Tag: Quinn Merton

Why do I keep feeling like we’re under siege?

Rick Sutton was no stranger to staying in the BOQ. He’d done so plenty of times over the years, back on Earth when he was deployed on a station where one could not bring dependents, or here on the Moon when he had an overnight stay at another settlement. But he’d never been in the one here in Coopersville until now.

He understood the rationale. Every time pilot-astronauts visited Luna Station or another settlement, they were exposed to a multitude of outsiders. In normal times it wasn’t a huge concern, since the pre-flight quarantine periods were supposed to keep people from bringing anything up here, beyond the colds that could never quite be completely eliminated (and according to Medstaff, were necessary for the healthy operation of the immune system).

In the current situation, the stakes were far higher. Already a seemingly trivial breach of quarantine in the Indian space program had effectively shut down a big chunk of Japan’s spacelift capacity until everyone who might have come into contact with the infected individual had completed the necessary period of quarantine and was pronounced clear by the doctors. And there’d been a scare at Schirrasburg, although it had turned out to be an ordinary norovirus, not the diablovirus.

He knew he should be grateful that their isolation wasn’t absolute. He could still talk to his wife and daughter via FaceTime, but it just wasn’t the same.

And he was getting some worried texts from Quinn Merton up at Shepardsport. In normal times he would’ve visited his clone-brothers when he was up there, but now that simply wasn’t possible.

However, this was definitely not just a matter of missing his visits. No, Quinn was pretty clearly getting some contradictory information, about the current space weather situation and picking up a sense that something a lot bigger was going on behind the scenes.

Not surprising, considering that his position as a DJ at Shepardsport Pirate Radio would be putting him in touch with some information sources that ordinary civilians didn’t see. And he could read between the lines and pick up the gaps and lacunae in the official space weather forecasts too.

Rick’s wife was a planetary geologist specializing in cometary water deposition, so her understanding of solar storms would be glancing. However, she would know people in the appropriate specialties, and be far more able to contact them than he would.

Yes, it was time to ask her some questions.

Quinn Merton struggled against his urge to push the kids away. It wasn’t their fault that the only way to talk with Major Sutton right now was FaceTime, even when he was in town.

Rick Sutton was the closest thing they had to a parental figure right now. Although he had been raised in a regular family, having been adopted out of the creche as an infant before he could even remember any other life, he took the obligations of astronaut lineage seriously.

But then we Armstrongs are always straight arrows. That’s why a lot of the early astronauts thought our ur-brother was a cold fish.

Rick Sutton looked tired tonight, but he was still making time for his younger clone-brothers. On the other hand, his appearance might be more the result of an emotional drain than a physical one. After all, he had family back on Earth, and he had to be concerned about their situation.

Quinn tried to imagine what it would be like, to know some of your nearest and dearest were in harm’s way and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. A Cooper probably would have prayed for their well-being, but Armstrongs tended toward deism. Sometimes Quinn wondered if a more personal conceptualization of the supernatural would provide comfort in times like these.

Whatever his elder brother’s reason for looking tired, the man did need his rest. Which meant Quinn needed to find a graceful way to draw the conversation to a close without sounding as if he were scolding any of his younger brothers for selfishness.

Although I suppose I could remind them that they have a bedtime they need to keep. Tomorrow’s going to come earlier than any of us want.

That was when one of the apartment doors opened. Quinn could hear a voice, but not make out any words. However, from the rhythm of speech, it sounded like the person was talking on the phone with someone.

And they were coming this way. If whoever was on the phone was talking about something sensitive and didn’t want a roommate or other family members to hear, they might come out here in search of privacy. The perfect excuse to nudge his clone-brothers into winding up their conversation and getting back to their own quarters to turn in for the night.

Everything seemed so simple — not a one of them put up more than ritual objections before telling Major Sutton good-bye and heading off to bed. Which was probably just as well, Quinn realized as he looked at the battery indicator on his tablet. He was going to need to get that thing plugged back in ASAP.

And then Alice Murchison came around the corner, obviously winding up her conversation. “As a matter of fact, he’s right here. I’ll let him know.”

Quinn’s stomach tightened at the realization that he was obviously the object of that remark. He closed his tablet’s case and rose to face her. “Are you looking for me, ma’am?”

“As a matter of fact, I was. I just got a call from Jen Redmond over at Food and Nutrition. She was wondering if you’d be willing to be her teaching assistant for a basic health and nutrition class next quarter.”

Quinn considered the proposition. On one hand, it would be a bit of a come-down after having spent the current quarter teaching his own class, even if it was just fourth-grade math. On the other hand, saying no to a senior division chief was not a good way to win favor with the upper-level administration.”

He decided to hedge his bets. “I suppose I could pick it up, if Training has someone else lined up to take over the course I’m teaching right now. The kids are really picking things up fast, and I’d rather not leave them in the lurch.”

“Perfectly understandable. I’ll have Jen talk to Deena tomorrow about what it’d take to make the switch. From the sound of things, she’s planning it as a big class, with the teaching assistants handling weekly break-out sessions for small group discussions, sort of like a lecture and discussion class in Earthside universities. Thanks.”

Quinn managed to get some coherent words of gratitude out of his mouth, and then Alice was enering the module airlock, off to the corridor that connected the residential modules of Dunwich Sector to the other sectors. Alone, he realized just how tense he’d become — and that he’d been anticipating some kind of bad news. A reprimand for some kind of failing? An extra shift he’d need to take because someone else couldn’t do it?

Not surprising, given how much bad news was coming up from Earth now that IT had their Internet connection fixed. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, some fresh horror would flash across the video screens.

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.