Lifeline

“Now then, Dr. Aiken.” Linda drifted back in a net chair in his laboratory cubicle. She turned her head, and rich dark hair moved in front of her face, then upward. She brushed it back down, keeping herself neat. Her lips were bright red from the sparkle lipstick she had applied.

She smelled chemicals—an acrid mixture of experiments not sealed entirely in fume-confinement zones. The strange scents changed from moment to moment as they crawled through the air on currents stirred by the ventilators.

Orbitech 1’s successful zero-G pharmaceutical production processes had been developed in this section. Other designated laboratory areas were defined in a three-dimensional matrix throughout the colony’s nonrotating central cylinder, color-coded to research topics.

Daniel Aiken nodded at her, looking tense. That would make things easier.

He was middle-aged, reasonably fit. Linda found him attractive in a puppy-dog sort of way. She studied her fingernails, drawing out the silence. She had applied some of the garish Orbitech cosmetics to make her nails swirl with changing, oily color.

“As chief assessor, it is my job to look into all these different projects and find the ones with the greatest merit—the ones that have the most bearing on our survival. Your work could have very important implications. I’m sure you realize that, Dr. Aiken.” She paused. “Actually, I think I’m going to call you Daniel.” She said it as a statement, not asking permission.

“I remember you from the cafeteria. Tell me, what does the name Alferd Packard mean—from the sign by the door?”

Aiken allowed a thin smile. “I did my graduate work at the University of Colorado. The main cafeteria is named after him.” To Linda’s blank stare he continued, “Packard led an expedition up in the Rockies and they got trapped in the snow. The next spring he was the only member to return. He was accused of cannibalism.”

Linda set her mouth in distaste. “That’s rather sick humor for a cafeteria.”

Aiken blinked and avoided her eyes. “Since the RIF, I think we’ve all been a little morbid around here.” He muttered something else noncommittal, and she slid her hook in deeper.

“But back to your research. I found it very interesting, with most impressive results.” Linda glanced up at him. “In fact, the numbers were even more impressive after you altered your data.”

Aiken’s eyes widened. His shock could not have been more absolute if she had suddenly pulled out a knife and slashed him. Linda’s smile was brittle, glistening red from the lipstick.

Aiken tried to stammer something, but she made a shushing motion that sent her drifting away in the net chair. Linda could see him squirming—it made her feel light-headed.

He could no longer restrain himself. “I just needed more time! My project is going to work, but I’ve had a small setback, and I … didn’t think it was fair. If I get a little more time, I—I could make this breakthrough so we can all survive.”

“Of course, I understand.” She kept her voice even, her rigid smile in place. Poor man. He had it so difficult. If only he had a little more time …

She wondered just what he’d had to go through to get to his position, what he’d had to do to get his biochemistry degree. How did he have to degrade himself? Where did he have to crawl? Whose back did he have to stab? Whose rear end did he have to kiss?

Linda Arnando thought of the men she’d slept with, all the condescension she had taken from supposed “equals,” the ways they had abused their positions of power, tried to crush her down.

But she had come through it all, and now the shoe was on the other foot, wasn’t it?

“You realize, don’t you, that when I tell Director Brahms about this, he’s likely to have you thrown out the airlock as an example. At the very least, he’ll put your name at the top of the next RIF list.”

She raised her eyebrows and waited, trying to predict what he would do next. Aiken stared at her, baffled. She opened her palms to him, waiting.

Finally, he got the idea. “All right, Ms. Arnando—”

“Chief Assessor Arnando!”

“Chief Assessor Arnando.” He drew out each word, refusing to meet her eyes. “What do you want? What is it I have to do?”

She thought of all the times she had been in Aiken’s position. Perhaps it didn’t have anything to do with lust or sex. It was power—the ability to make someone do something he didn’t want to do.

She leaned forward out of the net chair, got to her feet, and moved around behind him. Aiken sat stiffly, afraid to move. He gripped the edge of his work surface. Around him the details of his lab—the enclosed petri dishes, the culture flasks, the fermentation locks—stood clean and quiet.

He jumped when she touched him.

Linda rubbed his neck, ran her fingernail down the side of his face, lingered on his lips, then traced down to where a few curly chest hairs stuck out from his lab smock.

“I think we could come to some … sort of agreement.”