Lifeline

“I think that may be at the heart of our problem, gentlemen!” McLaris stepped between the two men. Both Clancy and Tomkins looked at him with raised eyebrows.

McLaris allowed himself a brief smile and then continued. “Dr. Tomkins, you should not treat the Orbitech 2 crew as simple laborers.”

“That’s right!” Clancy sputtered. “These are highly trained construction engineers—mechanical, thermal, and structures people. Not rock pile workers.”

“And you, Dr. Clancy,” McLaris said, turning to face the engineer, “must remember who’s boss. Your people are effectively guests here on the Moon, just like I am. Dr. Tomkins tells you what to do, and you do it. If he says keep digging tunnels, then you keep digging tunnels.”

Clancy grumbled and lowered his eyes. Tomkins still looked like a statue, unmoving, which made McLaris uneasier than he would have felt if Tomkins had been fuming with anger.

McLaris sat down, where he could look up at both men. He steepled his fingers, a gesture he realized he had picked up from Brahms.

“But I don’t think Dr. Tomkins is going to tell you to keep digging tunnels. It’s just make-work and it serves no purpose.”

He turned his gaze to Tomkins. “We’re starting to see something that may become a very grave problem for us here at Clavius Base. The frustration Clancy’s engineers are feeling is bound to be growing among all the people. It’s cabin fever. We’re all going stir-crazy.”

Tomkins placed his hands behind his back in a Napoleonic pose, but his towering height dissolved any such comparison. “Survival is my prime motivator. My people are working just as hard as Clancy’s.”

“That’s not at issue,” McLaris said. “I’ve got a different idea.” Then he ignored them both for a moment as he went to the tea dispenser and poured himself a cup. He offered one to each of the two stone-faced men.

“We’ve got the Aguinaldo’s wall-kelp. If that grows as rapidly as Sandovaal promises, then it should tide us over when our primary supplies run out a few months from now. It will take even longer for our greenhouse gardens to start producing noticeable amounts of food—and most of that will have to be returned as seed stock so we can start planting sizable crops. It’ll be tight, but the curves show we should be able to make it.”

He sat back down in the chair; the other two men remained standing. McLaris tried to take advantage of the momentary calm.

“There are only a limited number of things we can do to help it along. We just sit around and let the stuff grow. Clancy’s engineers aren’t the only high achievers—none of us wants to mope around twiddling our thumbs.”

McLaris could see impatience growing in the two men. Here he was, giving a lecture, just like a manager at a staff meeting. He drew in a deep breath and decided to cut the background patriotic stuff to a minimum.

“We need to take on a new project—a big project. Look forward—spit in the face of our bad situation. We’re sitting on all the industrial resources we could possibly want.” He stamped his foot on the floor. “Maybe we can’t make food, but we can process just about anything else.”

Tomkins stared absently at one of the pictures on the wall. Clancy waved his finger in the air. “Rah rah! But what’s the point? What do we need here?”

“This is what I propose: We should start construction of something that will set the stage for our eventual expansion—something that will provide a foundation for growth. At the same time, this project has to have utility. It can’t just be make-work; there’s plenty of that around as it is. What we do has to impact not only Clavius Base, but the future of the human race. It has to be a Holy Grail for us, if you want to think of it like that. Imagine what it would do for morale—not just here, but everywhere, once we broadcast it over ConComm.”

McLaris stood again, pushing the chair behind him. Tomkins looked as if his interest was piqued, and Clancy seemed intrigued to see what the challenge would be. McLaris thought rapidly, Okay, so what next? He’d taken them this far in the hopes that they would both jump in, come up with a solution. Instead, they waited patiently for him to continue.

“Okay, first we’ll have to get the automatic processing plants stepped up again. Someday, with all the brainpower combined on the three colonies—or four colonies, if the Russians ever decide to break their silence—we might be able to design a bargain-basement spaceship that’ll take us back to Earth. Also, we need to have the mass driver functional. Orbitech 1 and the Aguinaldo will run out of the raw materials they’ve got up there eventually, and they’ll be asking for more.”

“You’re assuming that we’re all going to survive,” Tomkins said.

McLaris looked at him until the big black man broke the gaze. In a determined voice, McLaris answered him. “Yes. I am assuming we’re all going to survive.”