Unless Greg and Paul can pull a rabbit out of the hat with their lunar nanotech demonstration. She knew Paul’s reasoning by heart. If Moonbase can be developed into a viable resource center, the costs of orbital manufacturing will drop by a factor of twenty. The two will be synergistic: as the manufacturing facilities in Earth orbit grow more profitable, their demand for raw materials will make Moonbase more profitable, too.
She looked up from the charts on her computer screen. And if we can use nanotechnology to build Moonbase faster and more cheaply, the nanotech division will begin to find markets on Earth, as well.
But it’s such a gamble, Joanna knew. It’s piling one shaky bet on top of another and even a third. With that disaster curve waiting for us, just three years ddwn the road.
She spent weeks thinking about the problem, discussing it with division managers and other members of the board of directors. She consulted experts from outside the company in finance, marketing, even forecasters of technological trends.
She did not tell either Paul or Greg what she was doing. They were happily working together and she had no intention of interfering or upsetting them.
Slowly, over many weeks, she gathered together a picture of what a prudent corporate leader would do. Sell off the divisions that were still marginally profitable, divisions that still had some market value. Drop the divisions that were not profitable. Lay off as many employees as you had to and downsize the corporation.
The only viable market that we can depend on, three years from now, is selling parts and maintenance services for the CUpperships. Maybe the Windowalls, but it’s too early to bank on that. We should be preparing the corporation for a smaller market, trim off all the excess fat and get ready for some leaner years. Ten years from now there will be a market for Clipperships again: new, bigger, more efficient Clipperships. But we’ve got to be able to last through the lean times in between then and now.
She knew Paul would never go for it. Would Greg? A few months ago he would, but now he seems completely on Paul’s side, ready to risk everything for the sake of this nanotech demonstration on the Moon.
Joanna mentally counted up the votes on the board of directors. If I suggest a downsizing plan it would pass, she realized. It would also break Paul’s heart and ruin our marriage.
But it would save Masterson Aerospace Corporation.
MARE NUBIUM
The damned ankle really hurts.
Paul limped along, trying to make up for the time he had lost by drifting off course. Like being on a pissin’ treadmill, he grumbled to himself. You keep humpin’ along but you aren’t getting anywhere. That’s why he had never liked gyms or exercise equipment, even when he had first pulled duty on the old space stations that hung in zero gee and exercise was required every day.
Get my exercise in bed, Paul had bragged. Keep my heart in good shape nature’s way. Keep my whole system pumpin’ good. Yeah.
He was panting now and that was a bad sign. Exhaustion. How long have I been out here? He lifted his left arm as he staggered along, but between the dust clinging to his visor and the blurriness of his vision he could not see the figures on the digital clock clearly.
Long enough, he said to himself. Too long.
One foot in front of the other. But the ankle really hurts. Can’t be a fracture, I wouldn’t be able to put any weight on it. Chipped bone, maybe. More likely a sprain. But a sprain shouldn’t hurt so much when you walk on it, should it? At least it makes me stop fussin’ the chafed heel on the other foot.
He remembered his grandfather’s grumbling remedy for a headache: “Drop an anvil on your toes.”
It’s really hot. Pissin’ suit’s cooling system must be breaking down. Feels like I’m draggin’ my ass across the Sahara Desert. Worse. At least there you have air to breathe.
A pang of fear raced through him like an electrical current. How much oxygen is left? How much time do I have?
He coughed. His throat was dry and scratchy as sandpaper. No more water left. Oxygen running out Suit’s filling with carbon dioxide. I’m gonna choke to death on my own pissin’ fumes.
Keep moving! he screamed at himself. Long as you can move you’ve got a chance. You must be getting close to the! tempo. It’s gotta be near here. Keep pushing.
The only good news was the chirping of the GPS signal in his earphones. Guide me in, you noisy little bird, Paul prayed silently. Keep talkin’ to me, you pile of germanium. Sing me a song.
He coughed again. Gettin’ hotter in here. No water left.
He stumbled on a loose rock and went down face first. Long years of training and experience took over and Paul put out his gloved hands, let his arms flex when they touched the dusty ground, and pushed himself to a standing position again. And saw, through his fogged and dust-smeared visor, a’ single red light glowing just above the abrupt horizon.
It’s a mirage, he told himself. You want to see it so pissin’ bad your brain is painting stupid pictures for you.
But then he thought, there’s no mirages on the Moon. Least, I never heard of one.
Blinking, limping, he stared at the red beacon. That’s the kind of light they put on top of an antenna mast at the tempos.
“That’s the tempo!” he shouted, his voice cracking into a choking, hacking cough.
He heard somebody cackling weirdly. Funniest thing in the world if you ran out of oxygen within sight of the tempo. Funniest thing in two worlds. Man, you could die laughing.
SAVANNAH
Looking back on it, Joanna realized it was inevitable that Paul would insist on going to the Moon for the nanotech demonstration.
“You don’t have to be physically there,” she told her husband, time and again.
“But I want to be,” Paul always countered.
Joanna tried every tactic she knew.
“You are much to valuable to the corporation to go running off to the Moon just to watch a demonstration project.”
Paul grinned at her. “Don’t worry. Madam Chairperson; I’m well insured. The corporation won’t get hurt financially if something happens to me.”
“But what about me? What about our baby?”
He hesitated at that. But then, “This is for the baby. Don’t you see? I want this demonstration to succeed. It’s got to succeed! The whole future of the corporation depends on it.”
“It will succeed or fail whether you’re there or not,” Joanna insisted.
“Maybe.”
“You’ve got a God complex!” she accused.
He shook his head, very seriously. “If I stay here and the demo screws up, I’ll blame myself for not being there to make sure it goes right.”
“That’s a God complex,” Joanna pointed out.
“That’s an experienced executive,” Paul retorted. “The crew always works better when the captain is on the bridge. Don’t you know that?”
“Sheer machismo.”
Since Greg was working so well with Paul, she turned to her son for support.
To her surprise, Greg agreed with Paul. “I think he ough to be there. This is a crucial experiment and we’ve got to do everything we can to make sure it comes out right.”
His newfound professional demeanor surprised and pleased her — except that his position on the matter was opposed to her own.
At dinner one evening at the house, Paul suggested that he go to Moonbase with him. “You’ve never been up there. You ought to see it.”
“You want me to go with you?” Greg asked. He looked a: surprised as Joanna felt.
“Sure,” said Paul. “Why not?”
“Oh no!” Joanna said. Firmly.
Paul was bubbling with preparations for the coming trip to Moonbase. He wants to go sobadly, Joanna understood at last His heart is there, in that godforsaken barren desolation. No here. Not with me.
Greg, she saw, was nowhere near as enthusiastic about travelling to the Moon as Paul was.