Lifeline

Ramis took an unsteady step. The MMUs held him back momentarily, adding to his inertia. He turned to face the Kibalchich and bent his knees, planting his feet firmly against the metal hull of Orbitech 1.

Karen caught herself holding her breath.

“Do not worry,” he radioed to her.

Ramis pushed off and drifted out into space toward the distant Soviet colony.

Chapter 30

AGUINALDO—Day 39

Dobo rushed into the laboratory, red-faced and short of breath. Sandovaal looked up from what he was doing and growled. “This had better be important, Dobo.”

Sandovaal released the red grips of the micro-waldoes he used to guide the nucleus-sized needle tip into a cellular mass. On the holotank image in front of him, an electron micrograph showed his work surrounded by a dashed bull’s-eye pattern. Without his guidance, the tiny needle slewed off to the side of the target.

“I thought you knew by now not to disturb me. You could have ruined this entire series.”

Rising from the lab bench, Sandovaal wiped his hands on his white apron. He was annoyed, but not overly so. The experimental grafts had been successful, and Dobo’s entrance served to release the tension in his neck—yelling at someone always made him feel better.

Dobo shifted his weight from one foot to another, as if standing on a hot plate. “It is about Ramis! Orbitech 1 has decided to allow him … I mean, Ramis has asked the Orbitech director for permission to—” He gulped a deep breath.

Sandovaal tapped his fingers together. “Well, out with it!” He waved for his assistant to take a seat. “Is Ramis in trouble again?” Sandovaal eased himself into his chair, which was far more comfortable and lower than the lab bench.

Dobo could barely keep his excitement to himself. “He is going to Jump from Orbitech 1 to the Kibalchich!”

Sandovaal straightened in his chair. His long white hair fell into his eyes, and he flipped it away with such force that it dropped back into his face again. “What nonsense are you talking about?”

“It is true! Ramis has volunteered to cross the distance and see what has happened to the Soviet colony—”

“A hundred kilometers by Jumping?” Sandovaal snorted. “If he is only a little off course he will float forever! No, he will probably carry air tanks with him for maneuvering. Hmmm, I thought his journey in the sail-creature would make him grow up.”

“Ramis is ready even as I speak. Orbitech 1 is broadcasting it over the ConComm.”

Sandovaal rocked forward in his chair and sprang up to pace across the room. He punched up the Aguinaldo communications center on the holotank. A man’s face came into focus, startled at Sandovaal’s override.

“What is this nonsense about Ramis Jumping?” Sandovaal said.

The face in the holotank blinked at him. Behind him, the nerve center of the Aguinaldo went about business as usual: safety operations in the zero-G core, housing emergencies, micrometeorite drills. “We are monitoring the Orbitech 1 transmissions over ConComm, Dr. Sandovaal. They are beaming us a view from outside their colony. Ramis has attached himself to some sort of wire and will secure it to the Kibalchich once he completes his journey.”

Sandovaal raised his hands and shouted at the communications officer. “Now I know the Americans are insane. They have so polluted their bodies with pizza and nachos that my wall-kelp must have sent them over the brink.”

The officer’s image faded, and was replaced by a starry view outside Orbitech 1. Dobo leaned forward to mutter to him. “I believe the Americans are using a new type of wire. It is very dangerous, I think.”

“New type of wire?” Sandovaal turned away from the holotank, raising his bushy eyebrows. “A hundred kilometers of wire? Do they have enough material to make a wire that long, or a place to store it?”

The holotank’s picture rotated around Ramis, taking in the giant Manned Maneuvering Unit strapped to his back and resting on a small orange canister mounted to the colony’s surface. Trailing from the canister, a thin Day-Glo orange strand was barely visible against the colony, enhanced for the broadcast. The image focused on the strand, and a voice started describing the wire in English.

“That is the stuff they make clothes out of!” Sandovaal made a deprecating sound with his lips. “I thought they could only draw that out a few kilometers a day.”

As the explanation grew more detailed, Sandovaal frowned and leaned forward in his seat. “Turn the volume up.” The footage took on the air of a documentary, with only Ramis’s breathing to punctuate the background as the broadcaster’s voice continued. It seemed rehearsed. At least the Americans would leave a good record of the efforts they had made, in case they did not survive.