Even in a private communication like this, the distinction’s too deeply ingrained. “To be very honest, I’m concerned about just how spotty news coverage has become, and what it bodes for the future. Eventually the pandemic will have to burn itself out for the simple reason that it can no longer spread rapidly enough to sustain itself. But what will even be left by that point?”

“That’s what we’ve been thinking about too. So far NASA’s been able to hold itself together, but I’m hearing a lot of rumint from people I know down there that the cities have gotten pretty hard hit, and they’re concerned about the situation with critical infrastructure and manufacturing. I don’t know how familiar you are with industrial processes, but there are a lot of them that you can’t just turn off and back on like a light switch.”

“I covered some blackouts when I was still on Earth, so yes, I have some idea of what kinds of problems can happen when backup systems fail. Down there, they just don’t build in the redundancy we have up here, and it looks like it’s going to be biting a lot of people in the butt.” Autumn paused. “However, we’re speculating here, trying to extrapolate from way too little data. Which is a dangerous thing for news people to do.”

“Understood.” Bill Hearne pulled himself back to his feet. “Given those limitations, I won’t use up any more of your time. Thank you for letting me know what you do have.”

“And I’ll make sure to let you know if I get anything new.”

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A Reprieve — or Maybe Not

There was something vaguely satisfying about the afternoon receptionist coming in early. Maia might not be a stunning beauty, but she was reasonably pretty, if tending more to the cute, and most important, unlike Cindy, she wasn’t family. She belonged firmly in the McDivitt lineage, and nobody was going to complain about a Shep being interested in her.

Of course Sprue couldn’t be too blatant about his interest in her, and not just because they both worked here at the station. With the tension of a solar storm watch, excessive levity was not appreciated around here. He’d already gotten some sharp words about treating the girls in his class like capture targets in a dating sim, and he really didn’t want to get the same static here.

“You’d think that things would start loosening up now that the CME just barely grazed us. Radiation levels hardly went up, even in the most exposed areas like the observatory.”

Sprue considered how to answer that. Dr. Doorne had told him a few things about the unsettled state of the Sun’s magnetic field, but he wasn’t sure just how much was for general consumption. Especially considering that some of it was technical enough that he wasn’t sure that he could explain it properly, and mixing things up was a good way to get stupid rumors going. He hadn’t forgotten the times when he’d tried to catch a girl’s interest by showing off insider information, only to get things mixed up badly enough that he made a fool of himself.

And then he looked over at the clock, realized just how swiftly the time had gone by while he was chatting her up. “It’s complicated, and you’d probably do better asking someone in Astronomy. If you want, I can connect you up with my boss there. Right now, I’ve gotta go.”

Maia might not be an on-air personality, but she understood one critical principle of broadcasting: you were not late to start your air shift, ever.

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Interruptions

Lou had thought he’d be able to get right back to Autumn with the translation of the Japanese text she wanted to know about. After all, it hadn’t taken that long for Tristan to go through it and point out where they’d been misreading key kanji, usually using a native-Japanese reading when they needed to be looking at one of the various readings that used the sound of the Chinese word to represent something in Japanese, often something abstract or peculiar to Japanese culture.

However, getting back to the station had proven more difficult than Lou had anticipated. He’d never expected to have so many people wanting to ask him questions about this, that and the other thing — and he had his own obligations that had to be tended to.

Maybe it had been a mistake not to just e-mail her the annotated document, rather than try to get back to the station and deliver it in person. The idea had been to be available to answer questions in realtime, and it was looking more and more like that simply Wasn’t Happening.

As it turned out, he wasn’t able to get free of his various obligations until almost suppertime. When was it that Autumn had her shift as a proctor at the Testing Center?

Maybe he’d better check if she was available. At least he’d be able to send her a text, since the proctors weren’t required to surrender their phones on check-in like examinees were.

He’d no sooner sent it than Autumn responded. Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow will be soon enough.

Thanks. I have some studying I need to do.

Good luck.

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The Tension Electric

With things as chaotic as they’d been of late, Autumn Belfontaine had been ordering most of her meals sent to the newsroom. As a result, being able to actually go to the dining commons was something of an Occasion.

As she walked past one after another table, looking for familiar faces, she noted the tension like an electric charge in the air. The stiff postures, the tight gestures, the voices that didn’t quite rise yet were oddly hard. Yes, everyone here was on edge, and who could blame them? Anyone with strong ties to people back on Earth had to be struggling with anxiety about the ever-increasing uncertainty about their safety as communication became more difficult. As if that weren’t enough, now they had the possibility of an extended period of bad space weather, depending on which solar astronomer’s interpretation of the data you believed.

She was so deep in thought she almost didn’t hear the familiar voice calling her name. When she realized that Spencer Dawes had saved a seat for her, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry, Spence. I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

“No problem. I think everybody’s carrying a pretty heavy burden right now.” Spence looked around the table, which was occupied mostly by his friends. “Right now, let’s concentrate on having a reasonably enjoyable meal.”

Autumn recognized the signal that conversation should be kept to pleasant subjects. Which meant right now she’d just as soon let someone else take the lead.

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Considering Necessary Measures

In ordinary times, Reginald Waite would’ve called his Chief of Safety and Security and his Chief Flight Surgeon in to his office for a conference. However, these were not ordinary times, and he didn’t want to take either of them away from their regular duties any longer than necessary. As a result, a three-way text messaging session was just going to have to do.

At least both of them were aware of the uncertain space weather forecast, with multiple solar astronomers disagreeing on the significance of the disturbances within the Sun’s magnetic field and what it foretold in regards to future solar storm activity. So it was just a matter of discussing how various possible outcomes would affect their particular areas of operations, and how to go about coordinating efforts to mitigate the damage, so they would not waste resources by duplicating efforts, or worse, end up working at cross purposes.

By the end of the conference, he was confident that they were all on the same page, and shouldn’t need more than daily check-ins to make sure everything was moving forward smoothly. Thinking he was finished, Reggie went to check his e-mail when he noticed another text had come in.

Wondering why Autumn Belfontaine was texting him, he pulled it up.

Since it looks like we could be having an extended disruption of spacelift, it might be good to put together some PSA’s on conserving the things we can’t produce locally.

It certainly sounded like a good idea, which made him wonder why she thought she needed to ask permission. On the other hand, given the tension with the Administration, he could also see why she might be concerned about revealing weaknesses that could be used against them.

Write up some possibilities and e-mail them to me. We can work out what revisions are necessary.

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A Tidbit of Good News

“Some of the dirtside solar astronomers are thinking this CME is just the first of several, based on some satellite data on the Sun’s magnetic field behavior. I spoke to Dr. Doorne this morning and she doesn’t think any subsequent ones are likely to hit the Earth-Moon system. However, she added the caveat that she is a radio astronomer specializing in deep-space objects.” Ken Redmond looked from Brenda to Autumn. “I wish I could offer you ladies something more solid, but right now that’s all we have to go on. Which means that we’re going to have to remain prepared for the possibility of additional solar storms, maybe for the next two to three weeks. I’ve already ordered conservation measures to stretch supplies of consumables that we can’t produce locally, against the possibility of a complete shutdown of spacelift capacity for the duration.”

“A wise precaution,” Autumn averred. “If you think I should make some kind of general announcement–“

Ken gestured for her to hold. “I’d want to run that by the skipper first. The radio station’s getting to be our public face to the whole solar system, and as messed-up as things are getting down on Earth, we need to be careful how we present things.”

Autumn might have a good professional voice, but her skills at controlling her expression weren’t nearly at the level she’d need if she were doing video as well as audio. No, she wasn’t happy about getting told that Captain Waite should approve of any public announcement.

However, Brenda could definitely see it as a sensible measure. Her dad was right about Shepardsport Pirate Radio being the settlement’s public face to three worlds. And he’d been an Air Force officer back during the Energy Wars, so he’d be thinking in terms of opsec, of not giving the other side any information about one’s weak points. Brenda had grown up with her dad’s war stories, while Autumn had grown up with a black-matted photo on the mantle and a name on the Wall of Honor. Not to diminish Lucien Belfontaine’s sacrifice during the NASA Massacre, but it just didn’t give her the same perspective.

No, Autumn didn’t like the feeling that she’d just had her wings clipped, but she had to be aware that a goodly segment of the population around here put great store in astronaut lineages. She couldn’t very well be seen to disrespect the most senior member of the her father’s lineage in the settlement. For starters, she needed to maintain Spruance Del Curtin’s respect, and she couldn’t help but be aware that Brenda had married into the Shepard lineage.

Brenda was glad she wasn’t the one having to make a statement of agreement on the subject. Not that she was goingt to try to buck her father in his own domain, but it was still a very awkward position to be in.

After that, it was just a matter of winding down the conversation, a few parting pleasantries and taking their leave. The Chief of Engineering still had a lot of things he needed to take care of before that CME actually arrived and drenched the Moon in charged particles.

As Brenda walked back through the corridors of the Engineering department, she pulled out her phone and was surprised to find several texts from Drew. They must’ve all come while they were talking, and she hadn’t even noticed her text chime.

Unless one or another app had screwed up the audio again and she needed to reboot. However, from the worried tone of those last couple texts, it would probably be better to respond first and reboot only if Drew wanted to do an actual voice conversation.

Sorry, sweetheart, but I was talking with Dad about the CME that’s coming in. What’s going on?

Drew must’ve had his phone right beside him, because the text went from “delivered” to “read” in a few seconds. Moments later the “writing response” icon came up.

I wish you’d let me know you needed a neutral party to contact a friend dirtside. I know half a dozen people up here who wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow from the worst clone-phobes, and who’d be glad to do me a favor.

As soon as Brenda read that, she realized she should’ve thought of asking her husband. As a pilot-astronaut and an Air Force officer, he had a lot of connections.

Sorry, I guess I just didn’t want to bother you with my worries. You’ve got a lot on your plate already.

And you’ve got reason to be concerned that an old friend is in a dangerous situation. Just send me her e-mail address, her phone number, whatever contact information you have on her, and I’ll see if some of my friends can get things happening.

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Sidetracks

Brenda Redmond had intended to go straight to her father’s office in Engineering. However, she’d been thinking about what she needed to review for the upcoming test in her current training course, the force of long-standing habit had led her to turn the other way, to the radio station.

It was only when she was opening the door and stepping in that she realized her error. Her face flushed warm with embarrassment as she recalled more than one time when her parents had made a wrong turn, automatically heading toward school instead of their intended destination.

No big problem, she told herself. This was after hours, and the only person who’d be here at this hour would be the DJ. Right now it was the disco show, and Spencer Dawes tended to stay in the DJ booth his whole shift.

Just as Brenda was about to step back out and close the door, she realized the light was on in the newsroom. Not just the usual telltales on the life-support monitors which were just part of living in a habitat where everything down to the air they breathed had to be provided and maintained by sophisticated technology. No, someone had the overhead lights on in there.

Maybe she’d better take a look, make sure the news crew hadn’t forgotten to turn the newsroom lights off when they left for the evening. Her dad had been grumping lately about that kind of carelessness, and how it was affecting the settlement’s heat and energy budgets. With an incoming solar storm that might require powering down everything unnecessary, she’d probably better check, rather than hope that Spence would notice.

She hadn’t even gotten to the newsroom door when a familiar voice called out, “OK, who’s out there at this hour?”

The flush of embarrassment returned to Brenda’s cheeks. “Just me.”

Might as well go on in and see what Autumn Belfontaine was doing. Otherwise, Autumn was going to wonder what she was doing poking in and then disappearing, and would probably have awkward questions tomorrow morning.

Or worse, she’ll come over to Dad’s office and ask.

Autumn Belfontaine was sitting at the main newsroom computer, and from the what Brenda could see at her angle, there was a bunch of data on the monitor. It looked like something from one or another of NASA’s solar observation satellites, from the headers, but she couldn’t see without being obvious about it.

She looked up from her work. “So what brings you down here at this hour?”

Brenda essayed an awkward grin. “Dad and I were going to talk privately over at his office, but I’m so used to coming here that it was like my feet just walked me over here.”

Autumn’s laughter was genuine, not just professional courtesy. “I could tell you a few stories about that myself. And speaking of your father, I was planning on speaking with him myself. Having near-realtime data is nice, but I simply don’t have the background to interpret it, and Dr. Doorne’s got enough projects on her plate already that I really don’t want to take any more of her time than I have to.”

“And Dad’s got the engineering background to tell you what it’s going to mean in terms of operational effects for us and the outlying settlements. At least Earth shouldn’t get hit too bad, since the magnetosphere should offer some protection, but it could get rough up here.”

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A Season on Edge

Autumn Belfontaine looked at the coffeepot, considered whether to draw herself a cup. On one hand, she was tired, and didn’t want to literally fall asleep at her desk. On the other hand, she didn’t want to wire herself up so tight that she couldn’t get to sleep when she finished and got back to her apartment.

Considering that made her realize just how many late nights she’d been pulling these last few weeks. In normal times — at least as much as anything since the Expulsions could be considered “normal” — she would do most of her broadcasting in the morning, with the evening news segments left to the more junior members of the news team.

How long had it been since those first reports had come in, the empty villages in Central Asia, the cruise ships making emergency calls to the Navy for medical assistance, the abandoned cars and campers of the homeless that were mentioned only in local news? Of course it didn’t help one’s sense of time that up here on the Moon, morning, noon and night were just numbers on a clock, tied to a diurnal cycle at one’s national space control center rather than anything actually happening on the lunar surface. The artificiality of it soon induced a sense of unreality, no doubt because the brain didn’t get certain subconscious signals, even if the lights in the corridors did dim during the hours when it would be night in Houston.

Now she was having to monitor the development of a new crisis even as she was trying to keep track of the old one. At least a solar storm wasn’t quite as subject to rumors and misinformation, since it involved objective observations of an astronomical phenomenon. Thanks to the astronomy department, she had direct feeds on the key solar observation satellite data, although half the time she had to call someone in the astronomy department to interpret them.

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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.