“I want you all to see what you have done.” Brahms’s face dissolved into the awful images of the blood-spattered cafeteria complex and Ombalal’s body. “We are supposed to be civilized. We are supposed to be human beings—not animals!” A hint of horror seeped into his voice, but he spoke with absolute conviction.
“I have looked through the personnel files and selected a group of ‘Watchers’ who will supplement our minimal security force, since our security has proven itself inadequate. They will also assist in implementing new rationing schemes.
“It is not a measure I enjoy taking, but this appalling episode of violence has made it necessary. Now, as acting director, I must do everything I can to hold off another RIF as long as possible.”
As long as possible.
Karen and the other two workers stared at each other as if wondering whether they were really awake. Up and down the hall other doors slid open as people gawked in sick amazement at the acting director’s words, at the images of Ombalal’s slaughter. Karen felt a sudden urge to hide, to go someplace where Brahms could not find her. But on the sealed colony, no one could hide anywhere.
Brahms continued his careful explanation. Karen listened, trying to convince herself of what he was saying—that Ombalal had acted on his own, without consulting his division leaders. Watching the holotank in the hall, a middle-aged man started to grumble angrily, but Karen and the others hushed him.
“We are on our own,” Brahms said. “You all know that Earth will not rescue us. We are trapped with only our abilities and whatever resources remain here. If there is a way to survive, we have to find it without outside help. We must drive ourselves, work ourselves as hard as we can.”
Brahms turned his head, swiveling the picture around as if he were trying to stare down the entire population of the station. Karen shuddered.
“I respect science and I have a firm faith in human ingenuity. We have incredible technological resources here on Orbitech 1—we must find a way. We have raw materials of Moon rock outside the station—enough to supply us with air and water for years, but we can’t live on that alone.
“If we don’t come up with a new way to survive, then we’ll all be dead in a few months. This isn’t just a pep talk. Station Director Ombalal tried one solution with the RIF; let’s not allow the untimely deaths of our friends to be in vain. Turn your creativity loose, unlock the fringes of your imaginations. I want us all to live.”
Brahms swallowed hard, and his three-dimensional image wavered for a moment.
“To this end, I am assigning a team of assessors to oversee your work, to inspect what you are doing, and assess the importance of your research—how well it is done, how hard you are working.
“Naturally, we will be looking for new modes of food production and transport to the other colonies, or perhaps back to Earth—but we cannot be narrow-minded. A single discovery does not exist in a vacuum. Cooperate with each other. If one researcher creates a new alloy, then perhaps someone else can use that alloy for some kind of vehicle to get us out of here. I leave it to your imaginations. The assessors will report to me the importance of the new developments.
“My first two appointments are my remaining division leaders, Linda Arnando and Allen Terachyk. I will issue a formal statement describing their duties and responsibilities.”
Brahms scanned the screen once more. His eyeglasses seemed to be an absurd attempt to make him look serious.
“We must strive harder. We must find a way to save ourselves. We need to share the results of our work, so that others may use your discoveries in tandem with their own. Save us … you have to save us.” The image of Brahms faded into the gray, neutral pattern of the holotank.
Karen and the other researchers buried themselves in their work, frantically trying to make breakthroughs as fast as they could. They never said anything aloud, but they knew a useful discovery would keep their name off the RIF list.
The once homey touches in the labs now seemed pathetic. A spider plant drifted in the corner near a workstation, growing in random directions, sending streamers straight up into the air and sideways in search of gravity. Over by the lounge area, colorful personalized coffee containers, some with lids hanging open, bobbled untouched against the wall. The times when anyone could casually drink or eat throughout the day had passed, leaving nothing but harried work and restrained hysteria.
Karen Langelier did not want to know how well she had done in the Efficiency Study. When Brahms had collected his data, she had just separated from Ray, and she had taken too long to adjust to work up here … if she hadn’t been riding the coattails of her weavewire discovery, Karen might have joined the first hundred fifty.
The airlock door at the end of the laboratory complex opened and a chunky young woman drifted in. She wore a pale green jumpsuit with the insignia of Orbitech 1 prominent on the left shoulder—the work outfit that had become the uniform for Brahms’s watchers. Karen kept a scowl from her face. She looked away, feigning concentration on her work.
Nancy Winkowski grabbed hold of the handbars on the wall and pulled herself across the room. Her hair was carrot orange, and she had a carpet of freckles on her arms.
Winkowski stood still for several moments, hovering close beside her. “Hello, Karen.”
Karen watched her, lips pressed together.
Winkowski floated up and steadied herself on the table. “Thinking about new lines of research? Are you going to save us all?”
Karen turned her gaze away. She resented how easily she felt helpless and intimidated. “That’s the general idea. But it’s hard to concentrate with distractions.”
Winkowski glanced at the mass spectrometer; somehow, she even noticed the bobbing flask near the wall where Karen had thrown it. Her sarcasm grew stronger. “Well, I’m sure it’s going to be something big and exciting.”
Nancy Winkowski had been Karen’s laboratory assistant. Never terribly helpful, Winkowski had always carried a grudge, angry that she had been with Orbitechnologies Corporation for years and had not advanced beyond technician, while newcomers from Earth, like Karen Langelier, just walked into important positions.
But that had all changed, now that Brahms had picked her as one of his watchers to look for ways to make the colony run more efficiently. It seemed so patriotic, and logical at first—after all, with everything so scarce, hoarding and laziness could not be tolerated. And now Winkowski apparently felt she had to get back at Karen, to harass her as much as she could.
Karen expected it, in a way, but she was still disappointed in her former assistant. Winkowski was not stupid. She was ambitious, but impatient, and she preferred to have her way directly rather than take the trouble to earn her position.
Karen glared at her, then snatched her Pyrex flask from the air and began to reheat the polymer batter. She worked her jaw, keeping her face turned away from Winkowski. “If you’ll excuse me, Nancy, I’m doing important work here.”
Satisfied at Karen’s reaction, Winkowski turned and drifted along the laboratory areas, puffed with her own importance.
Winkowski left through the opposite airlock, leaving it open so that one of the technicians had to drift over and close it. The other teams in the lab looked at Karen sidelong, trying not to be too obvious with their stares. They seemed relieved that Winkowski had chosen her, instead of one of them, as a scapegoat.
Karen found it difficult to breathe. Orbitech 1 seemed dark and forbidding—a prison with no escape, where jailers and prisoners all waited side by side on Death Row.
By habit, she shut down her equipment, ran through the checks, and secured her experiments. It would be only a matter of time before the researchers started sabotaging each other’s work. The idea made her feel sick inside.