“Patience is a virtue,” I whisper to myself. The crowd bustles around me, talking, walking around the dome. I finger with the tiny coin in my hand. The Mars dome is always busy this time of day, what with people heading to transport pods and communicating to their loved ones back on earth.

Those fighting in the war, where my husband is.

He told me to wait for him, that he’d come home when the time was right. Drafting is illegal in interplanetary war, so he volunteers and can return whenever he’d like. But he won’t; I know how he is. Luckily, I was raised to have a lot of patience.

“Watch it, lady!” a teenage boy yells as he rams into me and continues running towards one of the holograms, coin in hand. I shake myself back to reality and find an empty one.

The tiny silver kiosk stands in a row with a screen on either side, like a bathroom stall. People are using all the ones around me, laughing gayly, whispering solemnly, conversing busily.

I stick the coin into the slit, and a monotonous female voice fills the air.

“Please state your contact.”

“Roger Hansen.”

“Thank you. Please wait while we process your request.”

Patience, a virtue. I have to wait; it’s good thing I know how.

In the hologram next to me, I can see sparkly pink sneaker standing on tiptoes. A tiny voice says, “mommy, when are you and daddy coming home?”

Poor girl.

To my right, I hear a man who must have been over a hundred years old mumble into the hologram with a scratchy, broken voice: “you’re staying, Katy? Not even coming for the holidays?”

“They need me here, dad. It’s getting worse. The Alienites are making plans for another arsenal to be completed by next week...”

I stare at the silver kiosk, and find it odd that it’s still loading. Normally requests are processed in a matter of seconds.

I peer over my screen to see a man in uniform standing guard, hat tipped down.

“Sir?” I wave him over, and he nods and heads towards me.

“Problem, Miss?”

“Yes, there seems to be an issue with my kiosk. I’ve been waiting for about five minutes and I still can’t seem to reach my husband.”

He frowns at the thing, and begins pushing many buttons. After a while, he calls over two more men, who open the side of the kiosk and start discussing its inner workings. By this time the man and girl have left. I stand awkwardly to the side, waving to people as they pass me.

Patience, I order my bouncing heels.

The men emerge from the screen, talking in low voices. The first two leave as the last one turns to look at me.

“Sir?”

His voice seems to fail him. “Miss, I... uh... it seems your contact is out of bounds.”

“Out of what?...” But I already know what he means.

Patience... I’ve waited too long...