Lifeline

Chapter 67

ORBITECH 1—Day 72

When the rescue crew hauled Ramis into the Orbitech 1 shuttle bay, his low-air indicator on the heads-up display had been burning for some time. He didn’t care. He didn’t waste time or energy talking. His vision remained fuzzy; his skin felt flushed and overheated.

He was numb with shock at what he had seen.

The rescue team had hauled the remnants of the Aguinaldo expedition, some supplies, and four intact nymphs still packaged and dormant for the return journey. Dobo Daeng, flailing in his space suit, seemed not to know how he could best cooperate with the crew.

Ramis had arrived too late.

As he had approached the sail-creature mosaic, he had seen that it was severed in half, with one huge section cut off from its controls and drifting away on a new orbit. He had seen Dr. Sandovaal’s body in the central sail-creature that had flown straight into the weavewire.

They had planned a beautiful maneuver, jettisoning the dead sail-creatures and slipping gracefully into position at the center of the Lagrange well. But now the mosaic was ruined.

The rescue crew from Orbitech 1 had reached them while Ramis was still trying to contact a frantic Dobo in the other sail-creature cyst. Ramis had felt such a tremendous sense of loss that he could barely see to assist the team. He had found it impossible to talk on the radio. He didn’t even want to speak to Karen.

The rescue team assisted them into the shuttle bay. Dobo chattered over the suit radio, directing the salvage crew to hurry with the dormant sail-creature nymphs. Ramis moved without enthusiasm, feeling as if the world had fallen away from him.

As they floated across the threshold into the docking bay, he saw the hulk of a weird-looking vessel moored to one bulkhead. The yo-yo had arrived intact from Clavius Base. Anna Tripolk had tried to destroy this vessel. He had helped save it. He had protected all of Orbitech I with what he had done. Ramis stared at the Phoenix as the massive door to the bay closed behind them.

All the colonies had found ways to tie each other together, even without the safety net of Earth. Seeing the Phoenix gave him some freedom from his grief.

Sandovaal would have complained about how clunky it looked.

After the shuttle bay had filled with air, medics appeared, checking him and Dobo. Someone twisted Ramis’s helmet off. He felt detached, and let them do what they wanted. Several people came forward in greeting, but they moved in a haphazard group, without the formal control Ramis had expected. He recognized Allen Terachyk and a man who looked like Duncan McLaris from the ConComm broadcasts, but he did not see Director Brahms among them.

Before the men could say anything, the PA clicked and a voice came over. “We’ve located the director. I think someone official should come and deal with this. Mr. Terachyk?”

In the lab room, the black technician looked baffled. He shrugged, looking up at Terachyk and McLaris. “Seems like he did everything right.”

Nancy Winkowski stood huddled in a self-protective stance. Her wide eyes harbored an amazed expression, tinged with a bit of defiance. “He made me help him. I did the best I could.”

They stared down at Brahms in the sleepfreeze chamber.

The director lay motionless, with a serene and empty expression. Through the curved glass of the cubicle, he seemed to be deep in the sleep of exhaustion.

Terachyk looked upset. “That bastard!”

McLaris allowed himself a smile, which he covered before anyone else could see.

Terachyk glared at the motionless face behind the glass and slapped his hand on the surface. “He thinks we’ll forget about it if he hides his head under the covers!”

“Stop that, Allen!” McLaris spoke sharply. He picked up the d-cube left lying on the surface of the chamber. “Let’s listen to what he had to say.”

Nancy Winkowski turned away, as if she didn’t want to hear Brahms’s words again. McLaris stared at the d-cube, sighed, then walked to the reader in the lab room. He pushed the cube in and stood back, pursing his lips. They all turned toward the small holomonitor.

Brahms appeared, looking haggard, but with an odd inner peace behind his expression. Off to the edge of the image, McLaris could make out a blurry figure that must have been Winkowski.

“Duncan, Allen—and all of Orbitech 1—I place myself in your hands. Right now a long trial would be divisive and destructive to our fragile balance. It would sap our energy and our attention, which would best be directed elsewhere. And I am too tired to go through with it.”

The image of Winkowski mumbled something at the edge of the screen, but Brahms made a dismissive gesture with his hand. He continued.

“I leave the decision to you. You can take the easy way out and just disconnect me—throw my body out the airlock to join the hundred fifty-two people lost in the RIF. But do not allow yourselves to forget that I acted in what I thought was the best way to ensure our survival.

“Punish me or forgive me, as you see fit. We all do what we must do. Right now I want nothing more than to rest. I leave you to determine how long that rest will be.”

The holographic image dissolved into static, then nothing.

Winkowski had started to cry. McLaris took a deep breath and pulled his lips tight. “That’s it. We’ve got a new start.” He turned to walk away. “Let’s try not to screw it up this time.”

Terachyk slammed a hand against the chamber. Spinning, McLaris saw the man trembling with anger.

“I hope he’s having nightmares!”

In the depths of his cold sleep, Curtis Brahms dreamed of playing checkers.