It wasn’t necessary. As soon as the indicator light went from amber to green, the heavy metal hatch swung open. Joanna felt a slight stir of air in the reception room; the air pressure on the other side of the hatch had not exactly matched the pressure on this side.
The pilot pushed the hatch all the way open, grinning at the mission controller. “See,” he said, “there is a reason for carrying us up from Earth orbit, after all.”
“Then you ought to get paid as a doorman,” said the controller.
He wasn’t all that much bigger than she, Joanna realized. The pilot’s eyes widened when he recognized Greg. “Hey,” he said to the controller, “don’t talk that way in front of the boss.”
Greg forced a smile for them as they passed him, on their way to the flight control center. They didn’t recognize Joanna, apparently; at least the pilot didn’t.
Then Jinny Anson stepped through the hatch. Right behind her came Kris Cardenas and, finally, the lumbering form of Wilhelm Zimmerman.
For an awkward moment no one knew what to say. Greg looked like a smoldering volcano, Doug seemed nonplussed, and Joanna herself wondered what was going to happen.
Then Zimmerman broke the silence. “We seek asylum,” he said, with great dignity.
DIRECTOR’S OFFICE
“Let me get this straight,” Greg said. “You’re seeking political asylum? Here at Moonbase?”
“You are now under the legal jurisdiction of the nation of Kiribati, is that not so?” Zimmerman asked.
“Legally, yes,” said Greg.
“So! We seek asylum. Me from Switzerland, she from Canada.”
The six of them sat around the circular conference table in Greg’s office, where Greg had taken them immediately after their arrival. Joanna sat between her two sons, facing Anson across the table. Cardenas’ and Zimmerman’s luggage was still at the reception area, out at the rocket port.
“I don’t know if it’s political asylum or what,” said Kris Cardenas, “but we want the freedom to continue our research—”
“And our teaching,” interrupted Zimmerman.
Cardenas nodded. “And our teaching.”
“And you can’t do it Earthside?” Doug asked.
“Not once this treaty goes into effect,” said Zimmerman heavily. “All research on nanotechnology will be banned. Teaching also.”
Joanna saw the despair in his fleshy face. She had never considered how the nanotech treaty would affect researchers like Zimmerman and Cardenas.
Greg steepled his fingers before his face and looked at Anson. “Jinny, don’t tell me you’re seeking asylum, too.”
She grinned mischievously. “Nope. I just wanted to talk to you — and Mrs. Stavenger — about getting transferred to someplace where my husband can teach without the New Morality on his back.”
“What does he teach?” Joanna heard herself ask.
“English literature,” Anson replied. “Specializes in Marlowe — the Elizabethan, not the detective.”
No one laughed.
“Why don’t we invite him here?” Doug asked.
“Here?” Greg demanded. “To Moonbase? We can’t afford to carry nonproductive people here. What would we do with an English lit professor?”
“Start a university,” said Doug.
“What?”
Gesturing toward Zimmerman and Cardenas, Doug said, “We have two of the world’s greatest nanotech researchers, don’t we? Let Jinny’s husband teach English lit from here. Bring up a few other teachers and researchers. Moonbase can start its own university and people will pay good money to study here.”
“But the transportation costs,” Joanna pointed out.
Doug gave her a patient smile. “Mom, I’m studying at Caltech and the Sorbonne and the American University in Rome — all without leaving Moonbase. People on Earth can study with our faculty the same way.”
“Electronically.”
“Virtual reality, when you need it,” said Doug.
Greg seemed intrigued despite himself. “You mean we could make a profit out of a university?”
“Of course!” said Zimmerman. “We can make this miserable collection of caves into a great intellectual center!”
Greg turned to his mother questioningly.
Joanna leaned close enough to whisper into his ear, “Don’t fight it. Take the credit for it.”
He smiled and thought, As long as Kiribati doesn’t sign the U.N. treaty, I can start the university here and transfer it to the islands when I close Moonbase.
Melissa had easily eluded Rashid’s attempts at romance during their first dinner together in his tent She had talked nothing but business, and learned more about the rumors of building a new type of Clippership out of diamond, using nanomachines. Rashid, ardently wanting to impress her, had blithely laid out everything he had heard about the scheme at her feet.
His reward was a brief kiss goodnight and the vague promise of delights to come.
Melissa dared not report back to General O’Conner or her cohorts at the Urban Corps headquarters in Atlanta. The only communications links on the storm-ravaged atoll belonged to Masterson Corporation; she wasn’t prepared to take the risk of being overheard.
Instead, she tried to think out a plan of action for herself. The nanotech scheme had to be stopped, preferably nipped in the bud. Greg Masterson must be behind it, she reasoned. He always was fascinated with nanotechnology. Another reason to ban it everywhere.
If they actually succeeded in making this breakthrough in spacecraft manufacturing with nanotechnology it would be a body blow to the U.N. treaty. Greg could sit up there at Moonbase and build spacecraft and make billions. These people here in Kiribati would get rich. Then they would start using nanomachines to manufacture other things: automobiles, perhaps; aircraft, certainly. Who knew what else?
The nanotech treaty would be a shambles, a mockery. All because this little island nation could be bribed into resisting the will of the people, the mandate of God.
All because of Greg, she knew. He’s sitting up there, above us all, laughing at us. Laughing at me. I’ve got to stop Greg, Melissa told herself. I’ve got to tear him down from his throne in the sky. I’ve got to wipe out Moonbase.
Her only tool, she realized, was Rashid.
He invited her to dinner the next night, but she refused. Again the following night, and she refused again. But by the third night, Melissa had done enough research into Rashid’s own personal and corporate life so that the beginnings of a plan had started to form in her mind. When he oh-so-casually asked her if she would like to keep him company during dinner, she accepted.
His answering smile pleased her.
In place of candles, Rashid’s tent was lit by battery-powered fluorescent lamps. His table was still meager, supplies had to be flown in from Hawaii, yet Melissa could see the effect he was trying to create: a romantic dinner for two, alone from the rest of the world.
Instead of the usual slacks and shin, Rashid wore a flowing white robe with gold embroidery, and a cloying musky cologne that made Melissa’s nostrils twitch. She half expected to hear reedy Middle-eastern music; instead, the background was the rhythmic beating of the surf against the reef out beyond the island.
“And how is your wife today?” Melissa asked coyly as they sat at the folding table facing each other.
Rashid smiled blandly. “I’ve been much too busy to speak with her today. I’ll call tomorrow.”