Lifeline

And the Clavius Base personnel did not shun McLaris quite so much. Though he hated even to consider it, McLaris had been vindicated by Brahms and his RIF. It had shown that McLaris wasn’t being an alarmist, that he had known exactly what the acting director would do.

And just three days before, Brahms had ejected Linda Arnando into cold space. They had mentioned that as only a footnote to their daily ConComm broadcast, but McLaris had heard. He had not known Linda Arnando well—she had seemed too much of a climber, always pushing to get ahead and looking to turn things to her own advantage. But the thought of her thrown out into space made him sick inside. Brahms was turning worse than even he had imagined.

Restless, McLaris got up and went to his computer console. He didn’t feel like sleeping, though it was ostensibly the base’s night period. After life on Orbitech 1, the crazy journey on the Miranda, and now the Moon base, all three with distinctly different periods of day and night, his body’s circadian rhythms had given up in despair.

He called up the electronic memo pad and accessed his crossheadings. A glance at the “Things to Do” window displayed four items McLaris felt he had firmly in hand. He was making progress.

Chimes rang at his door. McLaris called for the visitor to come in, but after he spoke he sat up, startled, realizing how late it was. He wondered who would call on him now.

The door slid open and Clifford Clancy stood outside, carrying a package wrapped in a silvery reflecting blanket from one of the lunar six-pack rovers.

“Dr. Clancy, what are you doing up this time of night?”

Clancy blinked and looked at his wrist chronometer. “‘Oh, sorry. I lost track of what time it is, as usual. Did I disturb you? You don’t look like you were asleep.”

“No, no. I was just scheduling things. Come on in. And by the way, I think you can call me Duncan. Anybody who’s saved my life has the right to do that.”

Clancy waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal, but McLaris could see he was hiding a broad smile. “Doesn’t do much good to have only one of us on a first-name basis. You might as well call me Cliff. We seem to be stuck here for the duration.”

“And with our jobs, we’ll be crossing paths once in a while,” McLaris added. He watched Clancy, and soon he could detect a strong undercurrent of nervousness in the head engineer’s actions.

“So, Cliff, what have you got? Is everything going all right with the Arecibo II project? Do you think Tomkins knows what he’s talking about?”

Clancy chuckled. “When it comes to telescopes and stuff, Tomkins is tops. I have no qualms with him there.”

But that wasn’t what Clancy wanted to talk about. McLaris sat back and waited in silence. He decided that banter would only put off what Clancy wanted to say, make him even uneasier.

“McLaris—Duncan, I mean—I just wanted to say that I’m … I appreciate the way you handled the, uh, problem between me and Tomkins. Some of my engineers were skeptical about building that telescope, but they’re all for it now. They were just so damned antsy with nothing to do—and this is a big enough project that it’s going to keep us all occupied for a long time. I’ve got one crew tuning up the mass driver, another bunch at the smelting processors.

“You were right. With the wall-kelp and our botanical stuff, we’ve already done what we can to survive. It’s just wait and see for now. You gave us something to keep our hopes up, to keep our minds active in the meantime. And I really appreciate it. That comes from me and all my men.”

“All your people,” McLaris said, grinning.

“Touché.” Clancy set down his package on McLaris’s rounded tabletop and unfolded the blanket.

“I found this in the wreckage of the Miranda. I didn’t know what to do with it and I sort of forgot about it until the other day. It must have been your daughter’s … and I thought you might want it back.”

McLaris stared down at Jessie’s computerized music synthesizer. Smudges of lunar dust marked its polished black sides. His eyes filmed over with a wet sheen of tears.

Clancy saw him and stepped backward toward the door, embarrassed. “Um, I just wanted to give that to you. I have to go.” He left McLaris’s quarters rapidly with his half-balanced, rolling gait.

Distracted, McLaris closed the door and stared at the dead instrument. He had given it to Jessie for her birthday—or was it Christmas? She had played it on Orbitech 1 over and over again, in their quarters, in the lounge. Jessie had also played it in the cramped cabin of the shuttle as they fled Orbitech 1. She had made up her own songs, or followed along with the flashing colored lights to play preprogrammed tunes.

He remembered trying to braid her hair, trying to explain things to her that she couldn’t possibly understand, though she nodded sagely and accepted what he told her.