Sorry.” Before I can reply, she asks, “How’s it going down on your
end? Dylan behaving himself?”
“Hey!” he cries, but I laugh and tell
her, “More or less. You know how he is.” Then I give her a brief
overview of the situation, choosing my words carefully because I
get the impression that Ellington’s listening a little too closely
to what I have to say. So I tell her about the committee and how
we’re supposed to meet with them tonight and how we might not,
glossing over the complications that have arisen with Marie’s
pregnancy because that’s really none of our concern. “Shanley’s
helping out,” is all I say. I don’t mention the surly demeanor of
the colonists or the virus that decimated so much of the ship’s
population, and I sure as hell don’t tell her that Dylan’s mad
because they won’t give us a room to ourselves and he’s not going
to get a piece of me tonight, she reallydoesn’t need to
know that. But I describe the planet’s surface and the S410