Lifeline

“Remember, I’m a good fifteen years older than you, and I’ve worked in control rooms and labs most of my life. It’s only natural that I’m going to hit on some things quicker than you. But I automatically thought this computer would respond in Russian—I make mistakes all the time, too.” A smile tugged at Ramis’s lips.

“I will remember that.”

“Okay. Let’s try this one more time.” She cleared her throat. “Computer, open all the doors to the sleeping areas.

“{{AFFIRMATIVE: ALL USERS VALIDATED BY ACTING COMMANDER TRIPOLK.}}”

Karen grinned. “According to this, all the doors are open again. Thanks to Commander Tripolk, whoever he is. I should check in with Orbitech 1 and let them know I got here. Too bad this is the only place you can send or receive outside transmissions.”

“They can monitor them better that way,” Ramis said. He waited beside her. “Let me take you to the commissary. They left many supplies.”

“You didn’t mention anything about supplies in your transmissions!”

Ramis raised his eyebrows at her comment. “What do you think would happen if Brahms found out the Kibalchich had supplies left? What he does not know will not hurt him.”

Ramis ducked into one of the open rooms and retrieved his helmet, looking relieved. Before departing, he bundled the rest of his gear together and hauled it out to the open. As he stepped away from the door again, it slid shut and vanished into a flat wall.

“Now, let’s see that food,” Karen said. She felt her stomach roiling with anticipation, eager to gobble food that was not rationed or guarded by Brahms’s watchers. She wished the pre-radiation treatment hadn’t left her so queasy.

Karen soon discovered that commissaries remained the same no matter who ran the station. Drab and clunky, the eatery provided the Soviet equivalent of the high-protein diet she had grown used to. She chewed black bread so stale it reminded her of crackers.

Karen had purposely avoided the nicer company dining facilities on Orbitech 1; she liked to eat undisturbed in the commissary there. Now, with strict rationing and specified eating times, that luxury had slipped away.

Here on the Kibalchich, though, Karen wondered if she might have more solitude than she could stand.

The middle deck looked similar to the other two, but lacked the clusters of small rooms. Instead, large chambers filled the space: meeting halls, a gymnasium, and even a swimming pool. Karen later discovered three more pools, located at ninety degrees to each other. She supposed they doubled as water storage and ensured an even distribution of mass around the torus. Though the Kibalchich held only about 15 percent as many inhabitants as the American industrial colony, it seemed to have more total water in storage. Karen wondered why the Soviets were so paranoid about supplies. Whatever the reason, they had proved better prepared for this disaster.

As they walked the corridor, Karen detected another smell in the metallic staleness in the air. An impulse made her want to open a window somewhere and get the air to circulate.

“This is where I found the Russians,” Ramis said.

Karen drew in a breath, knowing what to expect—she had looked at the visuals he had transmitted to Orbitech 1. She imagined lines and lines of frozen bodies, like stacked cordwood.

Might as well face it before that stink gets any worse, Karen thought. She remembered a story she had heard about an old Coast Guard vessel coming upon an abandoned ship. The Coast Guard first mate entered the freighter’s hold and never returned. He had been overcome by noxious fumes from decaying bodies. The tiny ship had carried Central Americans seeking asylum, stuffed together like sardines. The smuggler had abandoned his cargo, leaving the refugees to bake to death in the merciless tropical sun.

Karen spoke loudly for fear she might lose her will to enter the chamber. “Show me where the lights are.” Ramis found a panel on the wall and increased the illumination in the large, dark room ahead.

Row after row of machines filled the place—crystal coffins like boxes in a warehouse. The nearest coffin had one end open, the control panel moved away to allow the reawakened man to emerge. But this man would never emerge—not under his own strength. Ramis had done something wrong in the process, and the test subject had lain here, dead and unthawed, for four days now.

Karen walked alone to the open chamber, ignoring the smell. Ramis hung back, reluctant. She didn’t blame him.

Karen stared down into the dead man’s slack face. His eyes were closed and peaceful. She suspected Ramis had closed them himself. This man didn’t have a clue he was dying, she thought. Just closed his eyes and expected to be awakened when the time was right.