That took him aback. “How can a nebula disappear?”
“A standard-issue nebula can’t—but that shadow cloud moved. It messed with our systems, it swallowed up the robot ships. The Ildirans have legends about some ancient enemy called the Shana Rei, creatures of darkness. After what we saw, the Adar believes the Shana Rei may be more than just legends, and I’m inclined to agree. If he’s right, we’ll need to know whatever they know. We may even need their help.”
“I agree,” Cain said. “Launch more joint patrols if you like.”
“I’m on it, Mr. Deputy—anything to keep me away from a desk job.”
Overhead, the meteors continued to fall.
SIXTY-SIX
GARRISON REEVES
For the first few years after the destruction of the Moon, it had taken a massive effort to map the orbits of the largest remnants and then to stabilize the rubble. Groups of celestial mechanics plotted orbital perturbations and ran simulations to determine which asteroids would intersect the Earth’s path. The primary concern was to identify any chunks on an imminent collision course, so the cleanup teams could work to deflect them.
In a few centuries—an eyeblink on an astronomical scale—the Moon’s rubble would have distributed itself into a lovely ring around Earth, but with so many fresh fragments in unstable orbits, collisions occurred faster than they could be mapped, and the impacts deflected previously benign rubble, which forced the cleanup teams to react and make changes.
Garrison loved the work. In the Prodigal Son, he was one of the surveyors sent out to respond and submit recommendations each time the automated network of telescopes detected a large-scale impact.
Growing up in clan Reeves, he had spent a lot of time studying celestial mechanics, because Olaf Reeves insisted that every Roamer needed to know how the universe worked. He had a particular intuition for nuances and subtle effects, which was why he noticed slight perturbations at Sheol that others had discounted.
Garrison took no pride in being right about Sheol, and carried a weight of guilt, wondering if he could have done more to warn about the danger. If Elisa had believed him and supported him, he would have had enough leverage to convince Lee Iswander. But it had been a long time since his own wife had given him the benefit of the doubt. At least he had saved Seth…
He received regular updates on his son’s progress at Academ. Seth thrived there with other students, swimming with the wentals, being taught by compies as well as Jess Tamblyn and Cesca Peroni. The cheerful messages Garrison received allowed him to remain satisfied with his work at the LOC.
On his patrol, he flew past the gravitational stable points of L-4 and L-5, where much of the lunar rubble had already collected. The flight was like a constant sandblasting barrage, but his enhanced shields protected him against the majority of the debris, which was no larger than pebbles or dust grains. He rode the Moon’s old orbit in a great circle, taking a week to make each circuit. Some might have called it lonely work, but he found it peaceful.
Earth was always at the center of the orbit: a large blue and green sphere swirled with white. This was much different from Rendezvous, the stark cluster of rocks where clan Reeves had spent so much time. The bustle of activity in lunar orbit gave this planet—the birthplace of humanity—a vibrant energy.
It was where he had first met Elisa. He pushed those thoughts aside. He had made his choices, set his course, and then changed course. He decided to let go of the bad choices, let go of those thoughts entirely. Elisa was gone. The past was part of him, but it was the past. Seth was at Academ, and happy; Garrison was here now, and content. They had the whole future ahead of them.
He discovered a tumbler ahead, a large sharp-edged rock that spun across his path where it shouldn’t have been. So he marked its location and sent a high-priority signal back to the main LOC operations. The tumbler would be tagged and tracked, its orbit mapped in detail, then deflected if necessary.
During his mapping activities, Garrison surveyed the rubble composition, identifying metal-rich fragments from which miners could extract valuable materials. It was merely a sorting job, and in a month or two he would request a transfer to something more challenging.
His short-term goal was to get back on his feet again, to support himself and to take care of his son. Even after only a couple of months, his supervisors had noticed the quality of his work, and he was confident he’d be promoted—if this was even the work Garrison decided he wanted to do. In the long run, he intended to take control of his life and choose its direction. He wouldn’t let himself just fall into a permanent career.
After he finished his orbital patrol, Garrison headed back to the LOC. The numerous civilian and military structures there represented an industrial boom, a golden age. The retooled CDF set up their main base there, which included freestanding space stations, as well as orbiting survey docks, communication ports, tunnel habitats inside the largest rock fragments, and habitation platforms that looked like swollen ships tethered to rocks.
Although the LOC did not have the finesse or rough beauty of a Roamer installation, Garrison had grown comfortable with it. He had his own quarters, friends who worked on the sorting and excavation teams, and recreational activities in the primary hab and commercial complex, when he wasn’t on duty. Before his next scout circuit, he would have a day of downtime: playing games, chatting, and relaxing.
By now, he supposed clan Reeves had abandoned Rendezvous and flown off to their mysterious city in space. Garrison did not regret staying behind and making sure Seth had a normal upbringing.
On his return flight to the LOC, he organized his survey readings, flagged the items that he felt deserved particular attention. As the Prodigal Son docked, he transmitted his full report, knowing it was all that interested his supervisor Milli Torino. She wasn’t a warm and fuzzy person, and she didn’t like to spend face time with her employees.
Leaving the dock, he submitted a requisition for refueling, then used only a fraction of his allotment to take a quick mist-shower (conservation was in his Roamer blood), before venturing out into the crowded communal areas of the complex. Instead of a chemically warmed packet from the ship’s galley, he wanted a hot meal prepared by a human, but his son was always his first priority. He went to the hab complex’s marketplace, walked past cafés and entertainment centers, until he found the resident green priest, Lubai.
Many LOC workers were Earth natives who had scraped together their spare change to secure a job at the rubble site. Other employers, especially the Roamer specialists, came from far away, which made communication with home difficult. Seeing a need, the green priest had set up his shop as a freelance messenger to deliver news and letters to loved ones across the Spiral Arm.
When Garrison paid Lubai the agreed-upon fee, the green priest slid his potted treeling across the table, placing the leafy fronds like a barrier between himself and his customer. The fronds obscured the green priest’s face, which allowed Garrison to concentrate on his words and imagine that he was looking at Seth’s face instead of a tree.
“I want this message routed to Academ, to be transcribed and delivered to my son, Seth Reeves.”
Between fronds, he could see a slight smile on Lubai’s face. “As you wish—as always.”
Garrison began talking, as if to a telegraph operator, and the green priest whisper-mumbled his words back, touching the slender treeling. The message would go out into the verdani mind, and a counterpart green priest at Newstation would receive the message and transfer it to Academ.