Lifeline (37 page)

Sandovaal snorted. A mind of his own! A preposterous thought for anybody who knew Dobo Daeng.

He stopped abruptly, wondering if Dobo had actually been trying to intimidate him. A moment passed before Sandovaal snorted again, wondering if the cramped solitude was beginning to give him delusions.
No,
he thought,
not Dobo.

Twenty kilometers away, in the core of his own sail-creature, Dobo stopped making his snoring sounds into the microphone and pushed away from the transmitter. With a grin on his face, he watched the flatscreen image as Sandovaal switched off the monitor. As before, Sandovaal had forgotten to turn off his own transmitter.

Dobo watched in quiet amusement as Sandovaal threw a fit but found no target for his outrage. Finally, after all these years of being an unappreciated assistant …

If nothing else, Dobo was having the time of his life.

***

Chapter 52

KIBALCHICH—Day 72

The shock did not wear off, as Anna Tripolk had thought it would. Instead, the secret left behind by Commander Rurik unlocked many doors inside her, unleashing outrage, betrayal, anger, despair. She had never felt like this before.

Instead of healing, for more than a week Anna’s emotions had festered, twisting, depriving her of sleep. Without realizing it, she had somehow descended into a personal hell.

Anna remembered going into the command center ten days before, or was it eleven? She had lost track of time. Her attention had been elsewhere. After hearing Rurik’s personal log, his excuses, the rationalization of his suicide and the murders he had committed, she had gone up to the weightless command center alone. She had never felt so alone.

The corridors were empty, echoing. Part of her feared encountering
Orbitech 1
technicians, but the Americans had seemed interested in stealing only the sleepfreeze technology, and had left the command center alone.

But the command center was the only place they could radio back to their American colony; they would have to come here eventually. She knew they gathered every day to listen to the inane propaganda broadcasts from the other colonies, cheering for some kind of “spacecraft on a rope” being reeled in from
Clavius Base
to
Orbitech 1;
that and more talk of those sail-creatures.

She had to act while she had her privacy. Whatever the Americans were doing could wait. The weightless room stood empty now.

“Computer,” she said, feeling the alien English words roll off her tongue. “Verify my identity. Anna Tripolk.”

She waited a moment as the computer digitized her voice and compared it with the pattern it had stored.

“{{VERIFIED.}}”

“Did Commander Rurik leave any instructions concerning me? Did he designate me as commander?”

“{{YOU ARE COMMANDER OF THE
KIBALCHICH.
}}”

She felt her insides go watery at the affirmation. What Rurik had said was true. But what had he meant? “Computer, seal all access into the command center. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

The open door from the lift platform slid shut. She heard no bolt-locking mechanism on the other doors, but that didn’t matter. The computer would refuse to open them for anyone else. She floated, lost in her own confusion.

“Computer, the last order transmitted from Earth was received by Commander Rurik. Recall the file and play it for me.”

“{{COMMANDER RURIK DELETED THAT FILE.}}”

That didn’t surprise Anna. In consternation, she held onto one of the fixed chairs and let her legs drift out from under her. She set her mouth.

“Computer, did you store the content of that message—the substance, if not the exact words? Piece together peripheral files if you have to.”

“{{WORKING.}}” Then, “{{COMPLETE.}}”

“Summarize.”

“{{YOU HAVE
INSUFFICIENT
ACCESS AUTHORIZATION.}}”

“Computer, I command the
Kibalchich.
Authorize access.”

“{{WORKING … COMPLETE IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED. PLEASE PLACE YOUR HAND ON THE GENETICHECK.}}”

Anna searched out the geneticheck pad, then placed her hand on the device. Seconds later she felt a sharp prick as a minuscule sample of her skin was taken.

“{{IDENTIFICATION CONFIRMED, ACCESS GRANTED: DETONATION SEQUENCE ALEXANDER. COMMANDER RURIK WAS ORDERED TO USE THE
KIBALCHICH
’S DIRECTED-ENERGY WEAPON TO DESTROY
ORBITECH 1.
VICE COMMANDER CAGARIN WAS TO ENSURE THAT THE ORDER WAS CARRIED OUT.}}”

“What directed-energy weapon?” Anna demanded. “The
Kibalchich
is a research station. We have no directed-energy weapons here.”

“{{THIS STATION WAS BUILT FOR THE EXPRESS PURPOSE OF BASING A DIRECTED-ENERGY WEAPON. ALL OTHER CONCERNS ARE SECONDARY.}}”

Appalled, Anna Tripolk pulled herself down into the chair and stared at the holotank in the center of the room.

“Explain. Display graphics. What weapon? How could that be?”

A diagram of the
Kibalchich
appeared in the center of the tank, etched in glowing green lines against a black background.

“{{A CACHE OF NUCLEAR DEVICES KEPT IN WATER STORAGE IS DESIGNED TO SLIDE DOWN TO THE END OF THE ROTATIONAL AXIS BENEATH THE SHIELD AND DETONATE, ONE DEVICE AT A TIME. X-RAY CONVERTERS EMBEDDED IN THE AXIS FOCUS THE ENERGY TO THE REFLECTING MIRROR ABOVE. THE MIRROR CAN BE TILTED TO DIRECT THE X-RAY LASER TO A SPECIFIED TARGET.}}”

On the image, a small doughnut-shaped disk slid down the central axis to its end. A slow-motion simulated explosion went off and a bright purple ray shot through the center, ricocheted off the overhead mirror, and stabbed out into space beyond the fringe of the holotank image.

“But those nuclear devices were supposed to be for thrust!” Anna whispered. “For
thrust!
The overhead mirror was going to be our primary solar collector!”

“{{THAT IS A POSSIBLE SECONDARY APPLICATION.}}”

“Secondary application!” Anna screamed, realizing that her emotion would be completely lost on the voice-recognition software. “It was supposed to be the
only
application! That’s what the
Kibalchich
was put up here for!”

The computer waited for her to ask a direct question, but she didn’t feel like speaking. Instead, sobbing, Anna let herself drift in the command center. Though her body was weightless, she felt as if a planet-sized brick had been hung around her neck.

Nightmare demons kept rearing up at her in her quarters, jerking her conscience back and forth. Her grief and dismay at Rurik’s death had changed into outrage at him and his betrayal. He had known all along that her work was only of secondary importance to the people who ran the
Kibalchich
—the ones who
really
ran it. Her work, her dreams, had been just a cover—something to distract everyone.

Stepan Rurik had known all along, and he had held her and caressed her and let her tell him about her ideas. All the while he had allowed her to go on thinking those things, knowing they would never happen.

Yet he was so devoted to that brutal little secret about the colony that he had refused the last order from Earth. Rurik had, in effect, forced them all to go into sleepfreeze so he could avoid that one command. It had turned him into a murderer, driven him to suicide. There were eleven KGB representatives aboard the
Kibalchich,
and Rurik had taken it upon himself to dispense justice. Didn’t he trust the other two hundred people aboard to have some sense? Even if Cagarin had taken over the station, he wouldn’t have lasted. Everyone else aboard had come for the same reason that had called Anna Tripolk.

As the days went by she watched the people from
Orbitech 1
take away her sleepfreeze chambers—another step in dismantling her hopes for a Mars colony. She remembered the other people who had died, how Ramis and Dr. Langelier had awakened her from deep sleep on a whim, though they had no better future to offer.

This would not have happened if Rurik had followed his damned orders and gotten rid of
Orbitech 1.
The anger and betrayal made her want to lash out, and she had so many targets to choose from.

Now she entered the command center again. After the computer had verified her identity and again sealed all the access doors, Anna Tripolk strapped herself in the command chair that had once been Rurik’s.

“Computer, I am commander of this station, correct?”

“{{AFFIRMATIVE.}}”

“Commander Rurik had access to the directed-energy weapon, did he not?”

“{{FULL IDENTIFICATION NEEDED TO ACCESS THAT INFORMATION. PLEASE PLACE YOUR HAND ON THE GENETICHECK.}}” Anna complied and the computer responded,

“{{AFFIRMATIVE. COMMANDER RURIK WAS GRANTED ACCESS TO DETONATION SEQUENCE ALEXANDER.}}”

“And since I am now commander of this station, do I also have such access?”

The computer checked through the chain of logic. “{{AFFIRMATIVE.}}”

Anna Tripolk closed her eyes and let a breath out between her teeth. “Good. That is very good.”

***

Chapter 53

ON THE PHOENIX—Day 72

The
Miranda
held dark memories for him. Duncan McLaris had thought he would never see the ruined shuttle again, but now he was riding inside it. This time, instead of fleeing death at
Orbitech 1,
he was voluntarily going back to the L-5 industrial colony—going back to Brahms.

This time he rode with Cliff Clancy. For the first half day, Clancy kept peering out the restored portholes, overjoyed to be back in space. He reveled in the triumph of his yo-yo invention, which appeared to be working exactly as he had imagined. Clancy kept clapping him on the shoulder, full of anticipation.

McLaris remembered Stephanie Garland, the pilot who had not been able to land on the Moon. He had a flash of memory, picturing Garland’s body torn and impaled by jagged strips of the
Miranda’s
hull. He had only been half conscious then—why did he remember everything with such cursed clarity?

Cliff Clancy had been there at the crash, too. The construction engineer seemed to know what McLaris was thinking. “Last time we were both here, Duncan, seems to me I was pulling you out of the wreckage.”

McLaris forced a smile. “I was in pretty bad shape. And one of the things that confused me to no end was wondering what in the hell an
Orbitech 2
construction jock was doing on the Moon.” Clancy laughed at the comment. But in truth, McLaris had been concerned with that for only a moment. He didn’t like to remember. It had been a dark time—something best left to nightmares.

It made him think of Jessie too much.

McLaris pushed up from his seat and peered out one of the ports. Above them, mounted with heavy support struts and jury-rigged controls through the hull, the
Miranda’s
rocket engines would fire and give them braking thrust so they wouldn’t smash into
Orbitech 1
like a bullet.

McLaris tried to force himself not to think about the absurdity of it all.
A giant yo-yo.
And being so close to Clancy in the cramped compartment made it unwise for him to worry about the situation out loud. He could not see the long weavewire hauling them in. He wondered how they would ever know if the fiber somehow broke and left them to drift forever in a distorted orbit around the Earth. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind. It was too much like arguing about how many angels could dance on the head of a pin.

Clancy kept in touch with his people at
Clavius Base
through the communications interface. He looked for any excuse to call down to them, especially Shen. But he seemed to be accomplishing a lot, still managing his crews, even at this distance.

Wiay Shen’s voice came over the link. Her responses were beginning to lag, indicative of the small but noticeable light delay. “Our last Doppler reading confirmed your acceleration, Clifford. You haven’t deviated one part in a million. Pretty steady machinery they got up there. How’s it feel to be a fish on a line?”

“Don’t know. I never went fishing.”

“Never?” Shen’s voice sounded surprised. “Clifford, you’re culturally deprived. I’ll have to take you, next time we’re back—” She cut herself off, as if realizing what she had been about to say. The awkward silence lasted for a moment.

McLaris interrupted, calling across to Clancy. “Ask her how
Orbitech 1
is taking all this. Is Brahms setting up a reception or what?”

“There hasn’t been this much excitement since construction on
Orbitech 2
began. Remember, the Filipinos sent out their own representatives almost two weeks ago—that Dr. Sandovaal character and his assistant. They’re practically on top of L-5. The
Aguinaldo
has declared a national holiday. When you all get there it’ll be like a family reunion.”

McLaris remembered how bothersome he had always found family reunions to be. He turned away from the flatscreen. Shen and Clancy’s constant communication sometimes gnawed at him—it reminded him how he would never talk to his wife Diane again. But that was only part of it. Now that he had been traveling for two and a half days, now that they were almost to
Orbitech 1,
the self-doubts began to bubble into his consciousness. The last thing in the world he needed was time by himself to sit and think. That proved far more dangerous than Clancy’s engineering problems. He kept asking himself why he had volunteered to come.

It’s easy to sign up for the Foreign Legion when you’re sitting in an armchair.

McLaris tried focusing his eyes on the two holes in the wall opposite him. Only two and a half days ago the acceleration chairs had been fastened to that wall, secured to the
Phoenix
by protruding bolts. Soon after the weave wire had yanked them off the lunar surface and
Orbitech 1
had started reeling them in, he and Clancy had moved the seats to where they were now for the gut-wrenching deceleration when the
Miranda’s
engines blasted one last time.

He kept picturing Jessie in her enormous space suit.
I am brave!
she had said.

McLaris let his arm fall to his side; a startling jangle of musical notes rang out. Clancy glanced over his shoulder, smiled with amusement, then returned to speaking with Shen.

McLaris lifted Jessie’s battered old “keeburd” from the deck. Besides a few changes of clothes and the d-cubes he had accumulated at
Clavius Base
, the programmed keyboard was the only personal item he had brought with him to
Orbitech 1.
It was useless, sentimental … and absolutely necessary to him. There were too many memories, too many demons to slay once he got back aboard
Orbitech 1.
He needed every tie to the past, every tangible object that meant something to him.

The fresh start on
Clavius Base
had brought him back from personal damnation. His horror and guilt had abated in the last two months, once Philip Tomkins had given him important work to do. He had rebuilt a defensible wall of self-esteem, brick by brick.

He clutched Jessie’s keyboard close to his breast. He activated one of the preprogrammed routines, and listened to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” conjuring up visions of his daughter plinking along and trying to chase the lighted keys with her fingers in an imitation of playing the song. Clancy ignored the music as McLaris closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of the warm, recycled air. The Moon was no place to leave the only link he had to his past.

He would need all his strength to confront Brahms.

Even Hitler had executed less than 10 percent of his own people. By that criterion, Brahms stacked up against the worst of them. McLaris wondered if anyone really thought Roha Ombalal had been responsible for the RIF.

Damn you!
Brahms had shouted to them as Stephanie Garland had pulled the
Miranda
out of the docking bay and launched it toward
Clavius Base
. McLaris couldn’t imagine that Brahms would ever forgive him.

A cold thought struck McLaris. Had he been the factor that had forced Brahms over the edge? Had he pressed Brahms into a no-win situation by taking the only shuttle, the last hope of
Orbitech 1?
McLaris did not feel strong enough to shoulder any more blame.

But Brahms would be waiting for him, nevertheless.

***