Asteroid Wars - The Precipice Part 2

Turning to the inner hatch, she could see all five of their faces cl.u.s.tered 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 wrist.w.a.tch held it up where Pancho could see it.

The others backed away from the port while the guy stared hard at his his wrist.w.a.tch. He held up four fingers, then three... wrist.w.a.tch. 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 the signal that she was to lift her visor now. now.

Instead, Pancho launched herself out the airlock, into empty s.p.a.ce.

LA GUAIRA.

Martin 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 d.a.m.ned 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-d.a.m.ned 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?"

"h.e.l.l yes. We're in a global emergency now. Somebody has to allocate resources, control prices, see to it that n.o.body 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 major undertaking." 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 s.p.a.ce."

"And it's bleeding me white because there's less and less of a market for launch services. n.o.body can afford to buy electronics manufactured on the Moon, not when they're being driven from their homes by floods and earthquakes."

Humphries's brows rose questioningly.

"I know, I know," Dan said. "There's the energy market. Sure. But how many solar-power satellites can we park in orbit? The double-d.a.m.ned GEC just put a cap on them. We're building the next-to-last one now. After those two, no more powersats."

Before Humphries could ask why, Dan continued, "The G.o.dd.a.m.ned Greater Asia Power Consortium complained about the powersats undercutting their prices. And the double-d.a.m.ned Europeans sided with them. Serve 'em all right if they freeze their a.s.ses off when the Gulf Stream breaks up."

"The Gulf Stream?" Humphries looked startled.

Dan nodded unhappily. "That's one of the projections. The greenhouse warming is already changing ocean currents. When the Gulf Stream breaks up, Europe goes into the deep freeze; England's weather will be the same as Labrador's."

"When? How soon?"

"Twenty years, maybe. Maybe a hundred. Ask five different scientists and you get twelve different answers."

"That's a real opportunity," Humphries said excitedly. "Winterizing all of Europe. Think of it! What an opportunity!"

"Funny," Dan retorted. "I was thinking of it as a disaster."

"You see the gla.s.s half empty. To me, it's half full."

Dan had a sudden urge to throw this young opportunist out of his office. Instead, he slumped back in his chair and muttered, "It's like a sick Greek tragedy. Global warming is going to put Europe in the deep-freezer. Talk about ironic."

"We were talking about the energy market," Humphries said, regaining his composure. "What about the lunar helium-three?"

Dan wondered if his visitor was merely trying to pump him. Warily, he answered, "Barely holding its own. There's not that many fusion power plants up and running yet-thanks to the kneejerk anti-nuke idiots. And digging helium-three out of the lunar regolith ain't cheap. Fifty parts per million sounds good to a chemist, maybe, but it doesn't lead to a high profit ratio, let me tell you."

"So you'd need an injection of capital to start mining the asteroids," Humphries said.

"A transfusion," Dan grumbled.

"That can be done."

Dan felt his brows hike up. "Really?"

"I can provide the capital," Humphries said, matter-of-factly.

"We're talking forty, fifty billion, at least."

Humphries waved a hand, as if brus.h.i.+ng away an annoyance. "You wouldn't need that much for a demonstration flight."

"Even a one-shot demo flight would cost a couple bill," Dan said.

"Probably."

"Where are you going to get that kind of money? n.o.body's willing to talk to me about investing in Astro."

"There are people who'd be willing to invest that kind of money in developing the asteroid market."

For an instant Dan felt a surge of hope. It could work! Open up the Asteroid Belt. Bring those resources to Earth's needy people. Then the cost figures flashed into his mind again, as implacable as Newton's laws of motion.

"You know," he said wearily, "if we could just cover our own costs I'd be willing to try it."

Humphries looked disappointed. "Just cover your own costs?"

"d.a.m.ned right. People need those resources. If we could get them without driving ourselves into bankruptcy, I'd go to double-d.a.m.ned Pluto if I had to!"

Relaxing visibly, Humphries said, "I know how we can do it and make a healthy profit, besides."

Despite himself, Dan felt intrigued. "How?"

"Fusion rockets."

By the seven cities of Cibola, Dan thought, this guy's a fanatic. Worse: he's an enthusiast.

"n.o.body's made a fusion rocket," he said to Humphries. "Fusion power generators are too big and heavy for flight applications. Everybody knows that."

With the grin of a cat that had just finished dining on several canaries, Humphries replied, "Everybody's wrong."

Dan thought it over for all of half a second, then leaned both his hands on his desktop, palms down, and said, "Prove it to me."

Wordlessly, Humphries fished a data chip from his jacket pocket and handed it to Dan.

s.p.a.cE STATION GALILEO.

Leaving her five fellow astronauts gaping dumbfounded at the airlock in the maintenance module, Pancho sailed weightlessly to the metal arm of the robotic cargo-handling crane jutting out from the s.p.a.ce station. It was idle at the moment; with no ma.s.s of payload to steady it, the long, slim arm flexed noticeably as Pancho grasped it in both hands and swung like an acrobat up to the handgrips that studded the module's outer skin.

Wondering if the others had caught on to her sting, Pancho hand-walked along the module's hull, clambering from one runglike grip to the next. To someone watching from beyond the s.p.a.ce station it would have looked as if she were scampering along upside down, but to Pancho it seemed as if the s.p.a.ce station was over her head and she was swinging like a kid in a zero-gee jungle gym.

She laughed inside her helmet as she reached the end of the maintenance module and pushed easily across the connector section that linked to the habitation module.

"Hey Pancho, what the h.e.l.l are you doing out there?"

They had finally gotten to a radio, she realized. But as long as they were puzzled, she was okay.

"I'm taking a walk," she said, a little breathless from all the exertion.

"What about our bet?" one of the men asked.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," she lied. "Just hang tight."

"What are you up to, Pancho?" asked Amanda, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Pancho fell back on her childhood answer. "Nothin'."

The radio went silent. Pancho reached the airlock at the end of the lab module and tapped out the standard code. The outer hatch slid open. She ducked inside, sealed the hatch and didn't bother to wait for the lock to fill with air. She simply pushed open the inner hatch and quickly sealed it again. again. A safety alarm shrilled automatically, but cut off when the module's air pressure equilibrated again. Yanking off the s.p.a.ce-suit's c.u.mbersome gloves, Pancho slid her visor up as she went to the wallphone by the airlock hatch. A safety alarm shrilled automatically, but cut off when the module's air pressure equilibrated again. Yanking off the s.p.a.ce-suit's c.u.mbersome gloves, Pancho slid her visor up as she went to the wallphone by the airlock hatch.

Blessed with perfect pitch and a steel-trap memory, Pancho punched out the numbers for each of the five astronauts' banks in turn, followed by their personal identification codes. Mother always said I should have been a musician, Pancho mused as she transferred almost the total amount of each account into her own bank account. She left exactly one international dollar for each of them, so the bank's computers would not start the complex process of closing down their accounts.

As she finished, the hatch at the other end of the habitation module swung open and her five fellow astronauts began to push through, one at a time.

"What's going on?" demanded the first guy through.

"Nothin'," Pancho said again. Then she dived through the hatch at her end of the long narrow module.

Into the j.a.panese lab module she swam, flicking her fingers along the equipment racks lining both sides of its central aisle, startling the technicians working there. Laughing to herself, she wondered how long it would take them to figure out that she had looted their bank accounts.

It didn't take very long. By the time Pancho had reached the galley once again, they were roaring after her, the men bellowing with outrage.

"When I get my hands on you, I'm gonna break every bone in your scrawny body!" was one of their gentler threats.

Even Amanda was so furious she lapsed back to her native working-cla.s.s accent: "We'll 'ang you up by your b.l.o.o.d.y thumbs, we will!"

As long as I can stay ahead of them, I'm okay, Pancho told herself as she skimmed through the European lab module and into the observatory section, ducking under and around the bulky telescopes and electronics consoles. They were still yelling behind her, but she wondered if all five of them were still chasing. By now there'd been plenty of time for one or more of them to pop into a suit and cut across the top of the tee-shaped station to cut her off.

Sure enough, when she barged into the Russian lab module, two of the guys were standing at the far end in s.p.a.cesuits, visors up, waiting for her like a pair of armored cops.

Pancho glided to a halt. One of the privacy unit screens slid back and a stubbled, bleary, puffy male face peered out, then quickly popped back in again and slid the screen shut with a muttered string of what sounded like Slavic cursing.

The other three-Amanda and two of the men-came through the hatch behind her. Pancho was well and truly trapped.

"What the f.u.c.k are you trying to pull off, Pancho?"

"You cleaned out our bank accounts!"

"We oughtta string you up, d.a.m.n you!"

She smiled and spread her hands placatingly. "Now fellas, you can't hang a person in microgee. You know that."

"This isn't funny," Amanda snapped, back to her faux-Oxford enunciation.

"I'll make rest.i.tution, okay?" Pancho offered.