Lifeline

“Do you know what Arecibo is, Duncan? The radio telescope in Puerto Rico? It’s the largest single radio telescope in the world, laid down in a perfect bowl-shaped valley. You don’t find many natural locations like that, so radio astronomy spends most of its effort on aperture synthesis, adding up the signals from an array of smaller dishes instead of a single big antenna.”

Tomkins’s voice took on a tone of delight. “But look out there! All those craters, hundreds of kilometers across, perfectly round. Think of how easy it would be to construct mankind’s most magnificent radio telescope—just a little excavation on the crater floor, then lay down wire mesh that we can make here, attach some receivers … it would be so simple! So glorious. I’d call it Arecibo II or something appropriate.”

McLaris wondered at the man’s priorities: cut off from Earth, two hundred extra people on his base, food in short supply—how could Tomkins dream about building a new telescope? McLaris kept his face carefully neutral.

The chief administrator returned to sit at the table again. He slurped his tea. “Ah, but that project is put on permanent hold now, I suppose, because of the damn War. Why can’t politicians ever think with a broader perspective?”

Tomkins touched McLaris’s arm. “Come here—I’ve been compiling all the snippets from the War. Since we’re run by the U.N., Clavius Base keeps close watch on all events on Earth—we always have. We can filter through some of the confusion, since we’ve got a good perspective here—a view from a height, you might say.”

He went to one of the computer consoles, then indicated the main holotank set into the white-tiled wall. The tank was tuned to ConComm. Tomkins pursed his lips and spoke to the computer. “Assemble hyperstack. Header: The War, in serial.” He shrugged apologetically at McLaris. “Couldn’t think of a better title.”

The tank blinked once, then focused on laserfax transmissions of various news reports. Tomkins pointed to a geopolitical world map shimmering in the tank.

“Someday, if mankind ever has historians again, they’ll go back and find all the preliminary influences. Remember the MacKenzie Treaties? Those wonderful days of glasnost, before the backlash? The U.S. gave up its expensive space-based weapons systems, then cut just as much money on conventional forces.”

Tomkins flicked from one photo to another, skimming past story after story so rapidly that McLaris could do no more than glean highlights.

“What we didn’t know was that the U.S. had deployed its super-Excalibur pop-up defensive weapons anyway. Nuclear-driven x-ray lasers—one of their ‘black’ programs. Now they can say it was justified, I suppose. The Soviets had also publicly claimed to be giving up space-based weaponry, as they armed their space platforms in secret. Disguised as polar-orbiting ‘scientific research stations,’ of all things!”

Tomkins snorted. “But you can’t hide a space-based laser while you’re using it. We’ve got actual footage from the War, computer enhanced.”

The chief administrator talked the way a child would at show-and-tell—like Jessie trying to explain things to other children. McLaris felt a twinge of grief.

“Up until about a week before the outbreak, the squabblings between the United States and the Soviet Union bubbled along as they always had. But the discovery of a well-entrenched Soviet battalion in the Turkish foothills outraged the U.S., and all Soviet officials were expelled from Washington.”

Tomkins frowned. “Since Orbitechnologies Corporation was going to allow some Soviet production work to take place on Orbitech 2, the U.S. pressured the company to withdraw all construction engineers and delay completion of the station. All two hundred men and women from L-4 were brought back down here for a few days. Supposedly, they were going to be shipped home, but I honestly think it was just a bluff.”

Tomkins showed some videotapes of the transports landing, all the construction people disembarking and finding cramped quarters on the base.

“So, Clavius Base suddenly had seven hundred people instead of five hundred. The construction crew brought some supplies, but most of their stores are still sitting at L-4, totally out of reach. Remember what I said about them expecting to go right back? Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Tomkins grew philosophical, running his fingers along his chin as he spoke. “It’s all political games—everything working according to murky rules that nobody seems to understand.”

The chief administrator looked like a storyteller at a campfire. A grainy satellite photograph showed a blasted urban area: buildings had toppled, fires burned from girders and trees, but the skyline in the distance appeared to be undamaged. McLaris thought he recognized Washington, D.C.