Clancy dwelled on the narrator’s explanation of the weavewire. One of the hopes of zero-G manufacturing had always been the development of a true monofilament—a fiber held together by a force stronger than the covalent bonds of the atoms themselves. The garments produced by Orbitech 1 had used this monofilament—a frivolous waste of good science, in Clancy’s opinion. Until a way was found to efficiently and rapidly draw out the filament, it would continue to be a toy. But if somebody had found a way….
The others listened to the announcer’s speculation on what Ramis might find on the silent Kibalchich, what might have happened to the Soviets. Clancy kept pondering the weavewire, though. They could draw out unlimited lengths of this fiber, which required negligible raw materials. The possibilities sparkled in his imagination like champagne.
The holotank faded to neutral gray, with the announcer promising updates at regular intervals. In the last scene, Ramis appeared no more than a flickering dot, contrasting with the stars that burned steadily through the darkness. In typical fashion, the engineers debated why Ramis’s image would shimmer. Someone pointed out that he must be moving his arms, randomly reflecting the sunlight, for the scintillation to appear.
Clancy became aware of other sounds in the room. An idea had flashed through his mind—a vision. The implications almost struck him down. He grinned like an idiot.
He was still standing on top of the table. As he started to move, he met resistance. Glancing down, he discovered Shen’s arm had been around his waist throughout the holocast. He muttered something unintelligible and helped her down from the table. Her hand was warm and damp.
She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“The Jump—that kid flying fifty miles across space!”
His voice grew quiet, lowered conspiratorially. He didn’t meet her eyes. “I just had this crazy thought—”
Shen stood on her tiptoes and searched his face. “After that, nothing could be crazy. What is it?”
Clancy shook his head. “Later. I want to check it out first.” The crowded room had become as humid as the tropics, but Clancy felt drained, dehydrated, with his excitement. Searching the hut, he spotted his crew scheduler, Josef Abdallah. Clancy raised his voice to be heard over the crowd. “Josef—over here. When’s our next six-pack heading back to base?”
Abdallah answered around a mouthful of fried wall-kelp. “Tomorrow morning.”
“Great,” muttered Clancy to no one in particular.
Shen pressed back against him, but not as close as before. Her voice was low, as if she were sharing a secret. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just need to check something out.”
“I can get you back to base.”
He shook his head. “This can wait.”
“If it’s really important, I’ll drive the six-pack. They won’t even notice one of them is missing.”
“And have the top two people away from the crew?”
“Josef is a big boy, and the crew can get along fine. It’s only a six-hour trip. Besides, you’re the boss. Do what you want—otherwise, there’s no point in having the job.”
Clancy looked her in the eyes for the first time since the holotank had switched off. Her dark eyebrows contrasted sharply against her skin. Her space suit was oversized for her petite figure and lay against her in soft folds, giving her an exotic look, like a nymphet wearing a mattress.
On impulse he asked, “Do you know anything about celestial mechanics?”
“No, but I can set up an orbital program that’ll blow your socks off. Is that what you need to check out?”
“I need an expert.” Then he quickly added, “Not to take away from your offer.”
“Well, you up for a six-hour jaunt, then?”
A pause. “You’re right, as usual. Sometimes that six hours makes it seem we’re a thousand miles away.”
“It’s the inconvenience that matters. Come on. If we head out now we’ll be back before the end of next shift.”
Clancy answered by pushing through the crowd and collaring Josef Abdallah. After Josef complained about rescheduling and juggling who would need what and when, he nodded his approval. Clancy motioned to Shen.
Seconds later they were in the airlock, prepping for the trip outside on the lunar surface.
Chapter 35
KIBALCHICH—Day 41
Ramis leaned back in the Kibalchich’s command center, trying to relax as he held onto one of the protruding chairs from the transceiver deck. The air still smelled rotten. His feet drifted like a slow pendulum in the zero-G.
“Please hold on a moment,” the Orbitech 1 communications chief said. Her face turned away from the holotank in the center of the chamber. “I’ll get Mr. Brahms.”
Ramis steeled himself to see Brahms’s face. He had remained in the Soviet command center, testing various functions using the computer. It also gave him time to marshal his thoughts and consider how he would describe his discovery to Orbitech 1. He downloaded his videotape from the camera he carried and prepared it for broadcast back to the other station.
The curved image in front of him flickered, winked out, and switched to the giant face of Curtis Brahms in the central holotank. The director grinned; light glittered in his eyes. Ramis thought he looked like a wolf.
“Ramis, we’ve been waiting to hear from you! What have you found?”
Ramis took a deep breath. With meticulous detail, he described what he had seen, step by step, as he had explored the Kibalchich. As he spoke he played the tape, letting them see exactly what he had observed. He watched Brahms fidget until he came to the part about finding the Soviets in their glass coffins.
“I took extra care to inspect them.” Ramis hesitated. “I cannot be positive, but I believe they are all still alive.”
He waited a moment for that to sink in. Brahms’s eyebrows lifted.
“They did not end up there by chance, Mr. Brahms. My guess is that they have undergone some sort of suspended animation or hibernation.”
He had walked along the rows of glass coffins, studying the masklike faces of the Soviets. He noted the coolness of the chambers, the flush of life that seemed to remain on their faces. No, they couldn’t be dead. These preparations were too elaborate. It spoke of some great plan, some experiment. How had the Soviets done all this, and so quickly—within a few weeks of the War?
Unless they had been working on it all along.
“I cannot understand, though, why they did not leave prominent messages in all languages in every corridor, directing me where to go. This process must have taken some time.”
Brahms frowned, thinking. “Unless the one body you found was a guardian of some sort—a monitor to watch over them, so they wouldn’t need to leave any kind of signs. It sounds strange to leave only one person awake out of all those others.”
On the larger-than-life holotank image, Brahms wore an expression of childlike delight. “Ramis, this is all … astonishing. I’m very proud of you.”
Ramis wasn’t sure he was glad to receive Brahms’s pride.
“Did you try to revive one of them?”
“Sir?” Ramis nearly lost his grip on the chair, startled by the audacity of the question. “Mr. Brahms, I cannot read the Russian words on any of the controls. It appears to be very complicated equipment.”
“Yes, but on the tape you broadcast I saw a hand-lettered sign on the infirmary wall. It seemed to be in several different languages. Maybe the man you found knew he was dying, so he left instructions.” His eyes had a distant look. “Though if he had time to do that, why didn’t he just revive one of the others?”