The Precipice (14 page)

The rich get richer, Pancho thought.

“So?” Amanda insisted. “Who's your fellow?”

“It's strictly business,” Pancho said.

“Really? And what business would that be, dear?”

Pancho suppressed a sudden urge to sock Mandy in her smirking face.

“Listen,” she said, with some heat, “you go out just about every damned night, don't you? What's the matter with me havin'
a date now and then?”

Mandy's expression softened. “Nothing, Pancho, really. I'm only curious, that's all. I think it's fine for you to have an
enjoyable social life.”

“Yeah, sure. You're just wonderin' who my date could be, ‘cause you've got all the other men in Selene sewed up for yourself.”

“Pancho, that's not true!”

“Like hell.”

“I can't help it if men are attracted to me! I don't do anything to encourage them.”

Pancho laughed out loud.

“Really, I don't.”

“Mandy, all you have to do is breathe and the men swarm around you like flies on horseshit.”

Amanda's cheeks flushed at Pancho's deliberate crudity. But then she smiled knowingly. “Well, it is rather fun to flirt. If
men want to take me out to dinner, why not? I just bat my eyes at them and let them tell me how terrific they are.”

“And then you bed down with ‘em and everybody's happy.”

Amanda flared with sudden anger. She started to reply, but stopped before saying a word. For several moments she stared down
at her shoetops, then at last said in a lower voice, “Is that what you think?”

“It's the truth, ain't it?”

“Really, Pancho, I'm not a slut. I don't sleep with them, you know.”

“You don't?”

“Well… once in a while. A great while.”

Pancho looked at Amanda, really looked at her, and saw a very beautiful, very young woman trying to make her way in a world
where a woman's physical appearance still categorized her in men's eyes. Jeez, she thought, Mandy prob'ly has to spend half
her life keeping guys' hands off her. So she just smiles at them and jollies ‘em along and splits before it gets serious.
It's either that or carry a gun, I guess. Or a snake.

“Maybe we could ugly you up,” Pancho muttered.

Amanda smiled ruefully. “That's what Mr. Randolph said.”

“Huh? Randolph?”

“He told me that if I want to go on the mission with you I'll have to stop making myself so attractive to the men that go
with us.”

Pancho nodded. “We've gotta find you some big, bulky sweatshirts. Or maybe keep you in a spacesuit the whole damn trip.”

The two women laughed together. But after a few moments, Amanda asked again, “So tell me, Pancho, who's your boyfriend?”

Exasperated, Pancho snapped, “You want to meet him? Come on along tonight.”

“Really? Do you mean it?”

“Sure, why not?” Pancho said. “I bet he'd like to meet you.”

Pancho knew that Humphries would go ballistic over Mandy. Good. The man had been pressuring her to find out more about what
Dan Randolph was up to. Humphries had been getting downright nasty about it.

Humphries had snarled at her when they'd had dinner, Pancho's first night back at Selene. The man had seemed cordial enough
when he'd ushered her into that big, formal dining room in the house down at Selene's lowest level. But once he had started
asking Pancho what information she had for him, and she had been forced to reply that she had little to report, his mood swiftly
changed.

“That's it? That's all you've got to tell me?” Humphries had snarled.

With a helpless shrug, Pancho had answered, “He's had us cooped up in La Guaira, studyin' the fusion system.”

“I'm paying you a small fortune and I'm not getting a damned bit of information from you! Nothing! A big, fat zero!”

It was a pretty dinky fortune, Pancho thought. Still, she had tried to placate the man. “But Mr. Humphries, other than the
flight tests with that beat-up oF cruise missile, he hasn't been
doin ‘
anything.”

“He's been flitting all around the fucking world,” Humphries had snapped, “from Kyoto to New York to Geneva to London. He's
been talking to bankers and development agencies—even to the GEC, and he
hates
the GEC!”

Pancho had tried to be reasonable. “Look, I'm just a rocket jockey. He says he wants me to test-fly the fusion drive once it's
built but it might be years before that happens.”

“So what does he have you doing in the meantime?” Humphries demanded.

Pancho shrugged. “Nothin' much. He's sent me and Mandy here to Selene. His personal orders. We're supposed to be learnin'
about the asteroids out in the Belt. He's got an astronomer from the Farside Observatory tutoring us.”

Humphries's expression grew thoughtful. “Maybe he knows you're working for me. Maybe he's just put you on ice for the time
being, until he figures out how to get rid of you.”

Pancho didn't want Humphries to think about the possibility that she had told Randolph everything.

“Wouldn't it be easier for him just to fire me?” she suggested mildly.

“He's on his way here right now, you know,” Humphries muttered.

“He is?” Pancho couldn't hide her surprise.

“You don't even know where he is?”

“I'm not on the mailing list for his personal itinerary,” Pancho retorted.

“Now you listen to me, lady.
I
got your name to the top of Astro's personnel list so that Randolph would take you into this
fusion rocket program of his.
I'm
the one who's gotten you promoted. I want results! I want to know when Randolph
goes to the toilet, I want to know when he inhales and when he exhales.”

“Then get yourself another spy,” Pancho had said, trying to hold on to her swooping temper. “Whatever he's up to, he hasn't
even been on the same continent with me most of the time. I only saw him that once, at the first flight test in Venezuela.
You hired the wrong person, Mr. Humphries. You want somebody who can be his mistress, not a pilot.”

Humphries had glared at her over the dinner table. “You're probably right,” he had muttered. “Still… I want you on the job.
It might take a while, but sooner or later he's going to use you to test-fly the fusion drive. That's when you'll become valuable
to me. I just hired you too soon, that's all.”

He made a forced little smile. “My mistake, I guess.”

Puffing and sweating at the weight machine, Pancho thought, Yep, it's time for Humphries to meet Mandy. That might solve all
my problems.

She laughed to herself. What a setup! Humphries sends Mandy after Randolph and she doesn't know that I've already told Randolph
I'm supposed to be spyin' on him for the Humper. And Mandy would go for it, too; she'd love to have Randolph in her bed.

And meantime, she thought, I can be spyin' on Humphries for Randolph! Whatta they call that? I'll be a double agent. Yeah,
that's it. A double agent. Terrific.

But what if Humphries drops me altogether once he sees Amanda? That's a possibility. Then you won't be any kind of an agent;
you'll be out in the cold.

Okay, so what? she told herself. So you won't be getting the extra money from Humphries, came the answer. So you'll have to
maintain Sis on your Astro salary. Yeah, yeah, she argued back. I've been doin' that for years now, I can keep on doin' it.

Wait a minute, she said to herself. Humphries can't fire
me. If he tried to, he'd be afraid that I'd tell Randolph everything. The Humper has to keep me on his payroll—or get rid
of me altogether.

Pancho got off the weight machine and went to the exercise bike. Pedaling furiously, she thought, The trick is not to get
fired by both Humphries
and
Randolph. I don't want to be left out in the cold. And I don't want Humphries to start thinkin' he'd be better off if I happened
to get myself killed. No sir!

“
Y
ou can't see them, Mr. Randolph.”

Dan was startled by Douglas Stavenger's words.

“I was staring, wasn't I?” he admitted.

Stavenger smiled patiently. “Most people do, when they first meet me. But the nanomachines are all safely inside me. You can't
get infected by them.”

The two men were sitting in Stavenger's spacious office, which looked more like a comfortable sitting room than a business
center. Wide windows made up two of the room's walls. No desk, not even a computer screen in sight; only upholstered chairs
and a small sofa off to one side of the room, with a few low tables scattered here and there. Dan had to remind himself that
the windows were really transparent, not holoviews. They looked out on Selene's Grand Plaza, the only public greenspace within
nearly half a million kilometers.

Douglas Stavenger's office was not buried deep underground. It was on the fifteenth floor of one of the three office towers
that also served as supports for the huge dome that
covered the Grand Plaza. Masterson Aerospace Corporation's offices took up the entire fifteenth floor of the tower.

Spread out beyond those windows was the six-hundred-meter-long Plaza itself, a grassy expanse with paved footpaths winding
through it, flowered shrubbery and even small trees here and there. Dan could see people walking along the paths, stopping
at the shopping arcades, playing lunar basketball in the big enclosed cage off by the orchestra shell. Kids were doing fantastically
convoluted dives from the thirty-meter platform at one end of the Olympic-sized swimming pool, twisting and somersaulting
in dreamlike slow motion before they splashed languidly into the water. A pair of tourists soared past the windows on brilliantly
colored plastic wings, flying like birds on their own muscle power in the low lunar gravity.

“It's a pleasant view, isn't it?” Stavenger said.

Dan nodded his agreement. While most people on the Moon instinctively wanted to live as deep underground as possible, Stavenger
stayed up here, with nothing between him and the dangers of the surface except the reinforced lunar concrete of the Plaza's
dome, and a meter or so of rubble from the regolith that had been strewn over it.

And why not? Dan thought. Stavenger and his family had more or less created the original Moonbase. They had fought a brief
little war against the old United Nations to win their independence—and the right to use nanotechnol-ogy even though it had
been banned on Earth.

Stavenger was filled with nanomachines. Turning his gaze back to him, Dan saw a good-looking young man apparently in his thirties
smiling patiently at him. Stavenger wasn't much bigger than Dan, though he appeared more solidly built. Smooth olive complexion,
sparkling blue eyes. Yet Douglas Stavenger was at least his own age, Dan knew, well into his sixties. His body was filled
with nanomachines, tiny, virus-sized mechanisms that destroyed invading microbes, kept his skin smooth and young, took apart
plaque and fatty
deposits in his blood vessels atom by atom and flushed them out of his body.

The nanomachines apparently kept him youthful as well. Far better than any of the rejuvenation therapies that Dan had investigated.
There was only one drawback to the nanos: Douglas Stavenger was forbidden to return to Earth. Governments, churches, the media,
and the mindless masses feared that nanomachines might somehow get loose and cause unstoppable plagues or, worse, might be
turned into new genocidal bioweapons.

So Stavenger was an exile who lived on the Moon, able to see the bright beckoning Earth hanging in the dark lunar sky but
eternally prohibited from returning to the world of his birth.

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.”