It was Gabe’s turn at missile-tracking duty when the quant box lit up. He alerted the rest of them before noticing it was marked “To Gabriel Chin, personal.”

What did that mean?

Was it his family?

He stabbed at the on button and his parents, sitting at a utilitarian table, popped onto the small quant box screen.

“Mom! Dad!” Gabe barely got the words out. Something was stuck in his throat.

“Gabe. Oh, Gabe, we thought you were dead,” his mom sobbed.

His dad put an arm around his mom’s shoulders. “But he’s not. You can see him right there, and it looks like they’ve diverted those rogue missiles.”

“Rogue missiles? So, you’ve figured out who sent them?” Gabe asked.

“We&...

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