Lifeline (14 page)

What if Brahms did another RIF? She could not hide anywhere on
Orbitech 1
—not even here in the garden.

To her disappointment, the garden looked … run down. Leaves floated in the fountain pools. The path had not been swept. The flowers themselves looked un-trimmed and in disarray, with dead blooms unsnipped.

The place was empty—nature holding sway without the presence of man. Would the garden continue to grow, she wondered, even after all the inhabitants had died?

Irregular bird song burst cheerfully from hidden microphones in the foliage. The muted skylights, the precision of the rows and sculpted shrubbery, showed the deft but obvious hand of the gardener.

Karen did not see Kaitanabe; in fact, she had not seen him the last two times she’d been in the garden. She thought that with Brahms’s plea for everyone to work twice as hard for survival, Kaitanabe would have turned the garden over, tried to cultivate some fast-growing edible plant. She didn’t know anything about the station’s biological stores, but she assumed they must have some sort of seed stock.

Karen wandered along the pathways looking for him. “Hello?” she called, not wanting to speak too loudly. The silence of the place made it seem like a cemetery.

Then she remembered the storage and maintenance cubicle set into the wall, hidden behind a row of hedges. Karen doubted anyone else cared whether they saw the cubicle door or not, but the precision of Kaitanabe’s garden would not have allowed such an anachronism to be seen.

She broke through hedges of magenta oleanders and found the door. She called out again but heard no response. The cubicle door was ajar, and she wondered if he might be sleeping. A heavy, acrid odor of chemicals hung in the air.

Several of the random speakers rang out at once, making the garden sound as if it were filled with raucous birds.

Karen pulled open the door to a gagging stench. Containers of fertilizer and plant nutrients, growth hormones, and caustic treatment chemicals had been spilled on the floor.

The blotched and bloated corpse of Hiro Kaitanabe lay sprawled out in a frozen spasm on his thin cot. His lips were cracked and stained, and dribbles of colored chemicals had dried on his chin. Somehow, he had managed to keep his hands primly folded across his chest, even though his spine was twisted upward in mid-convulsion.

She looked at the spilled containers on the floor and stared at him in horror, but she could not look back. It had taken him a very long time to die.

Karen took several steps away from the cubicle, leaving the door open. She bumped into the hedge and it seemed to reach out and grab her. The rustle of the branches dislodged one of the hidden speakers. She swallowed a scream.

Would the others mourn, or would they consider it one less mouth to feed without worrying about who would be chosen for the next RIF? Karen shuddered.

What are we becoming?

Out in the garden, the cheerful bird song continued.

***

Chapter 19

AGUINALDO—Day 14

Ramis floated in the core, alone. Sail-creature nymphs dodged among the children playing floater-tag. None of the other nymphs bore the splotchy “Z” marking of the creature that had saved Ramis’s life three years before.

Sarat would never be there to play with him again.

Ramis closed his eyes as he drifted. The core seemed empty without Sarat.…

The bioengineers had made three attempts with the oldest sail-creature nymphs. Dobo stood by Sandovaal as they attached a coupling harness to the first of the disoriented creatures.

They had anesthetized the nymph before ejecting it from the airlock; Dobo argued that was the humane way to conduct such experiments. But the anesthetized nymph had exploded from its own internal pressure, unable to compensate fast enough. Dobo had refused to come to work for a full day afterward.

On the second attempt, with Sandovaal looking smug, they did not drug the nymph. Exposed to the vacuum, it grew and expanded, spreading itself in a wide blanket to absorb sunlight. But its metamorphosis was too fast, too violent for the restraining hooks connecting it to the
Aguinaldo.
The newborn sail-creature tore free and drifted away into space.

Ramis had been there, peering out the window plates as two engineers wearing manned maneuvering units jetted after the still-growing sail-creature, but they could not turn it around again without damaging the sail’s cell-thin membrane. The engineers looked like tiny dolls as they floated side by side back to the docking bay, with the green-tinged sail moving behind them against the stars.

As the second attempt failed, Ramis felt his heart sink. The next nymph would be Sarat—his companion, his … pet.

Ramis kept to himself and said a silent prayer and good-bye when the bioengineers came to remove Sarat from the weightless core. Sarat drifted along with them, complacent, unaware. They had been force-feeding Sarat for the past day, “hyperfueling” the creature, the bioengineers called it, to make the sail survive as long as possible in space.

The nymphs had no awareness, according to Dr. Sandovaal. It had been a lucky coincidence that Sarat had kept Ramis from crashing into the
Aguinaldo’s
rim—a programmed reaction, that was all.

But Sarat had always found Ramis in the core. The nymph had recognized him, played with him.

The bioengineers led Sarat away as Ramis floated in the air, watching. He kept his eyes dry.
Help me out one more time, my friend. We have a long journey together.

Sarat survived the accelerated metamorphosis. Ramis did not watch. He went back to the
dato’s
dwelling and dimmed his own rooms, pretending to sleep in the middle of the day. After an hour or so had passed, he heard Magsaysay return home and shuffle across the floor to his closed door. He listened, waiting for Magsaysay to knock, to say something, but the president walked away and left him alone.

Ramis loved him for it.

The bioengineers performed the procedure in space, tending the sail-creature like a baby. They oriented Sarat’s proto-sails edge-on to the Sun to keep it from the light pressure before the process could complete itself. They injected concentrated nutrients into the body core to make it grow faster, larger. For two days the sails expanded. Sarat’s fins spread out into vast, cell-thin wings, scores of kilometers to a side.

Sarat’s main body core became rigid and exceedingly tough, an organic “hull.” But the creature could still metabolize, using the hard solar radiation for direct photosynthesis. With the metamorphosis, the sail-creature switched over to the plant attributes in its cells, becoming an immobile receptor of solar radiation.

Ramis watched the creature out the window plate and thought about the process, the right and wrong of it. Sarat had had no choice. It knew nothing of the people who would be rescued by its sacrifice. It could never turn back, could never come back inside to play in the zero-G core of the
Aguinaldo.
The creature’s course had been set. Sarat had no future except to become a dead and drifting sail, used up, battered about by the solar wind.

Ramis rubbed his fingers on the window plate, but the coated quartz showed no smudges.

“What we want to do is this, so pay attention, boy.” Sandovaal rapped on the surface of the holotank with his old-fashioned pointer stick. The image in the tank jiggled, then focused again into a diagram of the Earth-Moon system.

Magsaysay spoke up. “Luis, Dr. Panogy should be explaining this. She is the
Aguinaldo’s
celestial mechanics—”

“Too long-winded,” snapped Sandovaal. “Ask her what time it is and she will tell you the history of timepieces, starting with sundials. I will explain just enough so as not to confuse the boy.” He turned his attention to Ramis. “Now. When we release you from the
Aguinaldo,
you will turn the sail so that it faces the Sun, taking the full momentum of solar photons. Never mind what that means.”

“I know what it means,” Ramis muttered, but Sandovaal did not hear him.

“You will then be moving ‘backwards’ in orbit, relative to the
Aguinaldo.
In about three hours, this will provide enough braking to slow you from our orbital velocity at L-4 down to three kilometers per second. You must then turn your sail edgewise. This will help you drop like a stone toward Earth, skim past it at a distance of about an Earth radius, and then head back up to where you started.”

On the holotank a dotted blue line appeared, tracing Ramis’s planned trajectory. “But while you have been going down and coming back up, the Moon, L-4, and L-5 will have continued in their own orbits. By the time you return to the starting point, L-5 will be there instead of L-4.”

Ramis studied the diagram. “So I am just killing time by going down to Earth? Waiting for the other points to change position?”

Magsaysay watched Ramis, looking troubled, but Ramis ignored the
dato,
keeping a calm expression on his face. Sandovaal tapped his fingers on the polished tabletop. “Correct! Think of it as being on a merry-go-round. You are on one horse, which is the
Aguinaldo.
You hop off the merry-go-round, wait for the next horse to pass by—which is the Moon—and then hop back on when the third horse comes into position. That is
Orbitech 1.”

“But how long is all this going to take?” Magsaysay stared at the dotted blue line.

“Nine or ten days, depending on how accurately the boy can maneuver with the sail. We cannot leave him out there longer than absolutely necessary—his suit and the sail-creature’s exoskeleton will not provide much protection from solar radiation.”

Ramis remained silent for a moment, glancing around the empty chamber. The room was large, dominated by a long meeting table surrounded by unoccupied chairs. Overhead, shadows of pedal-kites and playing children crossed over the skylights. Ramis set his mouth. “And Sarat must die in the vacuum.”

Sandovaal faced him with a puzzled expression. “What?”

“Sarat,” Magsaysay said quietly, “is Ramis’s name for the creature. In the core it was his … pet—a plaything. It will die, now that the metamorphosis has taken place?”

“That is correct.” Sandovaal blinked his eyes at Ramis, as if wondering at the relevance of the comment.

Ramis swallowed. “Then, how long will Sarat live?”

“We cannot implant you too soon—the creature’s physical structure is still hardening, you see, forming a rigid sheath to keep the ‘cargo’ in place. But the timing will be close.”

“You already told me that.
I
want to know how long Sarat will
live!”

Sandovaal switched off the holotank, letting the images fade back into the murk. As the lights came up, Ramis watched Magsaysay nod to Sandovaal. Sandovaal pursed his lips.

“The sail-creature might die after a week, or possibly longer. We have too little data to be confident. However, we will provide you with hormone injections that you can use to induce nerve reactions, so you should still be able to move its sails. If the sail ceases to respond before you reach
Orbitech 1,
you will not be able to tack. And then you will be trapped.”

Magsaysay’s shoulders sagged and he started to speak up, but Sandovaal cut him off. “It will be close, but it is still possible. I am confident.”

The president did not look greatly consoled. He turned again to Ramis, as if pleading with him to change his mind. Ramis stood, his face expressionless as he pushed away from the meeting table. “Thank you, Dr. Sandovaal.” He strode from the room.

AGUINALDO—Day 15

Sandovaal’s eyes widened at the recording. He whispered to Magsaysay. “Who else knows of this?”

The
dato
switched off the holotank and sank to a cushioned chair. “The control room crew and the ConComm personnel. I have decided to keep this quiet until—”

“Until the boy leaves?” snapped Sandovaal. He fidgeted in his chair. “Has
Clavius Base
seen this?”

Magsaysay dismissed the question with a wave. “Yes, yes. They have refused to make further ConComm broadcasts to
Orbitech 1
—their equivalent of severing diplomatic ties. But it is a useless gesture, meaningless, because it will not solve the problem. People are still starving on
Orbitech 1,
still dying.”

Sandovaal thought for a moment. He said slowly, “What are you going to do, Yoli? Still send the boy over—to a bunch of savages? From that announcement it sounds as if they would rather eat Ramis than welcome him.”

“All the more reason why he
must
go!” President Mag-saysay raised his voice, then fell silent, tapping his fingertips together. It sounded to Sandovaal as if the
dato
was rationalizing things to himself. “Ramis will still insist on going, even after he learns of this.”

AGUINALDO—Day 16

The wall-kelp vats were usually deserted—the unpleasant smell deterred the curious. Thick foliage thrived on the bath of reflected light from the crescent Earth and the gibbous Moon that swept by every ten minutes with the Aguinaldo’s rotation. Ramis came upon President Magsaysay there by accident.

In the past two days Ramis had spent much time staring out the window plates, ignoring other people. Magsaysay had gone out of his way to spend time with him, but Ramis had made it clear that he wanted to be by himself, to think. He was concerned about Sarat.

But now, when he entered the chamber to be alone, Ramis saw the dato staring out the greenhouse window plate, squinting at the image of Earth. The crescent was like a cupped hand, immersed in thick smoke. Ramis felt a deep pang grab at his heart and he thought briefly of his brother, on Luzon.
Salita, are you still alive?

Engulfed by shadows, Magsaysay looked thin. In the years since the death of Ramis’s parents, the
dato
had tried to treat him like a son. But Ramis was a loner, very independent. Maybe it was because of Magsaysay’s advanced age, or his position of power, but he had never filled the void that was left.

But now, when Magsaysay thought he was unobserved, Ramis saw how distraught he seemed. He looked old.

The
dato
muttered to himself, as if in deep thought. “What if this starts the process snowballing again? What if we allow it to happen once more?”

Ramis decided to speak up. “Father?”

Magsaysay turned abruptly. “Ramis! I did not know you were here.”

Ramis pushed aside a strand of pliant wall-kelp and stepped forward. “What do you mean, starting the process snowballing again?”

Magsaysay looked out the observation window. He sounded afraid to turn around. “We are surviving, Ramis. Dr. Sandovaal projects that even with an increase in population, the Aguinaldo will manage. The Filipino people have succeeded and our culture will endure. With Luis’s wall-kelp, we have won, truly won, perhaps for the first time.”

“But
Orbitech 1
—”

Magsaysay looked back at Ramis and put a hand on his shoulder. “You are doing a brave thing, Ramis. If you are successful,
Orbitech 1
will be able to pull through this crisis as well. With food, they have the resources to rebuild things. They have capabilities far beyond ours.” He tightened his grip.

“And that is what frightens me. How long will it take them to forget? How soon before we on the
Aguinaldo
go back to being their ‘little brown brothers,’ forever relying on the West? Even though we outnumber them twenty-five to one, it is hard for me to tear away from the past.

“For years we lived in the shadow of the Americans. We were content to let them keep their military bases on our soil, to respond to their whims. The Filipino culture nearly died out as we tried to imitate the United States. Even on the
Aguinaldo,
Tagalog is rarely spoken anymore. You know it because I have insisted you learn. The others know it, but we are enamored of English when we speak. Listen to me—even me.” He shook his head.

“Only when the Filipino people put their foot down did things change. When we declared war on Switzerland and forced the Swiss to open their financial records and divulge the whereabouts of our country’s lost fortunes, then the world took notice. Only after we kicked the Americans out and allowed the Soviets into our country did the United States take us seriously.” He swept his arms around. “And look what we got for it: this shining, expensive colony—a bribe, to allow the Americans to retain their status quo.”

Ramis could see tears of anger in the president’s large brown eyes. Magsaysay’s hand trembled, and he withdrew his grip. He flexed his fingers and looked at them wonderingly.

“This colony was to be our new beginning, our hope for a future that we could never realize on Earth. The War severed all ties, and now we have proved that we can overcome the obstacles from the past.” He shook his head.

“In some ways, it would be better if you did not go. I am very afraid of what the Orbitech people might eventually do if they survive. Already, their half-finished
Orbitech 2
sits in our backyard here at L-4. What if they want more and more, as it always happens?” He stared at Ramis.