Lifeline

The words rolled out. She had always loved talking about her dream, but now the words wounded her as she spoke them. “When we got there, an initial team of colonists would be awakened to set up base camp on the surface. Our reflecting mirror was designed to detach and go into Mars-stationary orbit, where it would focus sunlight onto our colony and down into a power substation. We were going to revive more of us as rapidly as the colony could handle them.”

She laughed. “It was beautiful, beautiful! All the while, the rest of you thought we were just a research station here. Mars was going to be ours.”

Anna realized she had begun sobbing. At least Langelier had stopped talking. “But now, that will never happen. You have stolen our sleepfreeze chambers. You are ganging up on us. Even my own people had other plans for the Kibalchich—as a weapon against your colony! And now I have no choice but to use it, to save the future.”

Anna drew in a breath and closed her eyes, shivering with the cold in the room. Orbitech 1 held seven times as many people as the Kibalchich … but numbers held no weight. If the death of two people in the yo-yo would pave the way for her dream, then how was Rurik’s situation any different? If one death is justified, then why not two? Three?

Or even more? What makes the measure of an ideal, a lifelong dream? Her mind crunched through the rationale, sounding like a different voice in her head. Can a true dream be measured by any number of souls? And how is one death any different from a thousand? But she was only going to stop the Phoenix.

It would be on the Barrera boy’s conscience then. It was his fault the others would die—not hers.

Anna’s head pounded. Her throat felt raw. Her breathing came faster. She was hyperventilating. She was a doctor; she should know what to do. But her vision grew fuzzy with the crushing weight inside her head.

“Computer, display Orbitech 1 from exterior monitors.”

Once again the holotank flashed. Orbitech 1 appeared as a wavering blob, blurry. Anna wondered if tears had ruined her vision, but after knuckling her eyes she realized the image itself was distorted.

Something big blocked the view.

“Computer, focus! Center on any debris between the Kibalchich and Orbitech 1 that might cause a visual distortion. What is it?”

The holotank blur grew sharp, showing a long dark green object like an old Havana cigar but with stubs on the side, expanding out to a translucent matte that extended past the holotank’s edge. The computer drew back the view. A vast cluster of sail-creatures, like leaf butterflies, all hung together, gracefully settling down into the center of L-5. She saw dozens, connected in a mosaic pattern, immense and graceful.

She had never seen anything so awesome, so beautiful.

So fragile.

And as they drifted between the Kibalchich and Orbitech 1, directly in her line of fire like an impossibly delicate shield, they seemed to stop, to break apart.

Tears streamed down her face as she let out a moan, trying to block the nightmarish vision from her memory. Her lips trembled and she whimpered Rurik’s name to herself. She collapsed back into the command chair, shivering, and squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing herself in blackness.

“{{NINE HUNDRED SECONDS TO DETONATION.}}”

Chapter 60

L-5—Day 72

The sight from the external monitor showed the sail-creatures barely moving with respect to the rotating Kibalchich. Luis Sandovaal held his breath out of anticipation. The cluster of sail-creature bodies showed as glimmers against the starry sky. Sandovaal caught only a wisp of the organic sails as they extended across the gravity well, aiming for the heart of L-5.

The armada reached past Orbitech 1 and the Kibalchich, like a giant piece of tissue separating two armies. The sails would not appear to be a formidable foe, but the symbolism in the gesture should be clear to everyone on the two colonies. Any act of violence between the Kibalchich and Orbitech 1 would have to destroy the sail-creatures, and would thus be directed against the Filipino people as well.

Sandovaal pressed his lips together in a grim line. “Dobo, I hope you are ready to be brave,” he said into the direct communications link. “We will show these people that no one can stake a political claim again. Our actions affect all of the survivors away from Earth. We cannot behave like children on a playground.”

It was the only way they were going to survive, he knew. If anyone went against the unified body, then the human race might not survive. United we stand, and all those other patriotic sayings, he thought to himself.

Dobo’s voice came over the speakers. “I am glad you are here, Dr. Sandovaal. I hope Ramis will be all right.”