Lifeline

“Simple,” McLaris said, answering almost too quickly. “It’s like lowering a string with a bucket on the end. Well, not really, but our techies have all the details.”

Brahms spoke in a low voice, gruff and businesslike, but no longer laced with antagonism. “Duncan, let me set up a meeting with my engineering group. I want a complete interchange of information—let them run their own models to make sure this thing really works. If they say yes, then we can start work right away.” He lifted an eyebrow, almost as an afterthought. “If you concur, that is.”

It galled him to say that.

McLaris broke into a wide smile for the first time during the interchange. “My thoughts exactly.”

Now can you gloat some more because you think you’ve won?

“Good, we’ll consider it done.” Brahms paused. He felt very awkward.

A moment passed. McLaris spoke. “These are new times, Curtis. We’ve got to work together. Sweep away the old.”

“That’s the only way.”

Brahms switched off the holotank and rocked back in his chair, tapping his fingertips against each other.

Before he summoned the engineering team, he grew warm with the knowledge that he might finally have a chance to see Duncan face-to-face again.

Face-to-face.

His palms felt sticky with sweat.

Chapter 40

L-5—Day 44

Karen didn’t sleep the entire journey. Hooked onto the pulley contraption, she slipped away from Orbitech 1. The ride was smooth, as if on a frictionless sea of ice, even as the pulley gently bumped against the weavewire. Otherwise, there was no sensation of movement, only the bulky straitjacket of the space suit and echoes of her own breathing in her ears. She could see no indication at all of the weavewire, only the invisible line where the dolly was attached to nothing, guiding her to the Kibalchich. She felt suspended in space.

Over the hours, Karen wondered how people could ever survive long space journeys. The Soviets had attempted one years-long journey to Mars, and it had driven them to destroy their own ship. Now that she thought about it, being cramped with other people in a tiny exploratory ship for all that time would probably push her over the edge, as well.

She raised Ramis once, and elicited a promise from him to meet her. She told him the time of her projected arrival, and he marked it on one of the command center chronometers.

Later, Karen flipped on her radio and trained the antenna toward the Soviet colony. “Ramis, this is Karen. Can you hear me?” Nothing. “Ramis. Are you near an airlock? I am almost to the Kibalchich.” She knew he could not send a reply if he had not remained in the command center.

Karen waited, then switched her transmitter off. The station loomed in front of her.

Through the middle of the torus, stars blinked in and out of view as the spokes rotated. Karen fumbled with her harness, shedding the webbing and preparing to disconnect her suit from the dolly frame. Everywhere was “down”—she seemed to be in the middle of a gigantic well that extended forever, in all directions. She flipped her radio on. “Ramis? Are you out here?” Still no answer.

She grew worried. She had told him when to expect her. The clock showed her to be right on time.

Russian letters now showed clearly on the metal hull, spelling out Kibalchich. She had checked out the name in the historical data base back in her quarters and remembered: Nikolai Ivanovitch Kibalchich had taken part in the assassination of Tsar Alexander II in 1881, and had been arrested and sentenced to death. In his cell awaiting execution, Kibalchich had drawn up plans for a man-carrying rocket platform fed by gunpowder cartridges. After he was executed, guards filed his sketches in police archives. In his prison cell, knowing he had no hope, Kibalchich had written on his rocket plans, “I believe in the practicability of my idea and this faith supports me in my desperate plight.”

Karen wished she had the same faith in her own “desperate plight.” The large doses of drugs she had taken to protect herself against radiation exposure had made her feel ill. She feared they would also slow her reactions.

“You should be almost there,” said the voice from Orbitech 1.

“Gee, thanks,” Karen muttered. She tried to wipe Ramis from her mind and concentrate on landing, going over in her head how she would come to a stop. The engineers had designed the harness with an emergency release so she could unlatch herself easily. It seemed simple enough.