and maybe, just maybe, a battle fleet might be making motions toward another color on the map.
She lit up Earth, the mother of this whole mess. The first two hundred years of human outreach had colonized the Seven Sisters, and then the forty-plus stepsisters, as wags named the next sphere. Nelly colored those planets green, the color of the Society of Humanity back before the Unity War, then immediately added in black the hundred planets that had made up Unity. NO, NELLY, THAT’S HISTORY. SHOW GRAMPA RAY’S UNITED SENTIENTS IN RED. The map changed; a lot of the black went to red, but so did some of the green: Pitts Hope, LornaDo. Surprise for Earth. The red also included the colonies Wardhaven had sponsored in the last eighty years. Still, the red and green were less than a quarter of the six hundred worlds now inhabited by humanity.
PUT PETERWALD’S FACTION IN BLACK. A fifty-world chunk of the Rim formed a dark cloud, centered around Greenfeld. It seemed to reach out to block Wardhaven from further expansion. Hamilton and its five colonies lay between Turantic and Peterwald’s holdings. THERE ANY BAD BLOOD BETWEEN TURANTIC AND HAMILTON? Kris asked Nelly.
ONLY THE USUAL TRADING RIVALRIES, the computer agreed. Kris eyed the wall screen, searching for how she and Tom fit in.
“Kris, you have a collect call coming in.”
“Who from this time?”
“Tommy.”
“Accept it!” Kris shouted, bouncing to her feet. Jack and Harvey were maybe half a second slower shooting from their places on the couch, the long night’s exhaustion forgotten. Abby sat quietly in the straight-backed chair she’d set in a corner. She might have actually gotten some sleep for all she’d contributed to the night’s conversations.
A section of wall screen changed to show the phone call. There was Tommy, looking disheveled, his skin so pale his freckles stood out like warning lights.
“Kris, I need help,” he started, no lopsided grin today.
And the screen went blank.
“Nelly, where’s the rest of the call?” Kris yelled.
“It was cut off at the source.”
“Where was he calling from? Rerun it!” Kris demanded. Nelly reran the call, freezing frame just before it cut off. Kris stared into Tommy’s eyes, trying to plumb them for fear, terror, newfound freedom. The face just looked tired.
“Talk to me about the call, Nelly,” Kris ordered.
“The header file has been damaged, apparently in an attempt to retrieve the call,” Nelly said. “The call was made from High Turantic Station about six hours ago, real time. The exact location of the phone is lost, but it was on the public systems in the station’s dock section.” A schematic of a standard, class E station appeared.
“Not much to go on,” Jack muttered.
“Six hours ago, Tom was on Turantic and needed help,” Kris snapped. “That’s enough for me.”
“Enough for what?”
“To get a search going,” Kris said, pacing the floor.
“Turantic is twelve light-years away. Six hours by priority mail,” Jack pointed out.
“So, call in some chits. You’re a cop, aren’t you? Get some of the brethren off their duffs and out looking for Tom.”
“Kris, we’re personal security. We don’t do kidnappings.”
“Your agency was all over the dopes who snatched Eddy,” Kris snapped, mad enough not to choke on the name of her six-year-old brother who died under a pile of manure.
“Eddy was our subject. Tom is not.”
“And would anybody snatch Tom if he hadn’t gotten too damn close to me?”
Jack’s face was a professional mask; no answer there.
“Nelly, get me Grampa Ray.”
Jack’s eyebrows raised at that, but he turned away and retook his place on the couch, folding his hands and eyeing Kris like she had some lessons to learn.
“Hi, Kris, what you doing up so early on a Saturday after a ball?” Grampa Ray smiled from a section of wall.
“I kind of have a problem, Grampa,” Kris answered, then filled him in. His smile worked its way into a
She lit up Earth, the mother of this whole mess. The first two hundred years of human outreach had colonized the Seven Sisters, and then the forty-plus stepsisters, as wags named the next sphere. Nelly colored those planets green, the color of the Society of Humanity back before the Unity War, then immediately added in black the hundred planets that had made up Unity. NO, NELLY, THAT’S HISTORY. SHOW GRAMPA RAY’S UNITED SENTIENTS IN RED. The map changed; a lot of the black went to red, but so did some of the green: Pitts Hope, LornaDo. Surprise for Earth. The red also included the colonies Wardhaven had sponsored in the last eighty years. Still, the red and green were less than a quarter of the six hundred worlds now inhabited by humanity.
PUT PETERWALD’S FACTION IN BLACK. A fifty-world chunk of the Rim formed a dark cloud, centered around Greenfeld. It seemed to reach out to block Wardhaven from further expansion. Hamilton and its five colonies lay between Turantic and Peterwald’s holdings. THERE ANY BAD BLOOD BETWEEN TURANTIC AND HAMILTON? Kris asked Nelly.
ONLY THE USUAL TRADING RIVALRIES, the computer agreed. Kris eyed the wall screen, searching for how she and Tom fit in.
“Kris, you have a collect call coming in.”
“Who from this time?”
“Tommy.”
“Accept it!” Kris shouted, bouncing to her feet. Jack and Harvey were maybe half a second slower shooting from their places on the couch, the long night’s exhaustion forgotten. Abby sat quietly in the straight-backed chair she’d set in a corner. She might have actually gotten some sleep for all she’d contributed to the night’s conversations.
A section of wall screen changed to show the phone call. There was Tommy, looking disheveled, his skin so pale his freckles stood out like warning lights.
“Kris, I need help,” he started, no lopsided grin today.
And the screen went blank.
“Nelly, where’s the rest of the call?” Kris yelled.
“It was cut off at the source.”
“Where was he calling from? Rerun it!” Kris demanded. Nelly reran the call, freezing frame just before it cut off. Kris stared into Tommy’s eyes, trying to plumb them for fear, terror, newfound freedom. The face just looked tired.
“Talk to me about the call, Nelly,” Kris ordered.
“The header file has been damaged, apparently in an attempt to retrieve the call,” Nelly said. “The call was made from High Turantic Station about six hours ago, real time. The exact location of the phone is lost, but it was on the public systems in the station’s dock section.” A schematic of a standard, class E station appeared.
“Not much to go on,” Jack muttered.
“Six hours ago, Tom was on Turantic and needed help,” Kris snapped. “That’s enough for me.”
“Enough for what?”
“To get a search going,” Kris said, pacing the floor.
“Turantic is twelve light-years away. Six hours by priority mail,” Jack pointed out.
“So, call in some chits. You’re a cop, aren’t you? Get some of the brethren off their duffs and out looking for Tom.”
“Kris, we’re personal security. We don’t do kidnappings.”
“Your agency was all over the dopes who snatched Eddy,” Kris snapped, mad enough not to choke on the name of her six-year-old brother who died under a pile of manure.
“Eddy was our subject. Tom is not.”
“And would anybody snatch Tom if he hadn’t gotten too damn close to me?”
Jack’s face was a professional mask; no answer there.
“Nelly, get me Grampa Ray.”
Jack’s eyebrows raised at that, but he turned away and retook his place on the couch, folding his hands and eyeing Kris like she had some lessons to learn.
“Hi, Kris, what you doing up so early on a Saturday after a ball?” Grampa Ray smiled from a section of wall.
“I kind of have a problem, Grampa,” Kris answered, then filled him in. His smile worked its way into a
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