Lifeline

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.