Free Lifeline by Kevin J. Anderson Page A

into McLaris’s suit radio, filled with a mixture of anger and dismay.
    “You idiot!” Not too gently, Clancy set him inside a rover vehicle. “Do you think we’re any better off here?”
    ***

Chapter 7
    AGUINALDO—Day 8
    Pliant green strands, gelatinous and damp.…
    Luis Sandovaal ran his fingers through the fresh wall-kelp, allowing himself a broad grin since no one else was around. The solarium alcove looked like a lush, primeval forest. Thick fronds dripped from the walls and window plates.
    A month ago, ten days ago, his kelp had been nothing more than animal feed. Now the Aguinaldo ’ s survival depended on it. President Magsaysay had told him to find a way to get wall-kelp to Orbitech 1 and to Clavius Base as well, perhaps even to the Soviet Kibalchich station at L-5. It was just like Magsaysay to worry about other people in trouble before he got himself out of the same mess.
    The odor of sewage filled the air. Hidden vats circulated the Aguinaldo’s untreated wastes for absorption by the kelp nexus. Harsh light from the viewing ports glared into the chamber, washing over the wall-kelp appendages.
    Under these ideal conditions, with all the nutrients and sunlight it could handle, the genetically enhanced kelp grew fast enough to be harvested daily. It was food—unappealing to the colonists, perhaps, but it would see them through. They could treat it, remove all taste, then add their own cayenne and soy and other chemical seasonings. If you were starving, who cared about seasonings anyway?
    The other colonies were in much worse shape than the Aguinaldo, which the Filipinos had always intended to make into a viable home. The international Clavius Base , the American Orbitech 1, and the Soviet Kibalchich —they had been caught with their pants down. They had no contingency plans for disasters. Oh, certainly they had backup launch systems on Earth, agreements with other countries, reciprocal treaties with non-spacefaring nations, and even scores of shuttles—but none of that mattered now that Earth’s industrial capability had been removed. Even if some industry still functioned, the survivors would use it to rebuild things they desperately needed—not to send supplies to stranded space colonies.
    American and Soviet technologies far outstripped what the Filipinos had available to them. With all that skill and knowledge at hand, the superpowers had more than enough ability to survive—but, Sandovaal thought, they seemed to have the wrong mind-set.
    The superpowers relied too heavily on high technology—machines—when the key was biotechnology, genetic engineering. Living organisms were more sophisticated and adaptable than anything humans would ever build. The success of Sandovaal’s wall-kelp would put the Filipinos in the forefront of all future genetic research. He knew it. Especially now.
    But how to get kelp nodules to the other colonies? The Aguinaldo didn’t have the capability for powered spaceflight, or a facility, or resources to create fuel. All of the stations were effectively stranded on desert islands—like living on the Philippine Islands before the age of boats. Sandovaal was the Aguinaldo’s chief scientist. He was supposed to come up with ideas.
    He flared his nostrils, wondering how much responsibility one person could shoulder. It seemed the more he did, the more they expected of him.
    But then he thought of the others the Council could turn to. Dobo Daeng? Sandovaal snorted. Dobo was a good assistant, a crackerjack technician, but he had no initiative to head up a research team. Dobo followed orders and did things right, but he had no imagination. Tough times demanded a special type of person—someone who could do what needed to be done. Someone like Luis Sandovaal.
    He stood in the alcove for some minutes, lovingly rolling the meter-long strands of wall-kelp with his fingertips. He thought he could sense the wall-kelp growing, hear it moving like bamboo, but a thousand times