Usually it was possible to e-print sections of the New York Times (or most any other urban paper), but even that meager connection to the outside world had been clipped. And if Marguerite missed the papers, how the news junkies must be suffering! Cut off from the great global soap opera, left to simmer in ignorance about the Belgian Accords or the latest Continental Court appointment. The silence of the video panel and the periodic sputtering of the rain gave the afternoon a yawning lassitude, made Marguerite content to sit in the kitchen and leaf through old issues of Astrobiology and Exozoology, her attention fluttering mothlike over the dense text, until Connie Jerundt returned for Edie.

Marguerite rooted the girls out of Tess’s room. Edie was sprawled on the bed, her feet against the wall, picking through Tess’s shoebox of faux jewelery, ornamental combs, and tortoiseshell barrettes. Tess sat at her dresser, in front of the mirror.

“Your mom’s here, Edie,” Marguerite said.

Edie blinked her froggishly large eyes, then scurried downstairs to hunt for her shoes.

Tess remained at the mirror, twining her hair around her right forefinger.

“Tess?”

The hair made a glossy curl from fingernail to knuckle, then fell away.

“Tess? Did you have a good time with Edie?”

“I guess.”

“Maybe you should tell her so.”

Tess shrugged.

“Maybe you should tell her now. She’s downstairs, getting ready to go.”

But by the time Tess had loped down to the front door, both Edie and her mother were already gone.

By Monday, what had begun as a tedious inconvenience began to feel more like a crisis.

Marguerite dropped Tess off at school on her way to Hubble Plaza. The crowd of parents in the parking lot — including Connie Jerundt, who waved at Marguerite from her car window — boiled with rumors. Since there was no local emergency to account for the shutdown, something must have happened outside, something big enough to create a security crisis; but what? And why hadn’t anyone been told?