Lifeline

Chapter 26

ORBITECH 1—Day 35

Curtis Brahms sat up straight behind his desk as Linda Arnando walked in. He had made her wait in the corridor while he combed his hair, dabbed cool water on his red eyes. Now he appeared a model of composure. He brushed his hands across the flat desktop and stared at her.

Linda looked at him, puzzled.

Brahms kept his voice neutral as he spoke to her. He intentionally made no greeting. “Close the door behind you, please. And seal it.”

As the silence lengthened, Linda began to appear actively uncomfortable. “You asked to see me?”

Brahms took no pleasure in watching her squirm. He drummed his fingertips on the desktop, then straightened his eyeglasses. “You’ve been caught. I took Dr. Aiken under restraint an hour ago.”

Her eyes widened.

“You’re just as guilty as he is.” Brahms felt his voice grow heavy. He seemed very tired, without energy, though he had been trying to get enough sleep despite the nightmares that plagued him of the RIF, of obese Tim Drury looking betrayed.

He lurched forward across the desk. “How could you act like this? I trusted you!”

Linda bowed her head. “How did you find out?”

Brahms realized in disgust that the only reason she wanted to know was so she could cover her tracks better the next time. His shoulders slumped, but he saw no reason to keep it to himself.

“You don’t hang around scientists, Linda. We know you better than that. You just don’t. I had Terachyk check Aiken out. Once we looked, we saw what you found—yes, he had manipulated his data and, yes, he had greatly exaggerated his results.

“And then, you know what? I had a strange idea. Call it a hunch—that’s what I’m supposed to be good at. But when we looked into your records, Linda, you know what we found?” He felt hot and feverish with his anger, as if sweat prickled and boiled up under his scalp. “We found out you’ve been using your computer access to increase your own allotment of rations.”

Linda sat up straight, indignant. She brushed her dark hair back. The sparse silver strands seemed to be getting more prominent. “My job is important. I didn’t do it very often, only when I really needed—”

Brahms closed out her words. He felt anger rushing up inside, and he lashed out and slapped her across the face.

Then he strode around the desk. “How dare you! How dare you claim that you’re better than anyone else on this station! How dare you imply that your job is more important than anyone else’s here!”

Linda looked stunned. A red splash of flushed skin showed where he had struck her cheek. Brahms hooked his fingers together and clenched them.

“Four division leaders, and I killed Tim Drury because his score was lowest. It was a show of my faith, of how honest I was trying to be under the circumstances.” Brahms felt the blood pounding in his temples. Fury made it difficult for him to see straight.

“McLaris …” Brahms ground his teeth together. “Stealing our shuttle! You—a traitor!”

He turned away, feeling his face flush. He was losing control. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “And Allen—he’s so wrapped up in his own misery he can’t even pay attention to what he’s doing.”

Brahms stood stiffly. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Curtis Brahms never lost control.

Linda brushed at her uniform, as if trying to regain a semblance of dignity. “It won’t happen again.”

The anger surged back behind his eyes again, making him so outraged he could find no words. He threw his eyeglasses down at the desk; one of the flat lenses shattered. Brahms looked at the glasses as if they were a strange animal, then brushed them onto the floor. He stared at Linda, eyes blazing.

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again!”

She shifted in her chair, avoided his gaze for an instant, then looked back at him, refusing to retreat. But that didn’t make any points with Brahms. He lowered his head as the bright anger backed off a bit. His voice dropped to a sad whisper.

“You really don’t understand, do you? You really don’t get it?” Brahms tapped at the intercom link. “Send Dr. Aiken in.” He pushed another button, which unsealed the door.

Linda maintained her silence, puzzled, looking uneasy. He heard footsteps on the thin carpet, then two Watchers in spring-green jumpsuits came to the doorway, holding Daniel Aiken up between them.

The two watchers—an older man and a sour-looking woman—held Aiken’s hands behind his back, but he seemed to be in no condition to struggle.

He had been beaten badly. His upper lip was smashed into an angry, blood-coated wound that had been cleaned and tended but not bandaged. His hair was rumpled, his eyes bloodshot, his skin scuffed with new bruises that would soon turn purple. The way he acted made him look like a lost animal, utterly helpless.

Linda looked at Aiken, and her false repentant expression dropped away like a sheet. She stared, then whirled to gape in horror at Brahms. He waved away her accusation before she could say anything.

“Two of the watchers … misinterpreted my instructions. They have been reprimanded, don’t worry. You’ll be getting punishment enough, both of you.”

Now Linda began to look very afraid. Brahms watched it creep up on her: Her skin became pale and grayish, and a sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead. Brahms turned away from her. He began to talk in a low voice as he stared at a picture on the wall. It was a reprint of an old Russian masterpiece by Ilia Repin, a dramatic portrait of Ivan the Terrible in the moment of shock after he had accidentally killed his own son, his only hope for the future of his dynasty. Now the tsar’s problems seemed trivial and melodramatic.

Brahms’s words were low and ominous, but they built in intensity.

“I trusted you, Linda. And I don’t trust people lightly. You were supposed to be concerned for the safety and the future of this colony. You were not to use your position for your own ends. You have let me down. Do you realize that? Do you even know what you’ve done?”

Brahms glared at her, then at Aiken, with undisguised disgust. “If I can’t trust my own assessors, we’re all doomed. You know the magnitude of trouble we’re in, and you still think you can do whatever you want, that your actions have no consequences.

“You and this … worm of a scientist who tried to bankrupt our hope—you are lower than any of those who went out the airlock first. I can’t have it.”

He shook his head stiffly, like a ventriloquist’s dummy that could rotate only a little from side to side. He clutched his fists, then released them. His whole body stiffened. He felt his muscles locking.

“I can’t have it!”

Then it all ran out of him. He let his voice drop to a dead, uninflected tone. “You, Linda Arnando, and you, Daniel Aiken, will be RIFed. Tomorrow.

“It will be broadcast live. Everyone on this station will be given the full story. Everyone will know what you have done, how you betrayed us. All of us. It’s your fault entirely.”

Linda blinked her eyes, absolutely astounded.

“But you … can’t. I’m one of your division leaders, for Christ’s sake! How can you—”

But Brahms was not even listening. Aiken seemed to collapse in on himself. He made no sound, did not beg for his life or plead for mercy. He just shook with silent sobs. His puffed eyes were shut tight. Tears streamed down his bruised cheeks.

Brahms pushed the intercom button again. “Come and get them.”

The two watchers came back in and escorted Linda Arnando and Daniel Aiken out.

“See that they stay in their cabins. Seal the doors.”

One of the watchers lifted an eyebrow. It was the woman, Nancy Winkowski. “There’s nowhere for them to go, Mr. Brahms.”

“Seal it anyway.” There’s no place for any of us to go, he thought.