She pressed “send” and sat back as the message spun its way through the data-net to Ami-Lynn’s account. Her friend wouldn’t be home from school for another three hours, but Yalena felt better, having sent the message out. It steadied her and reminded her that even if she lost both parents to her father’s horrid war, she wouldn’t lose friends like Ami-Lynn, because POPPA cared enough to protect her from things like this off-world war that no sane person would want to fight in. Yalena sighed and stared through her window, not really looking at the landing pad or the police training center beyond the fence that surrounded their house and the Bolo’s maintenance depot.
She wished, for at least the millionth time, that her father was just an ordinary person, so they wouldn’t always be disagreeing on everything. She had tried so hard to tell him why POPPA was so important to her home-world, but he never understood and just got angry, so she’d finally stopped trying. This wasn’t her father’s home-world. He just didn’t understand how it was, to belong to a place the way Yalena belonged here. He didn’t know what it meant, to belong to a group of people the way she belonged with the people in POPPA, who were the nicest, gentlest people in the world, people who cared about everything and everyone. The only people POPPA didn’t like were the ones that made trouble for everybody else. Like the Grangers.
Her cheeks stung with an embarrassment she was afraid she would never outgrow. Her whole family was full of Grangers. People who wanted to keep guns in their houses, people who made trouble every time the Senate and House of Law tried to pass a law that everybody with any intelligence knew was a good idea. She didn’t talk about her family at school, or with her friends. If the subject came up, she just rolled her eyes and shrugged, writing them off as the crazies they were. Yalena would never understand them. And they would never understand her. And that made her so sad and so miserable, she laid back down on her bed, again, and cried some more, very quietly, this time.
It was sheer hell, being thirteen and all alone in a family that didn’t want her.
IV
Simon was gone for five hours before he checked in by radio. “Kafari, I’ve got the banking affairs settled, updated my will, set up a power of attorney for you, a whole host of details nailed down. I’m headed home.”
“We’ll be waiting.”
No tears, no hint of the grief in her heart that tore loose in a flood the moment he signed off. She wiped her face with brusque, angry gestures. No tears, Kafari, she ordered her obstinate heart. You don’t greet a soldier with tears, either, not when he’s going away in three days… Oh, God, how could she bear to face the long, empty months and years ahead, without him by her side every night or smiling into her eyes every morning? She sank down onto the bed, helpless to stop the flood pouring loose, then rolled over and cried into the pillow so Yalena wouldn’t hear.
Ten minutes later, a metallic voice boomed through the speakers on Simon’s datascreen. “Kafari. Simon’s aircar is losing power. It is unstable and going down.”
Time — and the breath in her lungs — froze, like the sudden cold sweat on her skin. For long, horrifying seconds, she was pinned in place. She couldn’t breathe. Almost couldn’t see. Then Sonny spoke again, a construct of flintsteel and electrons that contrived, somehow, to sound terrified.
“Simon has crashed. His forward speed was sufficient to sustain serious injury. I am picking up life-signs from his comm-unit. The likelihood of sabotage to his aircar is extreme. I have gone to Battle Reflex Alert. I am contacting emergency medical response teams in Madison. They have scrambled an air rescue team. ETA three minutes to Simon’s location.”
Kafari found herself stumbling toward the door, snatching up purse, keys, shoes.
“Yalena!” she screamed. “Yalena, get out here now! Your father’s aircar has crashed!”
The door to her daughter’s room swung open. Yalena, face white with abrupt shock, stood staring at her. “Is he — is he — d-dead?”
“No. Sonny says not… yet. They’ve scrambled an air rescue medical team. Get your shoes! We’re going to the hospital.”
Yalena ran, grabbing up the shoes she’d kicked off at the foot of her bed. Two minutes later they were airborne, in Kafari’s Airdart, which was fast and maneuverable. Once aloft, she hit full throttle and flew like a demon, screaming across the fences around Nineveh Base and roaring toward Madison. She fumbled with her wrist-comm.
“Sonny, talk to me. Is he still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Feed me coordinates. Where did he go down?”
The nav-system screen flashed to life, with a blip showing Simon’s location. The med-team would arrive before she did. “Find out which hospital they’re taking him to. University? Or General?”
A fractional pause ensued. “University has better emergency facilities. The rescue pilot has logged his intention to transport Simon to University Hospital. The medical crew is airlifting him now. His life-signs are weak.”
Terror trembled on her eyelashes, made it hard to see where she was going. She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand. Tears were spilling down Yalena’s cheeks, as well, silent tears of fright and something else, something too deep to fathom, yet. Sonny spoke again from the speaker, causing Yalena to jump. “Simon’s airlift has arrived at University Hospital. He is still alive. I am monitoring.”
“Yalena. Call your grandparents.”
Her daughter reached for the controls, fingers trembling. “Grandma? Are you there? Grandma, it’s Yalena…”
“Hello? Yalena? What are you doing, calling from school?”
“It’s Daddy,” she said, voice breaking. She started to sob. Kafari said, “Mom, Simon’s aircar has crashed. He’s at University Hospital. I’m on my way there with Yalena.”
“Oh, dear God… We’re on the way.”
Ten minutes later, Kafari set down in the University Hospital parking lot. They ran for the wide double doors of the emergency room, silent and scared. Kafari fetched up against the receptionist’s desk. “I’m Mrs. Khrustinova. Where’s my husband?”
“They’ve rushed him into emergency surgery, Mrs. Khrustinova. Let me call someone to take you up to the surgical suite’s waiting room.”
A hospitality agent appeared, escorting them down a long, antiseptic hallway, into an elevator, and up to the third floor. They were shown into a waiting lounge that was, for the moment, empty. Kafari yanked down the volume on the datascreen, unable to bear the sound of the stupid game show in progress. Yalena sat down on one of the chairs, scared and very pale.
Kafari couldn’t sit down. She wanted to collapse, but terror was a goad that wouldn’t let her rest. She paced, frantic, staring at her chrono every few seconds until the ritual became so painful, she unbuckled the thing and shoved it into her pocket. She walked, ravaging her lower lip with her teeth, rubbing the empty place on her arm where the chrono had been. The volunteer brought them a hospitality tray, with cold drinks, cookies, comfort foods. Kafari couldn’t choke anything down.