Lifeline

Ramis fought back conflicting emotions. Salita was proud of him!—but he did not understand what his brother meant. The silence in the room was broken only by the low humming of the air conditioner. Salita stared at him, then frowned in disgust, partially drunk himself. He took the bottle of San Miguel with him and went to the door. When he opened it, the sounds of the music and people grew suddenly louder.

He turned and locked eyes with Ramis. “Have a good trip, little one. Take care of yourself, and learn how to be brave and strong. I will look up at the stars and think of you. Maybe I will even wave.”

He turned his back and closed the door behind him, muffling the outside sounds again. Ramis got up off the floor and lay on the bedspread Salita had wrinkled. It was still warm.

He had never seen his brother again.

Now, his parents were both dead in an accident on the Aguinaldo, and the War had probably destroyed the Islands, and Salita as well.

It had taken him years to figure out what Salita had meant. He was tall for a Filipino, with lighter skin and eyes. His features looked different, softened. His birthday celebrations had always been subdued. Their father had always treated Salita with something akin to resentment. Ramis could not remember when he had realized that his mother must have been pregnant before she and Agpalo had been married. That would have been enough to shame them, with their strict Roman Catholic upbringing.

But he wasn’t sure that was enough to explain everything. Both parents had been students at the University of the Philippines. His mother had lived in Angeles City, where she had grown up, near the American military base. But before graduating from the university, both Agpalo and Panay had dropped out, married, and left Angeles City. With a promising future there, they had moved north, instead, to run a Sari-Sari store in Baguio.

They had ignored all their biochemistry training until Dr. Sandovaal had tracked them down for the Aguinaldo assignment. Ramis’s father had seemed afraid to leave Baguio, afraid to go near the Americans, whom he often cursed at home.

People will think you are stupid if you fail to notice the obvious.

After all he had been through—the flight through space, killing Sarat, being trapped here where a hundred and fifty people had died because of some administrative order—why did this still upset him so much?

One of the recorded bird songs rang out next to him, and he whirled, ready to yank the speaker free and step on it, even with his bare feet.

Then he recoiled in shock as he saw a woman standing behind him, smiling with deep empathy. Ramis rubbed his eyes and tried to regain his composure.

She spoke softly. “Are you all right?”

Ramis started to answer, but his voice caught in his throat.

The woman continued to speak in a controlled, warm voice. Her eyes were brown but bright, quick to move and focus on anything that captured her interest. A few dark freckles dusted her cheeks and forearms, like tiny splashes of tan from a melanin experiment gone wrong.

“You’re the Filipino boy.” She held out her hand. “I’m Karen Langelier, one of the polymer chemists here.”

Ramis took a deep breath. “My name is Ramis. I am sorry—I was thinking.”

She smiled. “I come here often, too, and I think I know how you feel. If you want to talk later, I’ll be here to listen.” She turned to go. “Look me up.”

Ramis studied her face for a moment. A few crow’s-feet spread from her eyes. She looked old; but then, at sixteen, everyone over twenty looked old to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “I have not made any friends here yet.”

She smiled again, and for a moment Ramis thought she was going to hug him, and he didn’t know if he wanted that or not. He was afraid to let himself feel vulnerable on this foreign colony.

“Come to my lab and I’ll show you what I’m working on. It’ll be nice to talk to someone who isn’t paranoid.”

Before Ramis recognized the fear in her own eyes, Karen had walked away. All he could hear was the cool rainfall of the fountain.

Chapter 25

CLAVIUS BASE—Day 35

The man who stopped in front of McLaris was frowning. “Is Dr. Tomkins around?” The question came as a demand. He tried to peer around the desk to the chief administrator’s chambers beyond.

Sitting in the outer office, McLaris had heard the visitor approach down the muffled corridors. The visitor rolled when he walked, taking each step carefully on the balls of his feet, as if not trusting low gravity. His cheeks showed a gray wash of unshaven stubble. His manner hinted that he was someone who got things done with no nonsense.

“Dr. Tomkins is busy at the moment. May I help you?” He had been reorganizing some of the administrative work in the outer office, but he didn’t like to be treated as a receptionist. He glanced at the name tag sewn onto the jumpsuit’s right breast pocket: CLANCY. He had seen that name before, on another name tag.