The onlookers covered their heads with motorcycle helmets and squatted behind the fence. The pad trembled with the force of the rocket’s launch. Its primary cargo would supply the South-Am Space Station with replacement parts for electronics, but it also held a care package for the residents who liked to exchange messages with their club counterparts on Earth. One hundred fifty meters off the ground, the engines switched to liquid fuel and the rocket blazed the rest of the way into the sky.

Carma removed her helmet, her smile almost as bright as the launch.

“Did you see it?” she said.

Nithya laughed. “I did.”

Luis waved. “Next time you should join us.”

Nithya hadn’t attended or watched one of his launches in years. She’d forgotten the excitement they could produce, the feeling of Luis’s hand clutching hers during liftoff, the air of triumph upon success. Her mind still worried at a knot of guilt about the pregnancy. She should do something to make up for it.

“Next time I will,” Nithya said, directing her gaze at Luis. “I’ll see you both soon.”

“Amma, can we have idlis for dinner?”

“Sure, Carma. I’ll get the kitchen started on them.”

As Nithya hurried her steps home, the raindrops became more insistent. Microcams without water resistance pelted her as they fell, too. Her clothes and hair dripped by the time she arrived at the metal gate. Thunder rumbled as she climbed the stairs to their apartment.

“Sita, any news from the region where Zeli last logged in?”

“Rain and flooding continue in addition to skirmishes between the al-Muwahhidun soldiers and other locals. Reports indicate loss of constellations as well as infrastructure damage. The combination has significantly reduced the data emerging from the region.”

“Any response from the USBGA?”

“Your complaint was reviewed and someone will call you.”

Nithya kicked off her chappals and stepped through the door. She used a towel to wipe her face and hair, then opened the windows.

“Sita, have the kitchen prepare idlis and capsicum sambar for dinner. Coconut chutney, too.”

“Only frozen coconut is in stock.”

“Cancel the chutney, then. What about tomatoes?”

“Yes, fresh tomatoes are in the kitchen.”

“Tomato chutney, then. And remind me to pick up some coconuts next time I’m out.”

The apartment felt safe and filled with love as she imagined what hell Zeli was suffering just then. Fresh food, a dry place to sleep, electricity—things she could take for granted. The caliph didn’t incite violence against human beings, but he would make their lives miserable until they yielded to his sovereignty. She checked their bank balances. They couldn’t spare much, but they had some savings. Maybe Luis would agree to send a small amount to Zeli. Nithya imagined that refugee camps would have their own trading or black markets. Money couldn’t hurt.