Lifeline

Aiken sat perfectly still. It excited her. There was something like a rabbit about him. He swallowed, then spoke in a whisper, “My wife—”

Linda smiled. That made it even better; she had forgotten about his wife. “I think you can work something out, Daniel—considering the stakes.”

She moved to leave, but at the door of his cubicle she paused and turned. “You can find the location of my quarters. I’ll expect you there, oh, let’s say, twenty-two hundred hours?”

She knew from his schedule that he always spent time at home then.

Before he could stammer anything, she left.

Chapter 24

ORBITECH 1—Day 34

The American colony was full of strange smells, odd sounds, subtle changes that continually reminded Ramis that he did not belong there. This was not his home. The Aguinaldo might as well have been a million kilometers away.

He saw a lot of metal here—ordered cubicles, color-coded sections. He missed the natural chaos that made the Filipino colony seem more a world than a construction project. Orbitech 1 was like an office building, precisely arranged and cold, not a place to live. Even the occasional “living walls,” showing holographic scenes from Earth, did not help. A smattering of angry graffiti marred the pictures, taking away from the forced naturalness.

Ramis felt exhausted, impatient, and depressed all at once. He had focused on the challenge, the mission, the risk of flying the sail-creature through open space against all odds, to arrive here.

Ramis spent two days resting under medical observation, being treated for radiation exposure and having his blood checked. Brahms allowed him to use the Orbitech communications center to radio back to the Aguinaldo, where he spoke of trivial things with Magsaysay. It wasn’t until partway through the conversation that Ramis realized Brahms had put him on the ConComm, broadcasting the conversation to everyone on the other colonies.

Dr. Sandovaal asked him several specific questions about Sarat—how long the sail-creature had survived, how difficult was steering, and so on—which Ramis answered as best he could. He had checked on the care of the sail-creature embryos he had brought with him. Everything seemed to be fine, but it would be nearly a year before they reached maturity. He was stranded here until then.

Now that things had settled down, he felt as if he were waiting for something else to happen. He had nothing to do, no place in this industrial research station. He could speak formal English, but the American colloquialisms confused him and made him feel inadequate. He had brought the wall-kelp, they had thanked him, and now they wanted him to … ride westward? Ride off into the sunset—that was the right phrase. He shook his head. He felt trapped here, isolated from the things he had taken for granted.

Ramis couldn’t Jump in the zero-G lab spaces. The cubicles were too regimented, serviceable rather than livable. Even his clothes were uncomfortable: an Orbitech-issue jumpsuit made of some sort of superfiber—weavewire, they called it. He remained barefoot in a small effort to imitate life on the Aguinaldo.

His new quarters seemed alien, too, as if he had trespassed in someone else’s room. Some personal possessions had been removed, but much remained from the previous occupant. The quarters were spacious, with a window plate, a large bed, and a small entertainment center. Posters of famous Earth restaurants covered the walls: the Brown Derby, Antoine’s, M&J’s Sanitary Tortilla Factory. Brahms told him that it had been the suite of Tim Drury, one of the division leaders on Orbitech 1.

When Ramis asked the director what had happened to Drury, Brahms had stared at the wall for a long moment. “He was a victim of our first reduction in force.”

Only after Brahms left did Ramis realize what he had meant. Orbitech 1 suddenly seemed too small for him.

Ramis spent the next two days wandering the colony. He went to look at the sail-creature embryos in their monitored incubators; he watched Orbitech workers attach nodules of wall-kelp to prime spots around the station.

He roamed free. A few people tried to touch him, as if to bless themselves with his optimism, his brighter outlook toward the future. Then one woman with a long, gray-blond ponytail shouted at him for disrupting her train of thought, and continued shouting long after he had left.

Not everyone viewed him as a savior. Some saw only the extra mouth to feed. His fears and loneliness increased, making him want to run and hide.

He found himself in the Japanese garden.

The foliage brought back memories from home. The enclosed acre lacked the lushness of the greenhouse alcoves on the Aguinaldo, and the humidity was not as high. Still, it seemed more peaceful here than anywhere else on the colony, away from the brooding paranoia in the corridors, the signs of restless frustration, the lowered voices of the other workers.