Lifeline

“Leave her!” Brahms snapped. He didn’t want anything to spoil the triumph of this day, but he wondered why the voice had sounded relieved instead of angry.

Brahms purposely ignored it. When he arrived at the spoke-shaft elevator, he punched the controls himself. He wondered why he felt afraid of McLaris. He held all the cards; McLaris was little more than a sacrificial lamb.

But Brahms still had not decided what he was going to do.

He stepped inside the waiting cubicle and allowed three watchers to follow him. The group remained silent during the ascent. What does McLaris really want? Why is he coming here of his own free will?

When they reached the shuttle bay, Brahms pushed out into the huge, weightless chamber. Other people worked at the edges of the bay. They were his people; he trusted everyone here completely. A team of workers waited outside, out of sight, inspecting the other end of the weavewire and the machinery used to reel it in.

He let a smile flicker across his face. All he would need to do was have someone dissociate part of the cable, snip the thread to leave McLaris and the yo-yo floating nowhere for all eternity. But he dismissed that thought as the coward’s way out. He would face his enemy in front of all the watching eyes on Orbitech 1. McLaris would have to make an accounting for his actions.

As he drifted up into the hanger area, Brahms swiveled to view the control room. A cadre of watchers in green jumpsuits manned the boards. Allen Terachyk was not among them.

Brahms called down to Nancy Winkowski. “Dammit, track Terachyk on the intercom and tell him to get up here. This is important!”

She nodded and pushed off to the communications console on the wall.

As he floated in, Brahms looked around with a sudden flashback to one of the other times he had been here—the time he and Linda Arnando and Allen Terachyk had watched the recording of a broken and terrified Roha Ombalal reading the speech Brahms had written.

It had been less than three months since the RIF, since an angry mob had killed Ombalal. Luckily, the uprising had not spread, and the watchers had maintained order through the dilemma.

Now the people had hope again. Everything was coming together for them all.

Except for Duncan McLaris; he was the unknown factor. What would the people do? Brahms had kept the colonists occupied, working at their normal schedules. But he didn’t want order to break down, especially not now.

Adrenaline rushed through his body. He thought briefly of ordering McLaris executed when he arrived, so the people would have no clear center for their anger, no one to rally around.…

No!

Brahms drew in several breaths to calm himself. Despite the risk, he simply did not do cold-blooded acts like that. His action would not have great enough justification—it would look like a personal vendetta, to get back at the man who had humiliated him.

And worst of all, Brahms did not want to leave the people with some sort of a martyr. The Filipinos at L-4 had given him a lesson with their own history—he didn’t dare give them an Aquino to rally around. McLaris’s situation already reminded him too much of Douglas MacArthur returning to the Philippines: an emancipator.

Inside the bay, the other workers did not notice his mental gymnastics. Brahms decided he would let the people decide what to do with McLaris. After all, if Orbitech 1 contained the remnants of the American system, he should at least give some semblance of a democratic process.

And if another mob formed, as with Ombalal, they would take care of McLaris anyway. Maybe Brahms would even quell them and once again come across as a voice of reason, a peacemaker, a true leader they could all depend on.

Brahms snapped at the nearest watcher. “I have decided on a change of plans. This is a truly historic occasion. Broadcast a general announcement that anyone who wishes to be present up here for the recovery of the Phoenix is welcome, space permitting. They may join me down in the shuttle bay.”

Nancy Winkowski’s eyes widened. “Mr. Brahms, the security—”

“Do it. Now.” He felt suddenly tired, and wiped a hand across his forehead. Exhaustion clung to his bones. Too many things were happening—there were too many decisions, too many memories, but he could not rest yet. Orbitech 1 depended on him. “Those who cannot attend are urged to view the ceremony on the holotanks.”

Winkowski blinked at him, but couldn’t seem to form her concern into words. Brahms sighed with tired impatience. “You heard my orders?”

“But, sir, you can’t—”

“Do it.” He felt exasperated.

Winkowski stood her ground. “Mr. Brahms—you have our allegiance. You know that. But this is suicide. What if the people rally around McLaris and try to overthrow you!”

Brahms laughed, astonished. “McLaris stole the Miranda and ran away from us at our time of greatest need.”

She looked around and spoke quickly. “Am I allowed to call in reinforcements? Arm the guards—”