The people behind Terachyk pushed off from each other. Brahms recognized a few of them, but couldn’t pin down names. The motion sent them spreading out in a pattern that surrounded Brahms, above and below. Two women hit the bulkhead and bounced back out into the shuttle bay, coming in over his head. They must have practiced the effect.
Brahms scanned the faces. Some had their eyes open wide with fear and uncertainty, others carried a righteous anger, some just stared back diffidently. He realized that Terachyk must have contacted the low scorers on the Efficiency Study and convinced them that another RIF was in the making. Perhaps he had also banded together those who had lost friends or family in the first RIF. What most surprised Brahms was that Allen Terachyk had actually done it. And he had chosen a time when the entire colony would be watching.
Brahms had never expected to see Terachyk, who moped about and did nothing but complain and wallow in misery, adopt any kind of cause—especially not one like this.
Terachyk hung in midair, facing Brahms, but a few inches below eye level. In the back of his mind, Brahms faulted him for that—as a psychological advantage, he should have tried to tower over the director. Brahms decided to use it to his own effect.
Terachyk waited until the shuttle bay became silent before he spoke. “It’s over, Curtis.”
Brahms’s mouth twitched. He debated how to play his own hand. “Before the fat lady sings? I appreciate your concern, Allen, but until the Phoenix arrives, we don’t know for sure we can connect the colonies. Your timing is a little off.”
“Nice touch, Curtis—but it isn’t going to work this time. Everybody here knows you were responsible for the RIF. It’s time to pay the piper.”
Brahms widened his eyes in a condescending expression. He used his position to glare down at Terachyk, ignoring the others around him. He felt so weary of all this. “I was responsible? I seem to recall you were there, too, Mister Division Leader Terachyk, and you did nothing to stop it. If you’re going to dump blame on me, you’d better take your own share.”
Terachyk blinked, caught off balance. “It wasn’t me who—”
Brahms pressed his advantage. “Shall we call up the minutes of the meetings and show all these people exactly how much you were involved?” He raised his voice so it would carry to all the other people in the shuttle bay, but he kept his tone even, conversational. He knew the minutes of the meetings would show little or nothing, but the gathered people wouldn’t realize that.
He didn’t let Terachyk answer. “Why do you insist on harping on the one bad decision and ignoring everything else? Do you think you would have been able to get the wall-kelp from the Filipinos? Do you think you could have gotten the sleepfreeze chambers from the Soviets? Do you think you could have established a weavewire link between us and Clavius Base?”
Brahms knew he was taking more credit than he deserved, but his life was on the line. “Really, Allen. Do you honestly think the other colonies are going to help us, unconditionally, if push comes to shove? What’s in it for them? Think! What does an alliance mean if everyone is not a player? The Phoenix is on its way, and so are the Filipino solar sails. We’ve got to have them in with us; otherwise, it will be one Lagrange colony against another—”
“At least we won’t have to worry about another RIF, dammit!” Terachyk was losing control.
Brahms felt confidence surge up in him. He tried to make his voice soothing. “Of course not. With everything I’ve done to help us survive, we’ll never have to worry about a RIF again.
“Allen—” Brahms turned to face the other mutineers. “All of you. We’re so close. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the bad decisions that were made in the past. But if we’re going to bring in a new civilization, at least make sure we’ve got all our players in place.”
He set his mouth and waited. He hoped he had stalled them long enough to defuse the mob psychology Terachyk had whipped up in them.
The loudspeaker broke the mood. “Attention in the shuttle bay. ConComm reports one minute until Phoenix deceleration. We have lost contact with the Aguinaldo emissaries, and a salvage crew has been dispatched to recover them. They will rendezvous with Orbitech 1 shortly after the Phoenix arrives. ETA is five minutes.”
Brahms spoke up even as the PA clicked off. “Well, Allen? Can you afford five more minutes, or will you bow to anarchy? Why don’t we wait and see how this all turns out?” Terachyk set his jaw; Brahms could see the muscles working in his cheeks. Around him, dozens of eyes glittered, staring, angry, uncertain.
Brahms sensed them faltering and tried not to show his relief.
Chapter 62
PHOENIX—Day 72
Cliff Clancy rubbed his palms together. His eyes shone with excitement. “Ready, Duncan?”
Duncan McLaris took an instant to whisper, “What if I’m not?”
“Ha, ha—funny man,” Clancy said.
“Shouldn’t we put our suits on or something?” McLaris asked. He remembered clambering into an unfamiliar space suit once before, watching Stephanie Garland to make sure he completed all his checks properly, helping Jessie into an oversized suit. Diddy, it’s too big!
“If these engines don’t fire like they should, all the suits in the world aren’t going to make one whit of difference. May as well stay comfortable.” Clancy shifted his position in the deceleration seat. “My suit always smells like dirty socks anyway.”
“Huh?” When Clancy did not answer, McLaris checked the straps on his seat. He pulled in a lungful of the stale air. Clancy kept his eyes on the monitor that displayed the countdown. An hour before, Orbitech 1 had stopped pulling in the weavewire, allowing the yo-yo drift in, but keeping the slack taut for the backward blast of the braking engines.
McLaris felt helpless, dependent on a dozen different people, any one of whom could destroy everything with a careless mistake. He knew all too well how easily people could make mistakes. A crew would be waiting to receive them outside Orbitech 1, ready to salvage or rescue—though if the engines failed, neither operation was likely. If nothing else, the “reception committee” would get a grandstand seat to watch the Phoenix plow into the shuttle bay.
Clancy cracked his knuckles, as if to distract himself from nagging doubts about the hydrogen rockets he had helped install.
McLaris didn’t react, though the noise increased his own anxiety. In his mind he kept playing over possible scenarios of his upcoming reunion with Brahms. Would the man greet him with a handshake, or with an execution squad?
Less than three months ago he had stolen the Miranda.
Ten percent of the Orbitech 1 population had been sent out the airlock in a reduction in force. Much had changed.
He tried to keep his mind open, optimistic—both deeds had been done, McLaris had suffered for it, and no doubt Brahms had suffered for his own actions. That was the past. If they wallowed too much in the past, they would never find their future. Now, with the Phoenix from Clavius Base, and the Filipino delegation arriving at Orbitech 1, he could sense an entire new era about to burst forth—a second stage for human civilization.
Surely Brahms could not hold anything against McLaris for so long.
A voice came from over the ConComm. “Phoenix, this is Orbitech 1. We have you at two hundred fifty miles. Begin your deceleration now. You have a ten-second window.”