Lifeline

Within moments they sped azimuthally up the rim, past the orderly fields of crops, the fish pens, all the empty, wasted space. Sandovaal saw offices and maintenance buildings, parks, ponds, and row upon row of housing areas.

When they arrived at the laboratory complex, Sandovaal cut off the steward’s insincere apologies. He dragged his luggage from the cart. “Which one?” The American pointed to a low prefabricated building, then sped off in the cart before his passenger could say anything further. Sandovaal admonished himself for not having noted the man’s name.

Without entering, he already knew how artificial the lab would look. He hated it when other people “designed” what was best for him. At least with modular construction, he could uproot a wall or two and fix things.

Sandovaal entered the empty research complex, calling out as he entered each lab area, “Dobo! Where are you?” Dobo Daeng had arrived on an earlier shuttle; he should have been here setting up.

The research buildings looked like a geometric progression of identical laboratory areas, reflected endlessly upon each other. With each empty room, closet, and bay he found, Sandovaal’s blood pressure inched up. Nothing had been set up, nothing prepared, nothing ready to go. Some crates had been piled in the halls, marked with stenciled words in English. None had been opened.

Getting to work was the only way Sandovaal knew how to settle down. Without Dobo here, he would have to unpack and set up the laboratory materials himself. He attacked the task, flinging open cupboards, glancing at the facilities. He located the main supply room and hauled out brown boxes of test tubes, sketchboards to be linked into the computer, special pipettes that would work properly in the low gravity.

After a few hours, the magnitude of the task wore at him. He couldn’t get started until everything was in its proper place, in order. In frustration, he ignored the tedious jobs and decided to set up the computer. He had already planned his analysis of the Aguinaldo’s ecology, and now he wanted to see how bad things might be.

The mainframe’s crates weren’t hard to find, though the components fit together into a computer only as large as a suitcase. Sandovaal usually left such work to the hardware people, but he had little trouble assembling the computer himself and running two simple diagnostic routines.…

Sandovaal immersed himself in a study of the Aguinaldo’s resources, running simulations, variable checks, and endless projections. Over and over he graphed out the results and discarded them to try again.

He left only to relieve himself or to scrounge some instant coffee from an aluminum packet he had included in his file drawer from Scripps. He uncovered some prepackaged food among the supplies when he noticed he was hungry. He found himself nodding asleep, but splashed cold water on his face and went back to work.

Persistence. It felt good to be doing something again.

The laboratory lights came on by themselves when the lightaxis dimmed for the colony’s nightfall. He had no idea how much time had passed when Dobo finally arrived at the laboratory.

Sandovaal whirled from his chair as the assistant walked in. “Dobo, look at this.” The words came as a command.

Dobo rubbed his hands as he approached Sandovaal. “I just got unpacked and did a little exploring. My wife and I are still settling down.” Dobo slowed as he looked at Sandovaal, then raised his eyebrows. “Work has not been scheduled to start until tomorrow, but I decided to check in at the laboratory. They said you were brought here after you disembarked. Have you located your dwelling yet?”

“Look at this.” Sandovaal jabbed his fingers at the display.

Dobo squinted at the holoscreen. He pondered for an unacceptably long moment. “It appears to show—”

“It leaves no room for doubt. With the Aguinaldos current agricultural plan using only Earth crops, a catastrophic shortage of food will occur if any imbalance is brought into the system, even years down the road.”

“What system?” Dobo squinted at the screen, puffing out his pudgy cheeks and muttering to himself. “Crop yields, animal offspring, population growth. And the figures are for fifty years from now. What does this have to do with molecular biology? I thought we were setting up a new genetic institute—”

With an exaggerated sigh, Sandovaal said, “At one time I thought you were bright, Dobo.” He gestured across the graphs, indicating nothing in particular. “Use your imagination—or did you forget to pack it? If this colony is to survive, this data shows we must design special new crops tailored to this environment, not Earth’s.”

Dobo frowned. “A new ecological system—ah, so that is where our work comes in.”

“I just said that. Now, pull up a chair and help me with this design matrix. Or better yet, finish the unpacking.”