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Storm Warning
It's late, well past the bedtime of the preteen girl currently scrambling down the stairs in her rabbit-print pajamas and a familiar pair of robotic rabbit ears—almost too big on her head, and not quite the same design as they are in the present and lopsided, as if put on hastily. The wind is rattling the windows, heavy rain beating against the glass.
"It's just a storm, Bun," the older woman, sitting at the kitchen table, says. Beside her, sat in a wheelchair, a man who shares Cammie's eyes and blonde hair squashes a holographic screen that had been showing the weather radar.
"It's loud," Cammie whines, earning a wry smile off her dad.
"That it is, Cammie. Maybe we should have some tea, eh, Elsie?" Her dad says.
"No tea for the child, not at this hour," Elsie answers. "Besides, I expect she'd like hot chocolate better."
"Yes, please," Cammie says, climbing into the man's lap whilst Elsie collected the pan, the milk, the sugar, and scooped cocoa from the tin to mix the drink. Cammie rests her head against her father's chest, her ears drooping with drowsiness.
Then there's a loud bang, a flash, and the power cuts out, leaving the room in darkness besides the blue gas fire under the pot. Cammie startles with a scream and her dad holds her close, soothing.
"It's all right," he says. "It's just the power's gone."
"But with no power, there's no lights, and no phone, and no Ether—" she sounds ready to cry, clinging to her dad's shirt. Elsie sets a lit candle on the table.
"Hush now," Elsie says. "We're all here, and all safe. It's just the wind's taken down a line somewhere."
"What about Mam?" Cammie asks. "Is she in the dark?"
Her dad laughs softly. "Oh, Bun, she's likely better off than we are. Those rigs are built to take the weather. She's probably tucked up in her bunk right now, reading a nice mystery, or out on the Ether talking to her friends."
"But she won't be able to find us on the Ether," Cammie said. "We can't get there."
"And she'll know exactly why," Elsie says, carefully pouring hot chocolate into three mugs and bringing out a pack of biscuits that seem to hold a special place on the shelf. "It's just a storm, child."
She pours the biscuits onto a plate, lights a second candle, then sits down with a bottle of some kind of alcohol in her hand, adding a dash to the adults' mugs.
"It's just a storm, Bun," the older woman, sitting at the kitchen table, says. Beside her, sat in a wheelchair, a man who shares Cammie's eyes and blonde hair squashes a holographic screen that had been showing the weather radar.
"It's loud," Cammie whines, earning a wry smile off her dad.
"That it is, Cammie. Maybe we should have some tea, eh, Elsie?" Her dad says.
"No tea for the child, not at this hour," Elsie answers. "Besides, I expect she'd like hot chocolate better."
"Yes, please," Cammie says, climbing into the man's lap whilst Elsie collected the pan, the milk, the sugar, and scooped cocoa from the tin to mix the drink. Cammie rests her head against her father's chest, her ears drooping with drowsiness.
Then there's a loud bang, a flash, and the power cuts out, leaving the room in darkness besides the blue gas fire under the pot. Cammie startles with a scream and her dad holds her close, soothing.
"It's all right," he says. "It's just the power's gone."
"But with no power, there's no lights, and no phone, and no Ether—" she sounds ready to cry, clinging to her dad's shirt. Elsie sets a lit candle on the table.
"Hush now," Elsie says. "We're all here, and all safe. It's just the wind's taken down a line somewhere."
"What about Mam?" Cammie asks. "Is she in the dark?"
Her dad laughs softly. "Oh, Bun, she's likely better off than we are. Those rigs are built to take the weather. She's probably tucked up in her bunk right now, reading a nice mystery, or out on the Ether talking to her friends."
"But she won't be able to find us on the Ether," Cammie said. "We can't get there."
"And she'll know exactly why," Elsie says, carefully pouring hot chocolate into three mugs and bringing out a pack of biscuits that seem to hold a special place on the shelf. "It's just a storm, child."
She pours the biscuits onto a plate, lights a second candle, then sits down with a bottle of some kind of alcohol in her hand, adding a dash to the adults' mugs.