by Ben Bova
He doesn’t look upset about it, Dan thought, studying Stavenger’s face.
“Whatever they’ve done for you,” he said, “you look very healthy and happy.”
Stavenger laughed softly. “I suppose I’m the healthiest man in the solar system.”
“I suppose you are. Too bad the rest of us can’t have nanos injected into us.”
“You can!” Stavenger blurted. Then he added, “But you wouldn’t be able to go back Earthside.”
Dan nodded. “We can’t even use nanomachines to help rebuild the damage from the flooding and earthquakes. It’s outlawed.”
Stavenger hunched his shoulders in a slight shrug. “You can’t blame them, really. More than ten billion people down there. How many maniacs and would-be dictators among them?”
“Too damned many,” Dan mumbled.
“So you’ll have to rebuild without nanotechnology, I’m afraid. They won’t even allow us to sell them machinery built with nanos; they’re frightened that the machinery is somehow infected by them.”
“I know,” said Dan. Selene built spacecraft of pure diamond out of piles of carbon soot, using nanomachines. But they were allowed no closer to Earth than the space stations in low orbit. Stupid, Dan said to himself. Nothing but ignorant superstition. Yet that was the law, everywhere on Earth. It also made more jobs for people on Earth, he realized. The spacecraft that Astro used to fly from Earth’s surface into orbit were all made basically the same way Henry Ford would have manufactured them; no nanotechnology allowed. Typical politician’s thinking, Dan thought: bow to the loudest pressure group, keep outmoded industries alive and turn your back on the new opportunities. Even with the greenhouse warming wiping out half Earth’s industrial base, they still think the same old way.
Leaning back in his easy chair, Stavenger said, “I understand you’re trying to raise the capital to develop a fusion drive.”
Dan smiled crookedly at him. “You’re well informed.”
“It doesn’t take a genius,” Stavenger said. “You’ve had talks with Yamagata and most of the major banks.”
“Plus the double-damned GEC.”
Stavenger’s brows rose slightly. “And now you’re talking to me.”
“That I am.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Randolph?”
“Dan.”
“Dan, okay.”
“You can help me save those ten billion people down there on Earth. They need all the help they can get.”
Stavenger said nothing. He merely sat there, his face serious, waiting for Dan to go on.
“I want to open up the Asteroid Belt,” Dan said. “I want to move as much of Earth’s industrial base into orbit as we can, and we need the re-sources from the Belt to do that.”
Stavenger sighed. “It’s a pretty dream. I believed in it myself, once, but we found that it costs more than it’s worth.”
“Selene’s sent spacecraft to the NEAs,” Dan pointed out. “Not for many years, Dan. It’s just too expensive. We decided a long time ago that we can live on the resources that the Moon provides. We have to. No asteroids.”
“But with fusion, it becomes economically feasible to extract resources from the NEAs. And even the Belt.”
“Are you certain of that?” Stavenger asked softly.
“Positively,” Dan agreed. “Same situation as the Clipperships. Your Clipperships brought down the cost of going into orbit to the point where it became economically feasible to build space stations and solar power satellites and fullscale factories.”
“They’re not my Clipperships, Dan.”
“Masterson Corporation is your family’s outfit, isn’t it?” Stavenger shifted uneasily in his chair, his smile fading. “Masterson was founded by my family, true enough. I still own a big slice of its stock, but I’m only the Chairman Emeritus. I’m not really involved in the company’s operations any longer.”
“But they still listen to you.”
The smile returned, but it was more guarded now. “Sometimes,” Stavenger said. “So how would Masterson like to come in with me on this fusion system? It’ll be a gold mine.”
Stavenger hesitated before replying, “I’ve been told that Humphries Space Systems is backing your fusion program.”
“Martin Humphries has offered to, that’s true,” Dan admitted.
“But you’re not satisfied with his offer?”
“I don’t know if I can trust him. He comes waltzing into my office and drops this fusion deal in my lap. Why? Why didn’t he do it for himself? What’s he want me for?”
“Maybe it’s Astro Manufacturing that he wants,” Stavenger said. Dan nodded vigorously. “Yep, that’s what scares me. The man has a reputation for being a grabber. He’s built Humphries Space Systems by swallowing up other companies.”
Again Stavenger hesitated. At last he said, “He’s on the verge of acquiring a majority of Masterson’s stock.”
“What?” A jolt of surprise flashed through Dan.
“I’m not supposed to know, really,” Stavenger said. “It’s all been very hush-hush. Humphries is on the verge of buying out two of our biggest shareholders. If he’s successful, he’ll have enough clout to load the board of directors with his own people.”
“Damn,” grumbled Dan. “Double dammit to hell and back.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to play with Humphries whether you like it or not. In his court.”
Suppressing an urge to get up and pound on the walls, Dan heard himself say, “Maybe not.”
“No?”
“There’s one other possibility.”
“And what might that be?” Stavenger was smiling again, as if he knew precisely where Dan was heading.
“Selene.”
“Ahh,” said Stavenger, leaning back in his cushioned chair. “I thought so.”
“Selene has trained technical personnel and manufacturing facilities. I could bring my fusion people up here and we could build the prototype together.”
“Dan,” said Stavenger gently, “who would pay Selene’s technical personnel? Who would pay for using our facilities?”
“We could share the cost. I can divest a couple of Astro’s operations and raise some cash that way. Selene could donate—” The expression on Stavenger’s face stopped him. It reminded Dan of the look that his geometry teacher would give him, back in high school, when he went off on the wrong tangent.
“You know something that I don’t,” Dan said.
Stavenger laughed gently. “Not really. You know it, too, but you’re not thinking of it. You’re overlooking the obvious.”
Dan blinked, puzzled.
“You are staring at the solution to your problem,” Stavenger prompted. “I’m looking at you and you say that I’m—” The light finally dawned in Dan’s mind. “Oh for my sweet old Aunt Sadie! Nanomachines.” Stavenger nodded. “Nanotechnology can build your fusion engine for you, and do it faster and cheaper than the orthodox way.”
“Nanotechnology,” Dan repeated.
“It would mean your spacecraft could never get any closer to Earth than low orbit.”
“So what?” Dan exclaimed. “The double-damned ship is for deepspace operations.
It’ll never touch down on Earth or any other planetary surface.”
“Then you should have no problem,” said Stavenger.
“You mean Selene will back us?”
Very carefully, Stavenger replied, “I believe the governing council will allocate personnel and facilities to demonstrate that a prototype fusion engine can be built by using nanotechnology.”
Dan grinned widely. “Yep, and once the prototype proves out, Selene will have a major new product line to manufacture: fusion drives.”
“And access to the asteroids.”
“Damned right! And any comets that come waltzing by, too.”
“Selene and Astro Manufacturing will be partners,” Stavenger said. “Partners!” Dan agreed, sticking out his hand. Stavenger gripped it firmly
and they shook on the deal.
THE CATACOMBS
It had started as a temporary storage section, just off Selene’s small hospital, up by the main airlock and the garage that housed the tractors and other equipment for work on the surface.
Bodies were stored along the blank corridor walls, sealed into protective metal canisters to await transport back to Earth. In earlier days, most of the people who died on the Moon were workers killed in accidents, or visitors who made fatal mistakes while outside on the surface. Hardly anyone died of natural causes until later, when people began settling at Selene to live out their lives. So the bodies awaiting shipment back Earthside were stored in the corridor between the hospital and the garage, convenient to the tunnel that led to the spaceport.
Eventually, of course, people who had spent their lives on the Moon wanted to be buried there, usually in the farms that provided food and fresh oxygen for the community. But often enough families back Earthside demanded the bodies of their deceased loved ones, despite the deceased’s wishes. Some legal wrangles took years to unravel. So the bodies were put into metal dewars filled with liquid nitrogen, frozen solid at cryogenic temperature while the lawyers argued and ran up their fees.
It took several years for Selene’s governing council to realize that a new trend had started. Cryonics. People were coming to Selene to be declared legally dead, then frozen into suspended animation in the hope that they could one day be cured of the disease that killed them, thawed, and returned to life once more. Cryonics had been banned in most of the Earth’s nations. The faithful of many religions considered it an affront to God, an attempt to evade the divinelymandated limits on human lifespan. While rejuvenation therapies could be done in relative secrecy, having one’s body preserved cryonically was difficult to hide. With global warming causing catastrophes all over the world and many nations barely able to feed their populations, attempts to forestall death and elongate lifespan were frowned upon, if not banned altogether. So those who wanted to avoid death, and had the money to reach the Moon, came to Selene for their final years, or months, or days. Thus the catacombs grew, row upon row of gleaming stainless steel dewars, each filled with liquid nitrogen, each holding a human body that one day might be revived.
Pancho Lane had brought her sister to Selene, back when the teenager had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Sis was losing her memory, losing control of her body functions, losing her ability to speak or smile or even to think. Pancho had given Sis the final injection herself, had watched her younger sister’s inert body being slid into the cold bloodless canister, watched the medical team seal the dewar and began the long, intricate freezing process, her tears mingling with the cold white mist emanating ghostlike from the hoses. Six years ago, Pancho thought as she walked slowly along the quiet corridor, looking for her sister’s name on the long rows of metal cylinders resting along the blank stone walls.
She had heard rumors that a few people had actually been revived from cryonic immersion, thawed back to life. And other rumors, darker, that claimed those revived had no memories, no minds at all. They were like blank-brained newborns; they even had to be toilet-trained all over again. Doesn’t matter, Pancho said to herself as she stopped in front of Sis’s dewar. I’ll raise you all over again. I’ll teach you to walk and talk and laugh and sing. I will, Sis. No matter how long it takes. No matter what it costs. As long as I’m alive, you’re not going to die.
She stared at the small metal nameplate on the dewar’s endcap. SUSAN LANE. That’s all it said. There was a barcode next to her name, all Sis’s vital information in computer-readable form. Not much to show for a human lifetime, even if it was only seventeen years.
Her wristwatch buzzed annoyingly. Brushing at the tears in her eyes, she saw that the watch was telling her she had one hour to get cleaned up and dressed and down to Humphries’s place.
With Amanda.
Mandy wore virginal white, a sleeveless mandarin-collared dress with a mid-thigh skirt that clung lovingly to her curves. She’d done her hair up in the latest piledhigh fashion: some stylist’s idea of neoclassical. Pancho had put on her best pantsuit, pearl gray with electric blue trim, almost the same shade of blue as Elly. Next to Amanda, though, she felt like a walking corpse. She’d phoned Humphries several times to tell him she was bringing Amanda, and gotten the answering machine each time. It wasn’t until she’d been on her way to the catacombs that Humphries had returned her calls, angrily demanding to know who this Amanda Cunningham was and why Pancho wanted to bring her to their meeting.
It was tough holding a reasonable conversation through the wrist-phone, but Pancho finally got across the information that Amanda was going to be her copilot on the mission and she’d thought he might be interested in recruiting her to help Pancho’s espionage work.
In the wristphone’s tiny screen it was almost impossible to judge the expression on Humphries’s face, but his tone was clear enough.
“All right,” he said grudgingly. “Bring her along if you think she might be able to help us. No sweat.”
Pancho smiled sweetly and thanked him and clicked the phone off. No sweat, huh? she thought, laughing inwardly. He’ll change his mind once he gets a look at Mandy. He’ll sweat plenty.
Pancho spent the time on the electric stairways to Selene’s lowest level telling Mandy everything she knew about Humphries. Everything except the fact that he’d hired her to spy on Dan Randolph.
“He’s actually a billionaire?” Amanda’s big blue eyes went wider than ever when Pancho described Humphries’s underground palace.
“Humphries Biotech,” Pancho replied. “The Humphries Trust, lord knows what else. You can look him up in the financial nets.”
“And you’re dating him!”
Frowning slightly at her incredulousness, Pancho replied, “I told you, it’s strictly business. He’s… eh, he’s tryin’ to hire me away from Astro.”
“Really?” A suspicious, supercilious tone dripped from the one word.
Pancho grinned at her. “More or less.”
Once they stepped through the airlock-type door and into Humphries’s underground garden, Amanda gasped with awe. “It’s heavenly!”
“Pretty neat,” Pancho agreed.
Humphries was standing at the open door to the house, waiting for them, eying Amanda as they came up the walk.
“Martin Humphries,” Pancho said, as close to a formal introduction as she knew, “I would like you to meet—”
“Ms. Amanda Cunningham,” Humphries said, all smiles. “I looked up your dossier when I got Pancho’s message that you were joining us this evening.” Pancho nodded, impressed. Humphries can tap into Astro’s personnel files. He must have Dan’s offices honeycombed with snoops.
Humphries took Amanda’s extended hand and bent over it, his lips barely touching her satiny white skin. Amanda looked as if she wanted to faint. “Come in, ladies,” Humphries said, tucking Amanda’s arm under his own. “Come in and welcome.”
To Pancho’s surprise, Humphries didn’t come on to Amanda. Not obviously, at least. A human butler served aperitifs in the library-cum-bar and Humphries showed off his collection of first editions.
“Pretty rare, some of them,” he boasted mildly. “I keep them here because of the climate control system. Back home in Connecticut it would cost a considerable sum to keep the old family home at a constant temperature and humidity. Here in Selene it comes automatically.”
“Or we breathe vacuum,” Pancho commented. Amanda gave her a knowing look. The butler showed them to the dining room, where the women sat on either side of Humphries. A pair of squat, flat-topped robots trundled back and forth from the kitchen carrying plates and glasses. Pancho watched intently as the robots’ padded claws gripped the chinaware and crystal. They didn’t drop a thing, although while clearing the salad plates one of them missed Pancho’s dish by a fraction of a millimeter and almost knocked it off the table. Before anyone could react, though, it recovered, gr
asped the plate firmly and tucked it into its recessed storage section.
“That’s a pretty good optical recognition system they’ve got,” Pancho said.
“I don’t believe it’s optical,” Amanda countered. To Humphries she asked, “Is it?”
“Very sharp, Amanda,” he said, impressed. “Very sharp. The dishes have monomolecular beacons sprayed on their bottoms. The robots sense the microwave signals.”
Pancho lifted up her water tumbler and squinted at its bottom.
“The chip’s too small to see with the naked eye,” Humphries said.
“What powers ’em?”
“The heat from the food or drink. They have trouble with iced drinks… and your salad.”
Pancho thought it over for half a second. “Dishes pick up residual heat when we handle them, huh?”
“That’s right.”
Pancho smiled as the other robot placed a steaming plate of frogs’ legs before her.
Don’t want Humphries to think Mandy’s the only smart one here, she told herself. All through dinner Humphries was charming, solicitous, all smiles. He paid almost as much attention to Pancho as he did to Amanda, up to the point where he encouraged Mandy to tell them about her early life. She began to talk, hesitantly at first, about growing up in London, winning a scholarship to the International Space University.
“It wasn’t easy,” Amanda said, with almost childlike candor. “All the men seemed to think I was better suited to be a photographer’s model than an astronaut.” Humphries made a sympathetic murmur. Pancho nodded, understanding all over again that Mandy’s good looks had been as much of a problem for her as an advantage.
“But I made it,” she finished happily, “and here we all are.”
“Good for you,” said Humphries, patting her hand. “I think you’ve done wonderfully well.”
As dessert was being served — fresh fruit from the botanical garden outside with soymilk ice cream — Amanda asked where the lavatory was. Once she had left the room Pancho leaned closer to Humphries and asked in a lowered voice, “Well, whattaya think?”