Lifeline

The shuttle Miranda had crashed on the Moon days before. Most of the people on Orbitech 1 were still furious with Mr. McLaris and the pilot who had stolen the shuttle. Mutineers, some people called them. Some claimed that it was just like upper management to steal the goods and screw the other employees; others chuckled bitterly that McLaris had screwed even the other managers.

But the other two shuttles were a different story. The Ariel and the Oberon had been trapped in low Earth orbit, arriving at the end of their runs just after the War. At least they hadn’t been blasted in the space-based weapons exchange like the Earth-orbiting stations, but now the two pilots had limited supplies and no fuel to go anyplace else.

Every ninety minutes the two shuttles dipped lower in their orbits as the vanishingly thin atmosphere slowed them like quicksand. They had about another day and a half before the craft would hit the ionosphere—not like a stone skipping across the water, but streaking across the sky in a dazzling fireball.

The Colony Communications—ConComm—network between the Aguinaldo, Clavius Base, and Orbitech 1 kept communications open twenty-four hours a day. Occasionally it picked up low-wattage broadcasts from Earth or amateur radio operators, or intercepted transmissions between groups of War survivors, but very few of the transmissions were directed out into space. The colonies were on their own as far as Earth was concerned.

But ConComm also broadcast regular updates of the situation with the Ariel and the Oberon. What else did the people have to do but watch and listen to the pilots’ gamble for survival? Heroes—we could use some about now, Karen thought.

Clavius Base had suggested to the pilots that they maneuver their shuttles together, transfer all remaining fuel from the Ariel into the larger Oberon, which had been built for landing on the Moon, and kick themselves into a higher, stable orbit. But even if that succeeded, they had only food enough for another week.

The pilots had been more enthusiastic about another suggestion made by someone on Orbitech 1. The Ariel contained a shipment of tungsten-alloy wire that had been intended for transfer to the Orbitech 2 construction site at L-4. If the pilots maneuvered close enough, they could lash the two shuttles to each other, strapping one in front to act as a heat shield.

Karen sat down in a chair and thought about dozing, lying back and letting the tension ripple out the base of her neck. Ray used to be so good at giving back rubs.…

She must have dozed, because the shuttle pilots broke over the intercom again, ending their forty-five-minute silence. They had successfully attached the two craft together. They were going to toboggan through the atmosphere with the Oberon in front as a shield. Karen looked around the lounge and saw that the card game had ended. Several other people had arrived and were listening to the transmissions.

“They’re going down!” said the man in the red sweat suit.

Karen closed her eyes, traveling back into her mind and imagining a dull-red glow of plasma forming at the shuttle’s ablative front, seeing what it would be like if she were floating along with the craft. The spot of roasting metal grew quickly, heating up until the craft was immersed in a blue-bright bath of light. How long before the bottom shuttle started to melt and crumble?

“Plasma interfer-# # #-communica-# # #.” The static in the transmission made it impossible to tell which of the pilots had spoken. “We prom-###-say hello-###-every-###.”

All the people in the lounge seemed to be holding their breath. Karen realized that she had unconsciously crossed her fingers. Smiling at her childishness, she straightened her hands and looked around the room.

The Earth kept its radio silence.

The people waited in the lounge, and kept waiting. After the silence grew too thick, mumbled conversation began to rise and fall in the air.

ConComm remained quiet. After half an hour, the first people started to leave. Karen walked out of the lounge, heading back to her lab.

The shuttles never re-established contact.

Chapter 9

CLAVIUS BASE—Day 8

The nightmares gave way to consciousness. Duncan McLaris opened his eyes, hoping it had all been part of the dream.

Without moving, he let his body send him messages. He found himself stretched out on a comfortable pallet … a bed. He smelled a chemical taint, some kind of disinfectant, and a dusty charcoal smell that hung over everything. McLaris blinked and focused his vision on the clean walls, the white sheets on his bed, the various apparatus in the room … the other empty beds. Infirmary.