Lifeline

Tripolk had made great progress in the suspended animation process. She had found a workable solution, and had developed almost everything they needed. Only a few tests remained to prove its feasibility.

And then the War had put an end to everything.

Now, fewer and fewer people remained in the infirmary room. They came, Tripolk gave them an injection, and other workers took them out to the waiting area. Waiting area, she thought ironically. What a ridiculously poetic way to think of it. We are going to be waiting a long time.

Tripolk realized with a kind of uneasy horror that she was doing this mechanically, by rote. Doing this to people, to human beings, had become run-of-the-mill? She was not even certain it would work for all of them! She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. She drew a deep breath, and motioned for the next man to come forward.

Only seven remained now—herself, Commander Rurik, the political officer, Cagarin, and the four men who had acted as orderlies to cart away the groggy and listless men and women. Her assistants had given each other the injection an hour before and were now resting quietly, she hoped.

“Should we all go off to the big room now?” Rurik suggested.

Grekov, a big Ossetian—like Stalin—stood up. His hair was thick and full, but even so, his head looked too small for his broad shoulders. “If you please, Commander, Doctor,” he said in his heavily accented voice, “I don’t want to see them all … there. I would like mine here. Please.”

He thrust his arm toward Tripolk. The doctor gathered up the remaining ampoules, filled a hypodermic needle, and as gently as she could, injected Grekov.

“How long will it take for me to feel it?”

“It is different for everyone.” Tripolk shrugged. “You can feel it as soon as you want to. Don’t worry.”

Rurik paced back and forth. “Thank you all for what you have done. You are being very brave.”

Tripolk admired him more than ever before. She didn’t know how Rurik could be so stoic, so optimistic even now.

“Shall we go?” Rurik stood up, took a deep breath, and marched toward the door. Tripolk gathered the four remaining hypodermic needles and looked at the mess she had left behind—wrappers, empty ampoules, discarded needles, the stained and dirty cart. Cleaning up didn’t matter. In years, when the next generation of Soviet survivors finally made it back to the cold and silent Kibalchich, they would have to take Tripolk to task for the poor housekeeping. For now, she wouldn’t let it bother her rest. It was easier to think of it like that. Perhaps Rurik would clean it up or, better yet, he would have Cagarin do so.

Rurik and Cagarin each draped one of Grekov’s arms around their shoulders and helped the Ossetian walk out of the empty infirmary room. Tripolk followed, flanked by the remaining two orderlies.

They walked down the wide, barren-looking corridor. Overhead, the fluted windows let sunlight and starlight in. Many of the louvers had already been closed, sealing down the Kibalchich for its dormancy. The station was already looking like a tomb.

Rurik and Cagarin were going to be very lonely and very bored. They didn’t even seem to like each other in the first place. Anna Tripolk wished Rurik had allowed her to remain with him.

Down the hall they reached the other main lab room. The doors were propped open into their sockets, but the inside of the room had been dimmed to thick shadows. Tripolk felt thankful for that at least. The orderlies themselves had perhaps been spooked from looking at all the bodies lined row upon row, each in its neat enclosure. Rurik and Cagarin carefully laid Grekov’s body inside one of the empty cubicles, straightened his arms and legs, then inserted another needle into each brachial artery.

The two orderlies looked around themselves uneasily, then pulled crucifixes from their jumpsuits. Rurik glanced at them, but said nothing and turned away. Cagarin scowled and seemed about to snap at them, but Rurik grabbed his arm. Tripolk could see how hard he squeezed.

Tripolk removed her three hypodermic needles and looked at them in odd fascination. She blinked. “Are you ready?”

Sullenly, the first man put away his crucifix, then bared his arm. The other received his injection as well, and they went to lie down in their glass compartments. Tripolk waited for them to grow somewhat groggy, then hooked up the artificial circulatory system, jabbing needles inside their elbows.

Cagarin scowled and walked out, leaving Tripolk and Commander Rurik alone.

Tripolk had one hypodermic needle left, for herself. “You will take care of everything else?”

Rurik squeezed her shoulder. “You know I will.”

“And there is no way I can talk you into joining us?”

The commander pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Later. It must be later. You know that two of us must remain to watch the station.”