Lifeline

He kept looking at the musical instrument he had found, wedged on the floor between his feet. He thought about McLaris and his terrible sacrifice—all for nothing. The man wasn’t any better off here than he would have been on Orbitech 1. He couldn’t understand what McLaris had been afraid of.

Chapter 12

ORBITECH 1—Day 10

Most of the docking bay lights had been shut down, leaving the chamber in shadow. Curtis Brahms could still see the colored boundary lines painted on the metallic floor as landing guides for the shuttle-tugs. The doors of the six spoke-shaft elevators yawned open like caves.

Brahms gripped a handhold in the upper control bay, looking out the slanted plate glass windows. His reflection stared back at him at an odd angle from the tilted glass. He didn’t look fresh and young anymore, not a freckle-faced, overtalented kid who had risen too fast for his own good. Now the bags under his eyes, the less-than-perfect set of his hair, hinted at what he had been through in the past nightmarish week. He had to get this over with.

Brahms scanned the panels, looking for the right switch. “That one.” Linda Arnando, the division leader for Administration, pointed beside him, as if she knew what he was looking for.

“Thanks.” A bank of concealed white fluorescent lights lit up, reflecting off the silvery walls and floor. The wash of light made the entire bay seem harsh and barren, a tomb lit by probing searchlights. Brahms tried the switches to the left, but they only activated the rotating magenta warning lights. He shut them off quickly.

“We’ll have to make sure those are disabled,” he said. Linda Arnando nodded and searched for an override switch.

Brahms glanced at her. She was a hard-looking but attractive Hispanic woman in her mid-forties. Her long, dark hair was peppered with gray, and the unsmiling I-am-all-business expression made her seem older still. One of the top five managers on Orbitech 1, Arnando was now disproportionately more important to Brahms since Duncan McLaris had deserted and Allen Terachyk had started spending most of his time brooding. Even Ombalal had surrendered, making little effort even to play the figurehead anymore. But at least he had shouldered his responsibility one last time.

He had made the tape for broadcast, though he had refused to be present when Brahms played it.

In the control bay, Terachyk sat loosely buckled in a chair. He had been silent, avoiding Brahms’s gaze, his conversation, his questions. “I can’t help with this, Curtis.” Terachyk’s eyes looked shadowed and deep. “I refuse.”

Brahms stiffened and turned to the other division leader. “Find me another way, Allen—any other way—and I’ll do it. But if you can’t help, then shut up.”

Brahms had agonized for days, sweated blood, before coming to the only conclusion. He was terrified he might break down and change his mind even now, but that he could not afford to do, not for the survival of Orbitech 1. He didn’t want Terachyk to resurrect any doubts. The fate of the colony rested in his handling of the situation. Brahms did not relish what he was about to do. But he also did not want to lose Terachyk entirely. “I’m sorry, Allen. It’s just all the pressure, okay?”

Terachyk unbuckled and turned to leave.

“Allen, I really need your support right now. Ombalal agreed to tape a message to the station, explaining his reasons for the RIF.” Terachyk raised an eyebrow at the implication that the director had come up with the idea.

“But that won’t help me here.” Brahms clenched one fist, hiding it from Terachyk. Linda Arnando glanced at it, puzzled, but Brahms ignored her.

Terachyk hesitated, then pulled himself down again. “I won’t help. And I won’t watch.”

There were a few seconds of silence, which seemed to last hours. Brahms bit his lip. “Okay, if you feel that strongly. I just want you here, that’s all.” He needed a show of stability right now, not dissent. If the division leaders appeared divided, weak, the other workers would fall on them like wolves.

Terachyk would get over it soon—they all would. Somehow, they had to pull Orbitech 1 through this.

Brahms looked over the control panel again, trying to memorize every button, each switch. He didn’t have much time—the hundred and fifty people would start arriving soon. Brahms knew he was procrastinating again. He needed to master only a few of the controls. All the switches worked now.

It had taken the electronics people two full days to fix the damage McLaris had done. Brahms stared at the shuttle bay. It was empty. The Miranda should have been secured—right there!—in the central docking area.

Brahms’s stomach wrenched with the betrayal again. Somehow, McLaris had suspected what the associate director would decide to do. Somehow, he had known.