Lifeline

Chief assessor on Orbitech 1—she liked the sound of that. Linda Arnando brushed at the shoulders of her clean green uniform. She felt tired but exhilarated, like a marathon runner who had finished an impossible race and won by the barest of margins, but won, nevertheless.

She’d have to see if Brahms would let her wear some sort of badge to denote her rank.

Linda knew the game. Much of it had been unpleasant, but she had played along and followed the rules, because getting ahead was The Most Important Thing. Too many women balked at the harsh world of corporate politics, refused to let themselves be used, and then whined that they had never gotten a chance. But being named chief assessor made up for all the humiliation.

If Orbitech 1 didn’t get out of this mess, then at least she had finished up on top.

Speaking of finishing up on top.… She allowed her eyes to wander over some of the men in line—men who had never noticed her before, but did now. It was a marvelous switch.

Linda stood in cafeteria complex nine of the administrative torus, watching people queue up for their daily rations. A hand-painted sign proclaiming “Alferd Packard Memorial Cafeteria” adorned the entrance. She made a mental note to check out what that meant after the meal. She didn’t like it when other people knew things she did not. As Chief Assessor, she could find out whatever she wanted.

Brahms had his armed watchers patrolling the halls, dressed in spring-green, nearly indestructible weavewire jumpsuits that had been destined for Earth before the War. The watchers supposedly kept everyone calm after the riot that had killed Ombalal, but people still seemed uneasy. Someone had used one of the permanent no-smear lipstick tubes from the Orbitech cosmetics labs to scrawl graffiti on the clean wall of one of the corridors:

“REDUCTION IN FORCE? Why not streamline the management structure instead?”

And thanks to the wonderful polymer base of the lipstick, someone would have to use sandblasting equipment to remove it from the wall.

Behind the counters in the cafeteria complex, four other watchers scanned ID cards to make sure no one tried to get a double allotment. The computerized distributors monitored rations to the nearest few grams per person.

Brahms had selected the watchers from their profiles in his precious Efficiency Study. She’d never seen a man squeeze so much out of one set of data. Linda frowned, but accepted it. She knew what Brahms was doing—it wasn’t a pleasant thing. It wasn’t an easy thing. But he was doing what he had to.

In one of their meetings, Linda had suggested a rationing methodology she thought would increase the incentive of the workers—rations would start out at some minimum and then be increased on the basis of productivity, as a kind of reward system.

Allen Terachyk sat silent and brooding in the meeting, as usual. Brahms raised his eyebrows at Linda’s suggestion and removed his unnecessary eyeglasses. He glanced at her, then at Terachyk, then back at her. With his face naked and open, Linda thought he appeared fragile, like a wounded child. His cheekbones shone smooth from where he had rubbed them, but his sharp blue eyes looked active, ready to pop out of his face and flit around the station where he could watch everyone.

“I’m not sure we can get any better incentive than the implied threat of another RIF.” His teeth were very small when he smiled.

Now, at the head of the ration line, one of the watchers stiffened and yelled at the man handing him a card. The red light on the ID reader blinked on and off. Linda recognized the burly, red-haired watcher as a former researcher, but she didn’t know his name. For show, she knew she should go over and make herself visible by the commotion.

“Don’t try to pull one over on me,” the watcher said.

“But it’s not for me. My wife is in our quarters and she’s not feeling well. I want to bring it to her.”

“She’ll have to come herself.”

Exasperated, the man in line put his hands on his hips. “But if you’d check, you’ll see that she hasn’t used her card yet today.”

“Then bring her card here.”

“And waste a trip to the other torus? I’m just trying to make things more efficient.” The word carried a stinger of sarcasm.

Linda Arnando stepped up and scowled at the man. He had a quiet intelligence about him and neatly trimmed brown hair that was thinning on top. His hands were pale and very clean, as if he scrubbed them often. His name badge read “Daniel Aiken.”

“You may think you have a perfectly valid complaint, Mr. Aiken.” Linda felt herself taking charge, wielding her authority. The watcher looked relieved. “But we had equally valid reasons when we decided to allow no exceptions.”

She lowered her voice, speaking to him only.

“Morale around here is low enough without you causing a fuss. Just do as you’re told, or I can see to it that your rations are cut off entirely for a few days, all right? None of these people would mind if you don’t get your share.”