Almendes nodded soberly. "Exactly. Until the mission is complete or is a failure, the launch pad belongs to Man's Hope International. We have been forced to refuse actual offers, because none of your people at Alcântara had the authority to complete the contracts."
Frank nodded. "Well, here is my proposal, gentlemen. I suggest that Man's Hope International surrender the launch pad to the Brazilian government without waiting for the mission to be completed. At the same time, we would sign a separate contract awarding another, for-profit company exclusive license to operate the launch pad, and perhaps even the entire launch site, in exchange for a share of the profits."
Joao's smile was cold. This was business. "And why should we license it at all? Why shouldn't it be operated by the Space Agency, as the rest of it is at present?"
Frank smiled. "For a couple of reasons, Joao. First, you won't be receiving the pad until the mission is complete, which may not be for several years. For now, I have access and control, by contract. If I wished, I could start sweeping up those launches you've had to refuse, and launch them myself, without paying you a centavo. And my lawyers could delay the surrender for as much as several years past the actual end of the mission, which would prolong the time when I could be profiting.
"But as a businessman, I know that the best deals are those where both parties benefit. When there is a winner and a loser, there is one unhappy party.
"Secondly, and with all due respect to Senhor Almendes, you gentlemen are government. The function that government performs best is oversight and enforcement. Frankly, governments make very poor businessmen. That's why so many government-owned businesses fail, and have to be continually bailed out by the government that runs them. Example A is the U.S. Postal Service, which loses money every year, while its private competitors grow larger and more profitable every year."
Almendes winced slightly. The Space Agency was not exactly a cash cow for Brazil.
"So, what you get, what Brazil gets, is an almost immediate revenue stream, with professional management, with the Space Agency overseeing and enforcing the contract. Both sides do what they do best, and both sides profit. No unhappy parties. In fact, if we took over management of the entire complex, I would not be surprised if your present profits increased dramatically."
Joao's smile had turned predatory. "And why should we not simply put the contract out for bids, instead of just giving it to you?"
Frank shook his head. "Come on, Joao. You know better than that. We still have a contract, for as long as I can drag it out. Yes, you will gain the launch pad eventually, but the surrender is dependent upon the simultaneous license contract or the long drag through the courts. Oh, we'll lose eventually, but we'll have gained several years' revenue, and you'll have lost the same."
Frank shrugged. "You gentlemen know me, now. You know that I do not lie, and that I am as honest as the laws allow me to be. I leave my proposal in your hands. There is no particular hurry, so please, take the time to consider every side.
"By the way," he added, "Man's Hope International will be establishing its international headquarters here in Brasilia." He grinned. "My head lawyer hates that. He wanted to put it in Rio."
Both of the other men chuckled. "All right, Frank," said Joao. "We'll look over your proposal. We know where to contact you."
"Do you think they'll go for it?" Susan asked as they emerged from the building.
Frank nodded. "They'll go for it. They know I'm not out to cheat them, and that my word is good. Besides, it must have really hurt Gilberto to have to turn down multimillion-dollar launch contracts. The deal is good, and Joao knows it. They'll go for it. Eventually. First, though, they have to sell it to the President, and a bunch of lawmakers."
***
The crew's living quarters were constantly expanding, now, as they continued to dig ice to feed the atmosphere plant. They had long ago used up the ice piled near the core stage fuel plant, so they were also digging ice to feed that.
They had discussed digging tunnels to join the living quarters with the fuel plant, but David was concerned about possible accidents, especially with the explosive mix of oxygen and hydrogen in such abundance. He ordered that any digging be done in directions away from the other holes.
As they approached perihelion, the point in the comet's orbit closest to the Sun, they kept a constant, close watch for vents opening over their expanding living and work areas. The ice plug sealing in the ship had been thickened, but that was little comfort.
Surprisingly, it was Raoul who came up with a partial answer.
Raoul's training was medical and psychological, not technical. When discussions turned to scientific or engineering subjects, he usually remained silent, trying to learn from those more technically trained then himself. But this time . . .
"Excuse me," he said, as they were discussing the ice-heating problem for the thousandth time. "I'm sure this will be a stupid idea, but I remember during our mission training, it was mentioned that even though people talk about the 'cold' of space, space actually has no temperature at all. They told us that sunlight hitting, or not hitting surfaces was what made them 'hot' or 'cold'."
"That's right, Raoul," Ron said in a slightly condescending tone. "That's why it can be blazing hot in the sunlight, and freezing cold in the shadow of an ice crag only a meter away."
Raoul ignored the tone. "Yes, they also said that without an atmosphere to carry the temperature, there could be hundreds of degrees' difference between light and shadow."
This time, David nodded.
"Well," Raoul continued, "the answer, uh, couldn't be something as simple as a sunshade, could it?"
Ron opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it. He, Yuri, and David exchanged glances.
"I'll be goddamed," David roared. "All we need is a goddam parasol! Raoul, you're a damned genius!"
Within hours, the ice plug, and the Hope itself, were sheltered by their four tarps. Ice temperature measurements taken inside and outside the shade of the tarps showed variations of hundreds of degrees.
There was no way to shield the huge core stage tank, and its top grew boiling hot. But its own shadow protected the ice surrounding the work tunnel. For once, David was glad they had not yet been able to build very high gas pressures within the immense tanks. At least they didn't have to worry about the heat expanding the gas enough to burst or split the tank.
Adventure settled in to work, and work became drudgery. But David knew that the crew needed to stay busy; that boredom was their greatest enemy. Boredom led to carelessness, and carelessness in space could kill them. Besides, they were sure they would need the increased maneuverability the core stage rockets gave them. Yuri had carefully inspected the rockets' venturis, and pronounced them safe for further use. The crew was counting the hours until they emerged from behind the Sun.
When Dolf announced they had passed perihelion, the crew threw a party. Dolf rigged the Hope's main computer to broadcast a selection of the crew's music to their helmets, and placed the helmets in such a way that their globular shapes created barely-adequate amplifiers, of a sort. But it was enough to create a festive atmosphere. Precious soft drinks were passed around, and the crew relaxed, chatted, played games on their tablets, and even sang along with some of the songs. By all measures, the party was a huge success. The tension level and their sense of isolation both declined markedly.
Still, the time dragged, as they had known it would. Their ability to communicate with Earth, and to receive Earth broadcasts, had been much more comforting than they had realized. Here, they were totally isolated. Intellectually, they had all known that once beyond Low-Earth-Orbit, they had been beyond the reach of help. But now, the knowledge was not just intellectual. The complete lack of anything but static on Dolf's comm panel was somehow very threatening.