"And the Consortium wants to begin recording-?"
"Fourteen days."
He turned his brilliant smile on her. He had the most glorious blue eyes, warming as he stared intently at her through the ima-vision, as though he were really right by her side, comforting her infant sobs on a stormy night. He didn't even flinch, seeing her blemished face in such a close-up. "Listen, Rosie. You hang in there for ten more days and I'll come get you. We'll make the most of it, father and daughter reunited, that kind of thing. Let Joseph know when your first landfall comes once the ten days are up. I'll be there to meet you. No need to mention you called now and arranged it in advance. Pretend you're surprised to see me."
"But, Daddy-"
"Are you in danger of being killed?"
Marcos had not shifted position, nor his grip on the scatter gun. "No. I don't think so, but-"
"Rosie. Mouse." His tone softened, lowered. "You know I will never let you down. But as long as your life or health isn't in danger, it can't be done for ten days. I made an arrangement with Surbrent-Xia that you would stick with the Sunseekers for three months. You weren't to know, but I trust you can see how important it is that I fulfill my contracts. You know how tight money is these days-"
"You 'made an arrangement' with Surbrent-Xia! I thought I ran away!"
"You did. You did. Fortunately, you picked the right place to run away to."
"But I want to come home, Daddy. Now. I need to. You don't understand-"
"It can't be done. If I break the contract, we get nothing. Just ten more days."
She hated that tone. "But, Daddy, the-the-" What was Marcos going to do? Shoot her with a nonlethal weapon while her father could see and hear? "I am in danger. An awful thing happened. We landed at San Lorenzo and then we were attacked by corporate raiders who wanted the solar array. And then we were caught in the cross fire when another group who had their technology stolen stole it back. I thought they were bandits, first, but it's all some kind of corporate espionage that goes back for years and years, like they're always stealing things, bits or patents from each other and stealing them back and selling them out-system-"
"Joseph! Joseph!" He turned away from her, showing his profile. Always aware of the camera's eye, he never lifted his chin because it distorted the angle of his nose. "Did you get that down? We need more information! This could be a gold mine if we get it into development first. I see it as a serial. A family saga about ruthless technology pirates!" His beautiful face loomed again, grinning at her. "What a good girl, Rosie! I knew I could count on you! Is there someone there I can talk to, who would be interested in a contract? Who has inside information?"
"A contract!" She recoiled from the table, sure she hadn't heard him right.
Marcos was already pushing past her. "What kind of contract? Is there money? Is there publicity? We'll need leverage…" He leaned down in front of the view screen, introduced himself, and began bargaining.
"Daddy!"
"Love you, Rosie! Now, M. Marcos. First we'll need an all-hours contact number-"
"Daddy!"
Marcos ignored her, and her father had forgotten her. Amazingly, Marcos didn't even object, or seem to notice, as Rose left the hut and trudged down the dirt street back to the church, her only companions half a dozen chickens and two mangy dogs who circled warily, darting in to sniff at her heels until she kicked one. Yelping, they raced away.
The church remained empty, abandoned, six chairs overturned and one drying bloodstain, nothing serious.
Only bruised.
Seсora Maria had departed from the little back chamber, but she had left Doctor Baby Jesus sitting upright on the shelf, plump arms spread in a welcoming gesture as Rose halted in front of him.
"I speak English," said Rose, her voice choked. Tears spilled, but she fought against them. "I need help."
A whirr. A squeal.
"Please wait while I connect you."
A different voice, this time. A woman. "Please state your location and need. I am M. Maldonado, medical technician. I am here to help you."
A pause.
"Are you there?" The voice deepened with concern.
She found her voice, lost beneath the streaming tears. "I just need your help. Can you connect me to my brother? His name is Anton Mikhailov. He's an advocate at-uh-" She traced down through her sim-screen. "This is his priority number."
"Are you in danger?"
"No. No. Kind of. Nobody's going to kill me. But I'm lost- I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you're here for. I know this isn't important. You must get thousands of life-and-death calls every hour."
The woman made a sound, like a swallowed chuckle. "This system was defunct twenty years ago, but we keep a few personnel on-line because of people who have no other access. It's all right. It's all right. What's your name?"
"Rose."
"Please stay on the line, Rose. I'll get a channel to your brother. If you want to talk, just say something. I'm here listening."
She had nothing to say. She fidgeted anxiously, swallowing compulsively, each time hoping to consume the lump that constricted her throat.
Dull, officious Anton, who worked as an advocate for disabled or troubled children or some other equally worthy and boring vocation. He had left the family fourteen years before, when she was only a baby. He had been raised by someone else, by traitors, thieves, defectives. He had rarely visited his parents and then only on supervised visitations, because the ones who had stolen him had poisoned his mind. Yet he always wrote to her four times a year on the quarter, chatty notes detailing the obscenely tedious details of his life. Each note repeated at the end the same tired cliche: Call me any time, Rosie. Any time.
She didn't really know him. He could as well have been a stranger. Why should he do anything for her if her father didn't even care enough to come when she asked? Wasn't this the only time she had ever asked anything of her father?
All these years she had never asked.
"Patching you through," said helpful M. Maldonado. "M. Mikhailov, I'll remain on stepped-back link if you need me."
"Thank you. Rose?" Anton had a reedy tenor, rising querulously. She didn't know him well enough to know if he was surprised, annoyed, or pleased.
"Anton, it's Rose."
I'm Rose, she thought, half astonished, hearing her own voice speak her own name: a small, isolated voice, lost in the dim room, in the old church, in the forgotten village, in the green jungle, on the common earth beneath clouds that covered the all-seeing eye of the sun. It was amazing anyone could hear her at all. She sobbed, choking on it, so it came out sounding halfway between a cough and a sneeze. She could barely squeeze out words.
"Please, come get me."
"Of course, Rose. Right away. Where are you?"
"I'm all alone."
The buzz of the fluorescent lamp accompanied her other companion: the solitude, not even a mouse or a roach. The world had emptied out around her. For an instant, she thought the connection had failed until Doctor Baby Jesus whirred and Anton spoke again, an odd tone in his suddenly very even, level all-on-the-same-note voice.
"Did you call Dad?"
She sobbed. She could get no word past her throat, no comprehensible sound, only this wrenching, gasping, ugly sound.
The baby doctor sighed with Anton's voice. "He'll never love you, Rosie. Never. He can't love anyone but himself."
Fury made her articulate. "He does love me. He says so."
"Love is just another commodity to him. Maybe you get something, but there's always a price to be paid. I'm so sorry. Evdi and Yana and I love you-"
"He does love me."
"I'll come get you. Stay where you are, Rosie. I'll come. Will you stay? Will you be there? Don't go running off anywhere? You're not going to change your mind and follow those damn Sunseekers?"