“What do you mean
you’ve lost my child?”
The customer service
rep reeked sympathy and concern. He was so upset, one might
have wondered if, despite his age, he was a latent empath.
“We’re doing
everything we can, Miz Thymes. This must be awful for you.
Here, let me help you.”
The hapless fellow
led Miranda to an aircouch, flicking something with his
fingers as she sank into it. He watched, relieved, as the
couch molded itself to her body and a gentle vibration began
to leech away her tension.
“Just what does
‘everything we can’ consist of, Mr., uh, Bramis?” she asked,
snatching his name from his ID patch.
Comfortable with a
subject he could address, Mr. Bramis said, “Eridani T-Port
Lines always puts passenger safety first, Miz Thymes.
Everyone who steps through that portal wears a tachyon
transmitter with a unique signature. We’ve never lost a
passenger.” His canned pitch complete, Mr. Bramis succumbed
to Miranda’s distress, which triggered an irrational urge to
be completely honest. “It’s true we misplaced a few in the
beginning, but that was long ago. And they were all found
and restored. ETL has the best safety record in the
business.”
“I know you’re doing
your best, Mr. Bramis, but …” Tears welled up in Miranda’s
eyes. “He must be terrified out there by himself. I knew we
shouldn’t have sent him alone. Your people promised it was
safe. Ten billion to one odds, they said.”
“It is safe,
Miz Thymes. Statistics prove it’s the safest way to travel.
Your chances of being killed flying your car here was far
greater.”
It wasn’t that ETL
didn’t train its reps well, but most of them spent an entire
career without dealing with a situation like this. Not that
that made Mr. Bramis’ last remark any less inappropriate.
Miranda broke down, crying inconsolably, certain that Jordy
was lost, his energy pattern scattered across the stars.
Miranda was Mr.
Bramis’ first distraught mother. He was flustered. “Miz
Thymes, please!” He reached out in an inept attempt to
comfort her. A moment later, she was in his arms, drenching
him with tears. Mr. Bramis had no idea what to do. He
stroked her hair and said soothing things. Moved by her
anguish and a flickering in his loins, he was determined to
help her.
Pulling away and
grasping her shoulders, he said, “We’ll find him by tracing
his tachyons. He’ll be back, good as new before you know
it.” Miranda stopped crying, but Mr. Bramis knew she could
lose it again in a second. The problem was, it was out of
his hands. There were rules for this sort of thing. Like
that camel last month. Sent as breeding stock from Arabia,
only it never arrived. Mr. Bramis had submitted a search
request through channels. The camel was still missing.
Looking at Miranda’s
pretty, tear-streaked face, Mr. Bramis intuited a truth his
training had overlooked: a customer dealing with the grief
of a lost loved one needed more than a computer confirmation
that the wheels were turning.
Miranda’s need was
Mr. Bramis’ inspiration. “Miz Thymes, there’s a procedure
for locating your Jordy. You know what I say about that, Miz
Thymes? I say, ‘the hell with procedures!’” He felt a rush.
He’d heard that taking initiative could be a real high, but
he’d never tried it before. Stabbing his communicator
button, he keyed in a system-wide Class One Emergency. The
request to locate Jordy Thymes jumped to the head of every
queue, bypassing everything else in the system. If Mr.
Bramis had given any thought to how he would explain his
unauthorized action, his new-found fortitude would have
dissolved on the spot. Having Miranda in his arms and
feeling her despair had clouded his judgment.
For the first time,
Miranda felt optimistic. Jordy would be all right. They
always found them, didn’t they?
