“Sudden population changes, or, well, any kind of statistical blip. That might be harder.”

I nodded. “Construction. New buildings.”

“Military changes?” Patrick added. “That one will be really hard.”

“Yeah, well, this is just a first pass at things, right?” I replied. “We might or might not get a bite, but we will at least narrow things down a little.”

“And this stuff is all available on the interwebz?” Patrick asked.

Nat laughed. “My job, Patrick. Or part of it, anyway. Research. I can get into some pay-walled databases as well with my work credentials. I’ll show you how.”

I had some experience with online research from college, but Nat had been doing this for a couple of years now, and her employer had sent her on several training courses over that time. Her Google-Fu was pro level, so she would oversee this op, no question.

The evening wore on with only occasional muttered commentary among us. There was one coronary-inducing moment when Mom came into the barn, ostensibly to drop off snacks. I wasn’t fooled—my mother wasn’t a Mrs. Cunningham type. This had been an investigatory sally, probably to check if we were actually playing video games.

Instead, my mother had found us bent over laptops, notes and printouts scattered about, looking anything but entertained. She’d left with a pleased expression on her face. Hopefully that would be that.

But Internet Age or not, a certain amount of the processing simply had to be done in wetware, and wetware was slow, easily distracted, and required frequent caffeine refills. By the time I was ready to call it a night, we still hadn’t filtered the lists down to anything like a useful level.

“I am amazed at how many restaurants and eateries have been opened in the last twenty years,” Nat said, gesturing at her monitor. “I’m glad we’re not looking for nefarious franchise activity or we’d be here forever.”

I grabbed the communicator, which had been sitting on the desk beside me, and held it up. “Should we check with Sheldon? He might have some suggestions or other insights.”

Before anyone could reply, Sheldon’s voice came out of the communicator. “Sorry, Jack. At this point your strategies are reasonable. In the absence of data, hit it with a rock until something falls out. Perhaps you could consider making hooting sounds while doing so.”

I did a double take and glared at the communicator. “How long have you been listening?”

“I am always listening. Unless you specifically turn off the communicator, it’s always receiving for logging purposes. It’s actually standard practice for Foundation vessels.”

Patrick threw up his hands. “Well, that’s great. If the Loranna are able to intercept the transmission—”

“Not an issue, Patrick,” Sheldon said. “Quantum encryption is impossible to break, even in theory. Even Earth scientists, if I may be allowed to use that phrase with a straight face, have figured that out.”