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too dismissive. She wasn’t going to ask him for anything, ever. She didn’t do things like that.
    She nodded toward the children’s area. Another parent, two toddlers in tow, hurried inside.
    “I suspect you won’t have to wait long,” she said.
    “Thank you,” he said again. “Wave good-bye, Fee.”
    Fiona didn’t let go of the ring. But she whispered, “Bye.”
    Then the man—Donal—took Fiona into the children’s area without looking back.
    Berhane watched them for a moment. While waiting for that bastard Torkild, she had waited to have children too. Although that probably wasn’t entirely fair. She had told Torkild she wasn’t sure she ever wanted children.
    She hadn’t been ready to think about them.
    And she certainly wasn’t ready now.
    She sighed, then turned around. The image on the screens was all the same now. A close-up of Arek’s face. He didn’t look like himself. He almost looked like a stone visage of the mayor, toppled over and somewhat off.
    Her breath caught in her throat. She’d liked Arek, even if she had thought him a bit of a media whore. He had helped her with some charity work, even when her father had opposed wasting the time.
    Her father’s favorite criticism: wasting time.
    Which she was doing, looking at Arek now. Dead. On Anniversary Day.
    She wiped her hand over her face, surprised that the tears had stopped. Her skin was sticky, though. She needed to find a bathroom and splash some water on her cheeks.
    There was probably a bathroom on this floor, but she didn’t want to thread her way through the crowd. Instead, she went back to the stairs.
    As she did, she realized that her father might not have heard what was going on. He hated to be interrupted when he was at an event, and unless the governor-general had made an announcement, no one at the speech had probably heard.
    Berhane reinstated all of her links. Aside from the messages from the port assuring her that things would be settled soon, she had received nothing.
    Dad? She sent along her links.
    She took the stairs down.
    She got nothing in response, which was odd. She boosted the audio and established a written link as well, just in case she couldn’t hear. The conversation in the luxury terminal was louder than she had ever heard before.
    Dad, it’s important .
    She still got no response. Not an image, not some kind of Bernard Magalhães has no link access. Your message will remain in the queue until access is restored —none of the usual brush-off messages.
    Nothing.
    Her heart started to pound. She couldn’t remember where the governor-general was giving her speech. It was in Armstrong, right? Not Littrow, which was where the newly formed United Domes of the Moon had established itself.
    Daddy , Berhane sent, this time through the family’s emergency links. Contact me now. I don’t know if you got the news about Arek, but I’m worried. It’s Anniversary Day …
    And all of this was echoing for her. How many messages had she sent to her mother that long, long morning exactly four years ago?
    She couldn’t lose both parents on the same day, four years apart, could she?
    And had Torkild actually thought it through, breaking up with her on this day? The bastard.
    She let out a breath. Anger. Good. It was better than panic and fear.
    She stopped halfway down the stairs and scanned the lower part of the luxury terminal, although she wasn’t sure what she was looking for.
    There was nowhere to pace now. All of the aisles were filled with people and aliens, standing, staring at the imagery coming on the floating screens. Other passengers remained in their comfortable chairs, hands pressed against their ears the way that humans did when they were trying to focus on information inside their links. A few Peyti lingered near the doorways, heads tilted as they got information, their masks elongating their faces, their sticklike hands at their sides.
    There weren’t a lot of non-humans in the lounge, which was