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he’ll mind,” Bren said.
    “Not likely he will.” Deep sigh. “Time lag is a pain.”
    “Can you make out the shipyard? Have you been able to find it?”
    “That’s the worrisome thing. There’s no activity out there. No lights, nothing. Black as deep space.”
    A foreboding little chill crept down Bren’s back. A lot of robot miners. And no activity in the region that should be the focus of the effort. “That’s odd.” He saw a reply counter running on that image at the front of the bridge, down in the corner of the screen, now that he looked for it. It was -00:04:22 going on 23.
    Four minutes without an answer. That gave a little clue about distance and magnification.
    Then:
    “Put it on general intercom, all crew areas, C1.” That was Sabin.
    “. . . .just got here,” came over the general address.
    Ogun’s voice. Thank God.
    “Can you respond?”
    “Earth had one moon.” That wasn’t conversational on Sabin’s part.
    “Mars had two,” from Ogun. Clearly an exchange of codewords. “You’re a welcome sight. How did it go?”
    “Rescue was entirely successful. We have 4078 passengers.”
    A little silence, a slight lagtime for the signal, but nothing significant. “What is your situation with the atevi on board?”
    “Excellent,” Sabin said. “And they’re hearing you, at the moment.”
    “Is the dowager in good health? Is the aiji’s heir safe? ”
    Right from human and ordinary, hello, good to see you, to how is the dowager? Odd swerve in topics. Bren’s pulse picked up, and he tried not to lose a word or nuance of what he might have to translate for the dowager.
    “Both are here on the bridge, safe and sound. Why, Jules?”
    Why in hell, Bren wondered simultaneously, are atevi the first issue?
    “And Mr. Cameron? Is he with you?”
    “Here and able to respond if you have a question for him. Is there a problem, Jules?”
    “Just checking.”
    “Checking, hell! What’s going on over there, Jules? Is there a problem on your side?
    “Did you find anything out there?”
    Bren found his palms sweating. Sabin shifted her stance, leaned close to the communications console, both hands on the counter. And became uncharacteristically patient.
    “Peaceful contact with a species called the kyo, a complex situation. They’ve been willing to talk, thanks to the atevi’s good offices. Colonists are safe and rescued. We’ve got a lot to report. But I want answers. What is your situation, Jules? What’s this set of questions? Where’s a simple glad to see you ?”
    “We are immensely glad to see you. The tanks aren’t finished. The ship isn’t finished. Food is not in great supply here.”
    Worse and worse.
    “Jules, why not?”
    “We have an ongoing problem. Shuttles aren’t flying. Haven’t, for eight months. We’re cut off from supply, trying to finish and fill the food production tanks on a priority basis.”
    Banichi had gotten to his feet. So had Jago, Cenedi, the dowager, and, necessarily, Cajeiri, followed by Gin and Jerry.
    Bren gave them a sign, wait, wait.
    “Why not?” Sabin asked. “Come out with it, Jules. What’s happened there?”
    “The government’s collapsed on the mainland. The aiji is no longer communicating with us or anybody. The dish at Mogari-nai is not transmitting. Shuttles are no longer launching from the spaceports. As best the Island can figure, the aishidi’tat is in complete turmoil and only regional governments are functioning with any efficiency at all.”
    God.
    “What is this?” Ilisidi demanded outright, and Bren turned quietly to translate.
    “With great regret, one apprehends there has been upheaval in the aishidi’tat as of eight months ago, aiji-ma. Your grandson is not answering queries, Mogari-nai has shut down, and shuttles are not reaching the station with supplies, aiji-ma. The station is very short of food and rushing desperately to build independent food production facilities. Ogun-aiji is extremely glad to know you and the