Lifeline

Chapter 38

ORBITECH 1—Day 43

As she floated outside the zero-G deck for the second time, Karen thought the stars looked fixed in the dark sky. Orbitech 1 rotated around her, its gravity quarters wheeling high above her head. A spacesuited figure stood beside her with the temporary name tag that said Harhoosma affixed to his suit. She didn’t know the man—Brahms had just assigned him to help her.

“Are you a hull maintenance worker or something?” Karen had asked him. Once again, she felt very aware that only a thin layer of protective clothing separated her from the vacuum.

“No,” Harhoosma said in a thin, piping voice. “I am a metallurgist.”

When Karen turned toward him in alarm, he continued speaking. “I specialize in vacuum welding. I have spent much time outside, testing different techniques.”

That gave him some legitimacy, she guessed. But Brahms had handpicked him to help. Maybe Harhoosma was watching her for some unknown reason.

Fifty miles away shone the Kibalchich. She found it ironic to want to go to a Soviet station to feel free. The weavewire bridge spanned the two colonies, fainter than the thinnest of spider webs.

I guess this is where you have to believe in yourself, Karen thought. Throughout her career—graduate school, post-doc, as a line research chemist—she had never had to rely so totally on herself to survive. Someone else had always stood by as a safety net—someone to ensure that she’d be all right.

Now, it was her own invention that she depended on. If something happened to the weavewire during her journey, she’d be drifting out where no one could reach her. The thought sobered her. At least Ramis had had practice maneuvering in freefall.

“Dr. Langelier, are you ready?” Harhoosma said.

Karen checked over her suit for the sixth time since coming out. Before she had left the airlock, one of the medics had injected her with a radiation-endurance drug; it would be some time before it took effect.

“All set. I guess I should get going.”

Harhoosma stepped backward, keeping one magnetized sole on the metal hull. “It looks very far away.”

Karen turned to the dolly apparatus she would hook to her back. In a bundle thick enough to see, the weavewire “pulley” hung over the invisible cable, then connected to the wire dolly by tungsten strands. Karen wore a package of personal items for herself and Ramis, and two spare air bottles.

Harhoosma helped her fasten onto the cable, adjusting her yaw and facing her forward, so she could watch the Kibalchich as it grew closer. Her months on Orbitech 1 held no special memories for her—no pleasant ones, anyway. She felt relieved to be able to purge herself of the experience.

Karen spoke into the helmet radio. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Grunting, Harhoosma pushed her away from Orbitech 1. She punched the forward thrusters on the MMU pack and accelerated along the nearly frictionless fiber. There was no gravity to pull her down so that she could “slide” across the fiber to the Kibalchich. Instead, her path consisted of long sawtooth-like motions, guided by the weavewire.

Inside the colony, she had been able to watch the festive holo coverage of Ramis’s trip. But now that she participated herself, she saw none of the video, though she felt sure that holocameras mounted at various points outside the hull recorded her every move. Brahms would want to have cameras all over the place, even outside.

Harhoosma seemed to be the sole person watching her leave. She wondered if perhaps Brahms had kept this expedition quiet, just in case something went wrong. Or was he afraid dozens of people would clamor to get off Orbitech 1 in a mass exodus?

Brahms didn’t even signal to wish her good luck. One of the watchers had said that the acting director was in an important conference with someone from Clavius Base—not that Karen had wanted him to say good-bye anyway.

Harhoosma’s voice came inside her helmet. “I measure you going four point six miles per hour, Dr. Langelier. At that rate,” he paused, “you will have ten point eight hours of travel. You may wish to add more acceleration.”

The gruff female voice of one of the monitors inside the colony broke in. “We’ll give you plenty of warning to change your oxygen bottles.”

“Thank you,” Karen answered. She twisted her head around inside the helmet and caught a glimpse of Orbitech 1 out of the corner of the visor. Already she could hardly pick out Harhoosma on the nonrotating end.

She caught a fleeting glimpse of something blocking out the stars, as if an object had passed in front of her. Squinting, she tried to make out the thing as it tumbled across her path. It almost looked like a person.

And then it struck her, and was gone behind her.

The RIF! It must have been one of the bodies. . . .

She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. She pitched and swung on the cable from the collision; she used the MMU’s stabilizers to stop her oscillation. Now, more than ever, she felt glad about leaving.

Trying to relax, Karen squeezed her eyes shut until splotches of color appeared in her vision. She heard her breath slowing, calming. She blinked and then stared at the open universe in front of her, still afraid of seeing another corpse.

Karen didn’t admit it, but the technicians on Orbitech 1 monitoring her elevated breathing would know how terrified she was.

The Kibalchich would grow larger as she approached. Now, hanging in space, she felt stranded and alone.