Directly into the line of fire.
After three days, the yo-yo vessel seemed hot, claustrophobic, cramped. Outside the thick ports, Orbitech 1 shone like a bright star, unwavering without atmospheric distortion, and growing closer by the second. The counter-rotating wheels on either side of the colony blinked with various service and guidance lights in a well-timed sequence.
The image burned in Duncan McLaris’s mind—so much like what he had seen when fleeing the colony more than two months before, stealing the Miranda and taking Jessie with him. The memory brought a heavy feeling to his stomach, but he pulled in a deep breath of stale air, focusing on an inner strength he had found over the past couple of months. In less than an hour he would be on board, back where he had started. He didn’t know whether to think of it as home or not, but it was a place where he could face his fears and move his life forward again. He tore his gaze away from the port.
Clifford Clancy hummed to himself, checking over the Phoenix’s diagnostics. McLaris forced himself to watch the construction engineer as the man prepared for the final maneuver that would slow them to a halt. At times, Clancy’s optimism and enthusiasm grated on him; now, though, it gave him strength.
Clancy shot a glance over his shoulder and grinned. “Ready for the big splash?”
McLaris frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Big splash. We’ll be going down in history either way, Duncan. If those reconditioned rockets fire enough to bring us to a stop, we’ve established a way to get from the Moon to L-5. If they don’t,” he said, shrugging, “we’ll take out Orbitech 1 like a cannonball. We’re going over thirty five hundred miles an hour, which is enough to ruin everybody’s day.” He grinned. “Kind of exciting, isn’t it?”
McLaris tried to keep a calm expression on his face. “Most fun I’ve had in years.”
He knew it would get even worse when he finally faced Brahms again.
Chapter 58
ORBITECH 1—Day 72
The hallways were free of people, as Brahms marched with his escort to the docking bay. The watchers had been thorough for the last few days. The usual graffiti and petty vandalism confirmed a general aura of unrest, but Brahms had set up maintenance teams to be even more rigorous in cleaning up any sign that all was not well on Orbitech 1. He had to put up a good show for Duncan McLaris’s return.
He suspected McLaris’s arrival had something to do with the growing restlessness of the people. Plenty of other colonists probably felt as he did, still angry at the man who had stolen the Miranda. No wonder people were getting worked up, letting off steam. But Brahms had insisted that the watchers maintain order. A sweep of the halls ahead of him removed any chance of an incident.
However, another mood seemed to bubble through the colony over the past few days—one that pleased him. A good director kept in touch with the attitudes of his people, and now he sensed a feeling of enlightenment, of hope. The joining of the colonies again, the sleepfreeze chambers, the Phoenix, and even a second expedition from the Filipinos, seemed to show the people on Orbitech 1 that things were indeed getting better. They had reached the light at the end of the tunnel. They had a future again.
Brahms had seen them through. Despite the enormous decisions weighing on him, he had led them safely through a time of great crisis. He felt his face flush as he smiled.
A yell made its way through the corridor, reverberating in the unusual emptiness. “McLaris is coming back!” One of the watchers peeled off to track down the woman.
“Leave her!” Brahms snapped. He didn’t want anything to spoil the triumph of this day, but he wondered why the voice had sounded relieved instead of angry.
Brahms purposely ignored it. When he arrived at the spoke-shaft elevator, he punched the controls himself. He wondered why he felt afraid of McLaris. He held all the cards; McLaris was little more than a sacrificial lamb.
But Brahms still had not decided what he was going to do.
He stepped inside the waiting cubicle and allowed three watchers to follow him. The group remained silent during the ascent. What does McLaris really want? Why is he coming here of his own free will?
When they reached the shuttle bay, Brahms pushed out into the huge, weightless chamber. Other people worked at the edges of the bay. They were his people; he trusted everyone here completely. A team of workers waited outside, out of sight, inspecting the other end of the weavewire and the machinery used to reel it in.
He let a smile flicker across his face. All he would need to do was have someone dissociate part of the cable, snip the thread to leave McLaris and the yo-yo floating nowhere for all eternity. But he dismissed that thought as the coward’s way out. He would face his enemy in front of all the watching eyes on Orbitech 1. McLaris would have to make an accounting for his actions.
As he drifted up into the hanger area, Brahms swiveled to view the control room. A cadre of watchers in green jumpsuits manned the boards. Allen Terachyk was not among them.
Brahms called down to Nancy Winkowski. “Dammit, track Terachyk on the intercom and tell him to get up here. This is important!”
She nodded and pushed off to the communications console on the wall.
As he floated in, Brahms looked around with a sudden flashback to one of the other times he had been here—the time he and Linda Arnando and Allen Terachyk had watched the recording of a broken and terrified Roha Ombalal reading the speech Brahms had written.
It had been less than three months since the RIF, since an angry mob had killed Ombalal. Luckily, the uprising had not spread, and the watchers had maintained order through the dilemma.
Now the people had hope again. Everything was coming together for them all.
Except for Duncan McLaris; he was the unknown factor. What would the people do? Brahms had kept the colonists occupied, working at their normal schedules. But he didn’t want order to break down, especially not now.
Adrenaline rushed through his body. He thought briefly of ordering McLaris executed when he arrived, so the people would have no clear center for their anger, no one to rally around.…
No!
Brahms drew in several breaths to calm himself. Despite the risk, he simply did not do cold-blooded acts like that. His action would not have great enough justification—it would look like a personal vendetta, to get back at the man who had humiliated him.
And worst of all, Brahms did not want to leave the people with some sort of a martyr. The Filipinos at L-4 had given him a lesson with their own history—he didn’t dare give them an Aquino to rally around. McLaris’s situation already reminded him too much of Douglas MacArthur returning to the Philippines: an emancipator.
Inside the bay, the other workers did not notice his mental gymnastics. Brahms decided he would let the people decide what to do with McLaris. After all, if Orbitech 1 contained the remnants of the American system, he should at least give some semblance of a democratic process.
And if another mob formed, as with Ombalal, they would take care of McLaris anyway. Maybe Brahms would even quell them and once again come across as a voice of reason, a peacemaker, a true leader they could all depend on.
Brahms snapped at the nearest watcher. “I have decided on a change of plans. This is a truly historic occasion. Broadcast a general announcement that anyone who wishes to be present up here for the recovery of the Phoenix is welcome, space permitting. They may join me down in the shuttle bay.”