by Ben Bova
Pancho remembered her childhood, when she and some of the neighborhood kids would create telephone links out of old paper cups and lengths of waxed string. They were using the same principle, linking their helmets with the wire so they could converse without using their suit radios. This’ll work, Pancho thought, as long as we don’t move too far apart. She judged the wire connecting their helmets to be no more than three meters long.
“You worried about eavesdroppers?” she asked Humphries.
“Not especially, but why take a chance you don’t have to?”
That made sense, a little. “Why couldn’t we meet down at your place, like usual?”
“Because it’s not a good idea for you to be seen going down there so often, that’s why,” Humphries replied testily. “How long do you think it would be before Dan Randolph finds out you’re coming to my residence on a regular basis?” Teasingly, Pancho said, “So he finds out. He’ll just think you’re inviting me to dinner.”
Humphries grunted. Pancho knew that he had invited Amanda to dinner at his home twice since they’d first met. And he’d stopped asking Pancho to report to him down there. Now they met at prearranged times and places: strolling in the Grand Plaza, watching low-gravity ballet in the theater, doing a tourist moonwalk on the crater floor.
Pancho would have shrugged if she hadn’t been encased in the suit. She said to Humphries, “Dan made his pitch to the governing council.”
“I know. And they turned him down.”
“Well, sort of.”
“What do you mean?” he snapped.
“A couple of citizens volunteered to work on Dan’s project. He’s goin’ down to the Venezuela space station to try to get Dr. Cardenas to head up the team.”
“Kristine Cardenas?”
“Yup. She’s the top expert at nanotech,” Pancho said.
“They gave her the Nobel Prize,” Humphries muttered, “before nanotechnology was banned on Earth.”
“That’s the one he’s gonna talk to.”
For several long moments Humphries simply stood there unmoving, not speaking a word. Pancho thought he looked like a statue, with the spacesuit and all. At length he said, “He wants to use nanomachines to build the rocket. I hadn’t expected that.”
“It’s cheaper. Prob’ly better, too.”
She sensed Humphries nodding inside his helmet. “I should’ve seen it coming. If he can build the system with nanos, he won’t need my financing. The sonofabitch can leave me out in the cold — after I gave him the fusion idea on a silver fucking platter!”
“I don’t think he’d do that.”
“Wouldn’t he?” Humphries was becoming more enraged with every word. “I bring the fusion project to him, I offer to fund the work, but instead he sneaks behind my back to try to raise funding from any other source he can find. And now he’s got a way to build the fucking rocket without me altogether! He’s trying to cut my balls off!”
“But-”
“Shut up, you stupid bitch! I don’t care what you think! That prick bastard Randolph thinks he can screw me out of this! Well, he’s got another think coming! I’ll break his back! I’ll destroy the sonofabitch!”
Humphries yanked the wire out of Pancho’s helmet, then pulled the other end out of his own. He turned and strode back to the bus that had carried him out to the Ranger 9 site, practically boiling up a dust storm with his angry stomping. If he hadn’t been in the heavy spacesuit, Pancho thought, he’d hop two meters off the ground with each step. Prob’ly fall flat on his face.
She watched as he gestured furiously to the bus driver, then clambered aboard the tourist bus. The driver got in after him, closed the hatch, and started off for the garage back at Selene.
Pancho wondered if Humphries would allow the driver to come back out and pick up the other tourists, or would he leave them stranded out here? Well, she thought, they can always squeeze into the other buses.
She decided there was nothing she could do about it, so she might as well enjoy what was left of her outing. As she walked off toward the wreckage of the tiny, primitive Ranger 9, though, she thought that she’d better tell Dan Randolph about this pretty damned quick. Humphries was sore enough to commit murder, it seemed to her.
SPACE STATION NUEVA VENEZUEU
It was almost like coming home for Dan. Nueva Venezuela had been one of the first big projects for the fledgling Astro Manufacturing Corp., back in the days when Dan had moved his corporate headquarters from Texas to La Guaira and married the daughter of the future president of Venezuela. The space station had lasted much better than the marriage. Still, the station was old and scuffed-up. As the transfer craft from Selene made its approach, Dan saw that the metal skin of her outer hulls was dulled and pitted from long years of exposure to radiation and mite-sized meteoroids. Here and there bright new sections showed where the maintenance crews were replacing the tired, eroded skin. A facelift, Dan thought, smiling. Well, she’s old enough to need it. They’re probably using cermet panels instead of the aluminum we started with. Lighter, tougher, maybe even cheaper if you consider the length of time they’ll last before they need replacing.
Nueva Venezuela was built of a series of concentric rings. The outermost ring spun at a rate that gave the occupants inside it a feeling of normal Earthly gravity. The two other rings were placed where they would simulate Mars’s one-third g and the Moon’s one-sixth. The docking port at the station’s center was effectively at zero gravity. The tech guys called it microgravity, but Dan always thought of it as zero g.
A great place to make love, Dan remembered. Then he chuckled to himself. Once you get over the heaves. Nearly everybody got nauseous their first few hours in weightlessness.
Dan went through customs swiftly, allowing the inspector to rummage through his one travelbag while he tried to keep himself from making any sudden movements. He could feel his sinuses starting to puff up as the liquids in his body shifted in response to weightlessness. No postnasal drips in zero g, Dan told himself. But you sure can get a beaut of a headache while the fluids build up in your sinuses before you adapt.
The main thing was to make as few head motions as possible. Dan had seen people suddenly erupt with projectile vomiting from merely turning their heads or nodding.
The inspector passed him easily enough and Dan gratefully made his way along the tube corridor that led “down” to the lunar-level wheel. He dumped his bag in the cubbyhole compartment he’d rented for this visit, then prowled along the sloping corridor that ran through the center of the wheel, checking the numbers on each door.
Dr. Kristine Cardenas’s name was neatly printed on a piece of tape stuck above her door number. Dan rapped once, and opened the door.
It was a small office, hardly enough room for the desk and the two plain plastic chairs in front of it. A good-looking young woman sat at the desk: shoulder-length sandy hair, cornflower blue eyes, broad swimmer’s shoulders. She wore an unadorned jumpsuit of pastel yellow; or maybe it had once been brighter, but had faded after many washings.
“I’m looking for Dr. Cardenas,” said Dan. “She’s expecting me. I’m Dan Randolph.”
The young woman smiled up at him and extended her hand. “I’m Kris Cardenas.”
Dan blinked. “You… you’re much too young to be the Dr. Cardenas.” She laughed. Motioning Dan to one of the chairs in front of the desk, she said, “I assure you, Mr. Randolph, that I am indeed the Dr. Cardenas.” Dan looked into those bright blue eyes. “You too, huh? Nanomachines.” She pursed her lips, then admitted, “It was a temptation I couldn’t resist. Besides, what better way to test what nanotechnology can do than to try it on yourself?”
“Like Pasteur injecting himself with the polio vaccine,” Dan said. She gave him a sidelong look. “Your grasp of the history of science is a bit off, but you’ve got the basic idea.”
Dan leaned back in the plastic chair. It creaked a little but accommodated itself to his weight. “Maybe I ought to try them, too,”
he said.
“If you don’t have any plans to return to Earth,” Cardenas replied, with a sudden sharpness in her voice.
Dan changed the subject. “I understand you’re working with the Mars exploration program.”
She nodded. “Their budget’s being slashed to the bone. Beyond the bone, actually. If we can’t develop nanos to take over the life-support functions at their bases, they’ll have to close up shop and return to Earth.”
“But if they use nanomachines they won’t be allowed to come back home.”
“Only if they use nanomachines in their own bodies,” Cardenas said, raising a finger to emphasize her point. “The IAA has graciously decided they can be allowed to use nanotechnology to maintain and repair their equipment.” Dan caught the sarcasm in her tone. “I’ll bet the New Morality was thrilled with that decision.”
“They don’t run the entire show. At least, not yet.”
Dan huffed. “Good reason to live off Earth. I’ve always said, When the going gets tough, the tough get going—”
“ — to where the going’s easier,” Cardenas finished for him. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”
“I don’t think I’d be able to live off-Earth forever,” Dan said. “I mean… well, that’s home.”
“Not for me,” Cardenas snapped. “Not for a half a dozen of the Martian explorers, either. They’ve accepted nanomachines. They have no intention of returning to Earth.”
Surprised, Dan said, “I didn’t know that.”
“There hasn’t been much publicity about it. The New Morality and their ilk have a pretty tight grip on the news media.”
Dan studied her face for a long, silent moment. Dr. Cardenas was physically youthful, quite attractive, a Nobel laureate, the leader in her chosen field of study. Yet she seemed so indignant.
“Well, anyway,” he said, “I’m grateful that you’ve taken the time to see me. I know you’re busy.”
She broke into a pleased smile. “Your message seemed kind of…” she fished for a word,”… mysterious. It made me wonder why you wanted to see me in person, rather than by phone.”
Dan grinned back at her. “I’ve found that it’s always easier to discuss matters faceto-face. Phones, mail, even VR meetings, they can’t replace person-to-person contact.”
Cardenas’s smile turned knowing. “It’s more difficult for someone to say ‘no’ to your face.”
“You got me,” Dan replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I need your help and I didn’t want to tell you about it long-distance.”
She seemed to relax somewhat. Easing back in her chair, she asked, “So what’s so important that you came up here to see me?”
“Down here. I came in from Selene.”
“What’s your problem? I’ve been so wrapped up with this Mars work that I haven’t been keeping up with current events.”
Dan took in a breath, then started, “You know I’m the head of Astro Manufacturing.”
Cardenas nodded.
“I’ve got a small team ready to build a prototype fusion rocket, using nanomachines.”
“A fusion rocket?”
“We’ve tested small models. The system works. Now we need to build a full-scale prototype and test it. We’re planning a mission to the Asteroid Belt, and—”
“Spacecraft have gone to the Belt on ordinary rockets. Why do you need a fusion system?”
“Those were unmanned vehicles. This mission will carry a crew of four, maybe six.”
“To the Asteroid Belt? Why?”
“To start prospecting for the metals and minerals that the people of Earth need,” Dan said.
Cardenas’s face turned stony. Coldly, she asked, “What are you trying to accomplish, Mr. Randolph?”
“I’m trying to save the Earth. I know that sounds pompous, but if we don’t—”
“I see no reason to save the Earth,” Cardenas said flatly. Dan gaped at her.
“They got themselves into this greenhouse mess. They were warned, but they paid no attention. The politicians, the business leaders, the news media… none of them lifted a finger until it was too late.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Dan said softly, remembering his own struggles to get the world’s leaders to recognize the looming greenhouse cliff before it struck. “True enough,” Cardenas replied. “And then there’s the New Morality and all those other ultraconservative cults. Why do you want to save them?”
“They’re people,” Dan blurted. “Human beings.”
“Let them sink in their own filth,” Cardenas said, her words dripping acid.
“They’ve earned whatever they get.”
“But…” Dan felt completely at sea. “I don’t understand…”
“They exiled me.” She almost snarled the words. “Because I injected nanomachines into my body, they prevented me from returning to Earth. Their fanatics assassinated anyone who spoke in favor of nanotechnology, did you know that?”
Dan shook his head mutely.
“They attacked Moonbase, back before it became Selene. One of their suicide killers blew up Professor Zimmerman in his own lab. And you want me to help them?”
Shocked by her vehemence, Dan mumbled, “But that was years ago…”
“I was there, Mr. Randolph. I saw the mangled bodies. And then, when we won and even the old United Nations had to recognize our independence, those hypocritical ignoramuses passed laws exiling anyone who had accepted nanomachines into her body.”
“I understand that, but—”
“I had a husband,” she went on, blue eyes snapping. “I had two daughters. I have four grandchildren in college that I’ve never touched! Never held them as babies. Never sat down at the same table with them.”
Another woman might have burst into tears, Dan thought. But Cardenas was too furious for that. How the hell can I reach her? he wondered. She seemed to recover herself. Placing both hands on her desktop, she said more mildly, “I’m sorry for the tirade. But I want you to understand why I’m not particularly interested in helping the people of Earth.” Dan replied, “Then how about helping the people of Selene?”
Her chin went up a notch. “What do you mean?”
“A working fusion drive can make it economical to mine hydrates from the carbonaceous asteroids. Even scoop water vapor from comets.” She thought about that for a moment. Then, “Or even scoop fusion fuels from Jupiter, I imagine.”
Dan stared at her. Twelve lords a-leaping, I hadn’t even thought of that. Jupiter’s atmosphere must be loaded with hydrogen and helium isotopes. Cardenas smiled slightly. “I presume you could make a considerable fortune from all this.”
“I’ve offered to do it at cost.”
Her brows rose. “At cost?”
He hesitated, then admitted, “I want to help the people of Earth. There’s ten billion of them, less the millions who’ve already been killed in the floods and epidemics and famines. They’re not all bad guys.”
Cardenas looked away from him for a moment, then admitted, “No, I suppose they’re not.”
“Your grandchildren are down there.”
“That’s a low blow, Mr. Randolph.”
“Dan.”
“It’s still a low blow, and you know it.”
He smiled at her. “I’m not above a rabbit punch or two if it’ll get the job done.” She did not smile back. But she said, “I’ll spin this Mars work off to a couple of my students. It’s mostly routine now, anyway. I’ll be back in Selene within the week.”
“Thanks. You’re doing the right thing,” Dan said.
“I’m not as sure of that as you are.”
He got up from his chair. “I guess we’ll just have to see where it all leads.”
“Yes, we will,” she agreed.
Dan shook hands with her again and then left her office. Don’t linger once you get what you want. Never give the other side the chance to reconsider. He had Cardenas’s agreement, no matter that it was reluctant.
Okay,
I’ve got the team I need. Duncan and his crew can stay Earth-side. Cardenas will direct the construction job.
Now to confront Humphries.
SELENE
And he’s madder’n hell,” Pancho finished. Dan nodded somberly as they rode an electric cart through the tunnel from the spaceport to Selene proper. Pancho had been at the spaceport to meet him on his return flight from Nueva Venezuela, looking worried, almost frightened about Humphries. “I guess I’d be ticked off, too,” he said, “if our positions were reversed.”
The two of them were alone in the cart. Dan had deliberately waited until the four other passengers of the transfer ship had gone off toward the city. Then he and Pancho had clambered aboard the next cart. The automated vehicles ran like clockwork along the long, straight tunnel. “What do you want to do?” Pancho asked. Dan grinned at her. “I’ll call him and arrange a meeting.”
“At the O. K. Corral?”
“No,” he said, laughing. “Nothing so grim. It’s time he and I talked about structuring a deal together.”
Frowning, Pancho asked, “Do you really need him now? I mean with the nanotech and all? Can’t you run this show yourself and keep him out of it?”
“I don’t think that would be the smart thing to do,” Dan replied. “After all, he did start me off on this fusion business. If I tried to cut him out altogether he’d have a legitimate gripe.”
“That’s what he expects you to do.”
Dan watched the play of shadows over her face as the cart glided silently along the tunnel. Light and shadow, light and shadow, like watching a speeded-up video of the Sun going across the sky.
“I don’t play the game the same way he does,” he said at last. “And I don’t want this project tied up by lawyers for the next ninety-nine years.” Pancho grunted with distaste. “Lawyers.”