The Precipice (3 page)

“I hope I haven't kept you from your dinner,” Dan said, gesturing to the pastries.

Humphries ignored the tray. “No problem. I enjoyed chatting with your secretary.”

“Did you?” Dan said thinly.

“She's quite a piece of work. I'd like to hire her away from you.”

“Not a chance,” Dan snapped.

With a careless shrug, Humphries said, “That's not important. I came here to talk to you about the current situation.”

Dan waved toward the window. “You mean the greenhouse cliff?”

“I mean the way we can help the global economy to recover from the staggering losses it's sustained—and make ourselves a potful
of profits while we're doing it.”

Dan felt his brows hike up. He reached for one of the delicate little pastries, then decided to pour himself a cup of coffee
first. Dan's firm, Astro Manufacturing Inc., was close to bankruptcy and the whole financial community knew it

“I could use a potful of profits,” he said carefully.

Humphries smiled, but Dan saw no warmth in it.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“The Earth is in chaos because of this sudden climate shift,” said Humphries.

“The greenhouse cliff, yes,” Dan agreed.

“Selene and the other lunar communities are doing rather well, though.”

Dan nodded. “On the Moon there's no shortage of energy or raw materials. They've got everything they need. They're pretty
much self-sufficient now.”

“They could be helping the Earth,” said Humphries. “Building solar power satellites. Sending raw materials to Earth. Even
manufacturing products that people down here need but can't get because their own factories have been destroyed.”

“We've tried to do that,” Dan said. “We're trying it now. It's not enough.”

Humphries nodded. “That's because you've been limiting yourself to the resources you can obtain from the Moon.”

“And the NEAs,” Dan added.

“The near-Earth asteroids, yes.” Humphries nodded as if he'd expected that response.

“So what are you suggesting?”

Humphries glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid that someone might be eavesdropping. “The Belt,” he said, almost in a whisper.

Dan looked at Humphries for a long, silent moment. Then he leaned his bead back and laughed, long and loud and bitterly.

T
hey were gaining on her.

Still wearing the spacesuit, Pancho Lane zipped weightlessly through the lab module, startling the Japanese technicians as
she propelled herself headlong down its central aisle with a flick of her strong hands against the lab equipment every few
meters. Behind her she could hear the men yelling angrily.

If any of those dip-brains have the smarts to suit up and go EVA to head me off, she thought, I'm toast.

It had started out as a game, a challenge. Which of the pilots aboard the station could breathe vacuum the longest? There
were six Astro Corporation rocket jockeys waiting for transport back to Selene City: four guys, Pancho herself, and the new
girl, Amanda Cunningham.

Pancho had egged them on, of course. That was part of the sting. They'd all been hanging around the galley, literally floating
when they didn't anchor themselves down with the
footloops fastened to the floor around the table and its single pipestem-slim leg. The conversation had gotten around to vacuum
breathing: how long can you hold your breath in space without damaging yourself?

“The record is four minutes,” one of the guys had claimed. “Harry Kirschbaum.”

“Harry Kirschbaum? Who the hell is he? I never heard of him.”

“He died young.”

They all had laughed.

Amanda, who had just joined the team fresh from tech school in London, had the face of an angelic schoolgirl with soft curly
blonde hair and big innocent blue eyes; but her curvaceous figure had all the men panting. She said, “I had to readjust my
helmet once, during a school exercise in the vacuum tank.”

“How long did that take?”

She shrugged, and even Pancho noticed the way it made her coveralls jiggle. “Ten seconds, perhaps. Fifteen.”

Pancho didn't like Amanda. She was a little tease who affected an upperclass British accent. One look at her and the men forgot
about Pancho, which was a shame because a couple of the guys were really nice.

Pancho was lean and stringy, with the long slim legs of her African heritage. Her skin was no darker than a good tan would
produce back in west Texas, but her face was just plain ordinary, with what she considered a lantern jaw and squinty little
commonplace brown eyes. She always kept her hair cut so short that the rumor had gone around that she was a lesbian. Not true.
But she had a man's strength in her long, muscled arms and legs, and she never let a man beat her in anything—unless she wanted
to.

The transfer buggy that was slated to take them all back to Selene was running late. Cracked nozzle on one of the thrusters,
and the last thing the flight controllers wanted was
a derelict transfer vehicle carrying six rocket jocks; they would be rebuilding the buggy forty-five ways from Sunday while
they coasted Moonward.

So the six of them waited in the galley and talked about vacuum breathing. One of the guys claimed he'd sucked vacuum for
a full minute.

“That explains your IQ,” said his buddy.

“Nobody's made it for a full minute.”

“Sixty seconds,” the man maintained stubbornly.

“Your lungs would explode.”

“I'm telling you, sixty seconds. On the dot.”

“No damage?”

He hesitated, suddenly shamefaced.

“Well?”

With an attempt at a careless shrug, he admitted, “Left lung collapsed.”

They snickered at him.

“I could prob'ly do it for sixty seconds,” Pancho announced.

“You?” The man nearest her guffawed. “Now, Mandy here, she's got the lung capacity for it.”

Amanda smiled shyly. But when she inhaled they all noticed it.

Pancho hid her anger at their ape-man attitude. “Ninety seconds,” she said flatly.

“Ninety seconds? Impossible!”

“You willin' to bet on that?” Pancho asked.

“Nobody can stand vacuum for ninety seconds. It'd blow your eyeballs out.”

Pancho smiled toothily. “How much money are you ready to put against it?”

“How can we collect off you after you're dead?”

“Or brain-damaged.”

“She's already brain-damaged if she thinks she can suck vacuum for ninety seconds.”

“I'll put my money in an escrow account for the five of
you to withdraw in case of my death or incapacitation,” Pancho said calmly.

“Yeah, sure.”

Pointing to the phone on the wall, next to the sandwich dispenser, she said, “Electronic funds transfer. Takes all of two
minutes to set up.”

They fell silent.

“How much?” Pancho said, watching their eyes.

“A week's pay,” snapped one of the men.

“A month's pay,” Pancho said.

“A whole month?”

“Why not? You're so freakin' sure I can't do it, why not bet a month's pay? I'll put five months worth of mine in the escrow
account, so you'll each be covered.”

“A month's pay.”

In the end they had agreed to it. Pancho knew that they figured she'd chicken out after twenty-thirty seconds and they'd have
her money without her killing herself.

She figured otherwise.

So she used the galley phone to call her bank in Lubbock. A few taps on the phone's touchtone keypad and she had set up a
new account and dumped five months' pay into it. All five of the other jocks watched the phone's tiny screen to make certain
Pancho wasn't playing any tricks.

Then each of them in turn called their banks and deposited a month's pay into Pancho's new account. Pancho listened to the
singsong beeping of the phone as she laid her plans for the coming challenge.

Pancho suggested they use the airlock down at the far end of the maintenance module. “We don't want some science geek poppin'
in on us and gettin' so torqued he punches the safety alarm,” she said.

They all agreed easily. So they floated through two lab modules and the shabby-looking habitat module where the long-term
researchers were housed and finally made it to the cavernous maintenance unit. There, by the airlock, Pancho
chose a spacesuit from the half-dozen standard models lined up against the bulkhead, size large because of her height She
quickly wriggled into it. They even helped her put on the boots and check out the suit's systems.

Pancho pulled the helmet over her head and clicked the neck seal shut.

“Okay,” she said, through the helmet's open visor. “Who's gonna time me?”

“I will,” said one of the guys, raising his forearm to show an elaborate digital wristwatch.

“You go in the lock,” said the man beside him, “pump it down and open the outside hatch.”

“And you watch me through the port,” Pancho said, tapping the thick round window on the airlock's inner hatch with gloved
knuckles.

“Check. When I say go, you open your visor.”

“And I'll time you,” said the guy with the fancy wristwatch.

Pancho nodded inside the helmet.

Amanda looked concerned. “Are you absolutely certain that you want to go through with this? You could kill yourself, Pancho.”

“She can't back out now!”

“Not unless she wants to forfeit five months' pay.”

“But seriously,” Amanda said. “I'm wiling to call off the bet. After all—”

Pancho reached out and tousled her curly blonde hair. “Don't sweat it, Mandy.”

With that, she stepped through the open airlock hatch and slid down her visor. She waved to them as they swung the hatch shut.
She heard the pump start to clatter; the sound quickly dwindled as the air was sucked out of the metalwalled chamber. When
the telltale light by the inner hatch turned red, Pancho touched the button that slid the outer hatch open.

For a moment she forgot what she was up to as she drank
in the overwhelming beauty of the Earth spread out before her dazzled eyes. Brilliantly bright, intensely blue oceans and
enormous sweeps of clouds so white it almost hurt to look upon them. It was glorious, an overwhelming panorama that never
failed to make her heart beat faster.

You've got work to do, girl, she reminded herself sternly.

Turning to the inner hatch, she could see all five of their faces clustered around the little circular port. None of them
had the sense to find a radio, Pancho knew, so she gestured to her sealed helmet visor with a gloved finger. They all nodded
vigorously and the guy with the fancy wristwatch held it up where Pancho could see it.

The others backed away from the port while the guy stared hard at his wristwatch. He held up four fingers, then three…

Counting down, Pancho understood.

… two, one. He jabbed a finger like a make-believe pistol at Pancho, the signal that she was to lift her visor
now.

Instead, Pancho launched herself out the airlock, into empty space.

M
artin Humphries looked irked. “What's so funny about the Asteroid Belt?”

Dan shook his head. “Not funny, really. Just… I didn't expect that from you. You've got a reputation for being a hard-headed
businessman.”

“I'd like to believe that I am,” Humphries said.

“Then forget about the Belt,” Dan snapped. “Been there, done that. It's too far away, the costs would outweigh the profits
by a ton.”

“It's been done,” Humphries insisted.

“Once,” said Dan. “By that nutcase Gunn. And he damned near got himself killed doing it.”

“But that one asteroid was worth close to a trillion dollars once he got it into lunar orbit.”

“Yeah, and the double-damned GEC took control of it and bankrupted Gunn.”

“That won't happen this time.”

“Why not? You don't think the GEC would seize any resources
we bring to Earth? That's the reason the Global Economic Council was created—to control the whole twirling Earth's international
trade.”

Humphries smiled coldly. “I can handle the GEC. Trust me on that one.”

Dan stared at the younger man for a long, hard moment. Finally he shook his head and replied, “It doesn't matter. I'd even
be willing to let the GEC run the show.”

“You would?”

“Hell yes. We're in a global emergency now. Somebody has to allocate resources, control prices, see to it that nobody takes
advantage of this crisis to line his own pockets.”

“I suppose so,” Humphries said slowly. “Still, I'm convinced there's a lot of money to be made by mining the Belt.”

Nodding, Dan agreed, “There's a lot of resources out there, that's for sure. Heavy metals, organics, resources we can't get
from the Moon.”

“Resources that the Earth needs, and the GEC would be willing to pay for.”

“Mining the asteroids,” Dan mused. “That's a major undertaking. A
major
undertaking.”

“That's why I'm here. Astro Manufacturing has the resources to do it.”

“Astro Manufacturing is just about broke and you know it.”

“I wasn't talking about financial resources,” Humphries said, waving a hand in the air almost carelessly.

“Oh no?”

“No.” Pointing a finger toward the window and the storm-battered launch facility outside, Humphries said, “You've got the
technological know-how, the teams of trained personnel, the rockets and infrastructure to get us into space.”

“And it's bleeding me white because there's less and less of a market for launch services. Nobody can afford to buy
electronics manufactured on the Moon, not when they're being driven from their homes by floods and earthquakes.”