Lifeline

The actual director of Orbitech 1, Roha Ombalal, slouched next to him in shock. His expression showed little life. Ombalal had spent half a day poring over the detailed disaster plan developed by the Orbitechnologies Corporation years before. Brahms had heard him mumbling to himself, astonished and dismayed because “the plan was supposed to cover every emergency!”

Indeed, Orbitechnologies had not thought of every scenario. They had not even designed life-support pods into the station: Brahms felt sure that they hadn’t considered it cost-effective to provide “lifeboats” for all fifteen hundred inhabitants.

Across from him sat the R & D Division leader, Allen Terachyk, who looked little better than Ombalal—a wrong word might bring down his mental house of cards, and Brahms didn’t have time for that. He needed Terachyk to help him find the right information. Ombalal could be ignored for the moment.

“Well, Allen? Do you think you can do it?” Brahms added a distinct compassionate tone to his voice. Terachyk was six years older than Brahms, and kept his brown hair cropped very close to his head. Black-framed eyeglasses stood out heavily on his face.

Terachyk blinked at Brahms, his expression as blank and open as a test pattern. Brahms kept his face carefully neutral and reached over to turn on the desktop computer terminal. He swiveled the holoscreen to face Terachyk. Terachyk remained sitting with his hands folded in his lap. Ombalal blinked, but offered no assistance.

Brahms scowled. This was like trying to work with mannequins. He picked up the keypad and dropped it in Terachyk’s lap.

“Allen? Hello? Is anybody in there? Come on, you came up through Computer Applications—I need that information. Do you still remember how to get it?”

Terachyk squinted at the holoscreen and stared at the keypad in his lap. “Ask me in a couple days, Curtis—I’ll be all right then.”

“We don’t have a couple days, Allen. I have to know now.”

“Dammit, can’t you have a little compassion?” Terachyk flared up. “What difference does it make?”

Brahms set his mouth. He always worked very hard at showing compassion; he considered it one of his strong points.

Terachyk had been on Orbitech 1 for more than three years, and he was due to be rotated home in four months. He’d been a model employee, one of the most exceptional workers on the colony. A wife and four sons waited for him in Baltimore.

Or had. From the first scattered reports they’d received, Baltimore had been obliterated in the War.

Two months before, Ombalal’s wife and children had been sent home under some sort of cover story that no one believed. On company orders, Ombalal remained on Orbitech 1, his self-esteem badly hurt, while Brahms took over the station.

Brahms tapped his fingernails on the desktop. Ombalal knew he had no part in the discussion. “Allen, listen to me. The other people here haven’t figured out how desperate our situation is. They’re still going to be waiting for rescue ships.”

“McLaris figured it out,” Terachyk mumbled.

Brahms reddened but maintained his control. He saw bright white light behind his eyes, but he blinked it away. “You and I both know that Orbitech 1 was never meant to be self-sufficient. We have fifteen hundred employees here—tap into the database, get the exact inventory of our supplies. You can determine how much our gardens will produce right now. Model our consumption rate. Run a worst-case study. Use different rationing schemes.”

Terachyk kept his eyes turned away from the associate director, but he seemed to be paying attention. Brahms studied him, made a flash analysis of his reactions—yes, it was obvious. Terachyk would resent being brought back to the real world and its problems. He might turn his despair into anger toward Brahms for pulling him out of his misery.

But Brahms was willing to take that chance. He needed the colony to survive; he didn’t give a damn what the employees thought of his methods. Orbitech 1 had been left in his care, not Ombalal’s—Orbitechnologies had made that perfectly clear.

Brahms spoke quietly to Terachyk. “I have to know how long we can last, Allen. And I have to know before people start asking those questions.”

A moment passed.

Reluctantly, Terachyk logged on. He flashed a bitter glance at Brahms, then stared at the screen. In a few moments, his fingers picked up speed as he allowed the problem to distract him from his own memories.

Brahms nodded in encouragement. Push the right buttons, and he knew he could get the right reactions.

He watched Terachyk work. Nothing was routine anymore, nothing straightforward. Brahms was being sent through the fire, given an impossible task to manage. He felt himself hardening, rising to the job that had to be done. The people of Orbitech 1 were lucky to have him—they would have no chance at all relying on Ombalal.