The sun glittered off the stainless steel patio railings. Beyond, the skyline of downtown Los Angeles stood against a broad, blue sky. Cool summer air blew through the open patio door carrying the scent of the pine trees from the hills. Her children, Emilia and Luciano lay on their bellies on the white carpeting playing with a fractal hologram. While such a beautiful day should bring contentment, she felt troubled. She hadn’t received a message from Marco in two weeks. While long separations without explanation were part of the life of a Special Warfare spouse, he’d always been able to warn her that he’d be out of touch. In his last video message, all had seemed well. He’d said he was off the shoulder of Saturn on the Rhadamanthus, that he was bored, and he loved her. She recorded a return message, having both Luciano and Emilia show him pictures they’d drawn of him wearing his flight suits. At three years old, Luciano held no greater hero in his heart than his father, and to Emilia at four, there was no greater prince.
