shoot payloads off its surface with an electric catapult. That makes it real cheap.”
“And the raw materials are there. Aluminum, silicon, titanium, iron …”
“But how much will it cost to set up a mining operation on the Moon?” the youngster asked. “How long will it take? How much will that electric catapult cost and how soon can you have it in operation?”
“As soon as I goddamned can,” Paul said. Meaning, As soon as I can get the board of directors to put up the money I need to get Moonbase up and running.
The younger man nodded, unimpressed.
“In the meantime,” Paul said, “I want you to get the Windowall operation through development and into production. We can make enough money off that to keep your alloy processing going.”
Joanna was still in the sleeping bag when he returned to their quarters. She was awake, though, and looking almost healthy.
“It’s all right if I keep still,” she told Paul. “But as soon as I move my head, even a little bit, everything starts spinning.”
“I guess this was a lousy idea,” he said, hovering a few inches from her. For a moment he felt as if he were floating above her as she lay cocooned in the mesh sleeping bag, and a shudder of erotic heat flashed through him. He forced his feet into the restraining loops on the deck and his perspective shifted immediately; he was standing in front of her and she was pale and despondent.
“No, it was a
wonderful
idea. I’m just not cut out to be an astronaut.”
Paul disagreed. “It’s only a matter of adjustment. If we stayed up here for a week you’d be fine.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Your body’s already adjusting to zero gee. You’ve grown at least an inch taller.”
“Have I?”
“Look at the cuffs of your pants,” he said. Then quickly, “No, don’t bend your head down. But your sleeves are shorter now, too. See?”
“I really have grown taller,” Joanna said.
“Everybody does in zero gee. The spine unbends and you gain an inch or two. Your waist gets slimmer, too.”
“But my head feels so stuffed.”
“Mine too. The sinuses can’t drain the way they do on Earth. Zero gravity means no post-nasal drip.”
“I wish there was something I could take to make me feel better,” she said.
“The transdermal patches haven’t worked?”
“I don’t think so,” Joanna said, fingering the flesh-colored circular patch behind her ear. “Or maybe they are working and I’d feel even worse without them.”
He sighed. “I could call for a Clippership to take us back tonight.”
“No,” Joanna said firmly. “You’re not going to spend a few million dollars just to pamper me.”
He grinned at her. “Who else should I pamper?”
Before she could answer the phone buzzed. Paul reached across the tiny cubicle to the computer keyboard built into the bulkhead and tapped a key.
Bradley Arnold’s florid face appeared on the display screen.
“Ah, I got the two of you together,” he said, smiling widely. “Good.”
“What is it, Brad?” Joanna asked. Paul was surprised at the sudden strength in her voice.
“I’ve had a long talk with Greg. Did you know he’s been—ah, seeing—Melissa Hart?”
“Is that why you called?” Paul asked, annoyed.
“No, no, no. Not at all. But Greg and I had a long talk, almost a father-son talk, you might say.”
The man is a monument to poor taste, Paul thought.
“How is he?” Joanna asked.
Arnold blinked his frog’s eyes twice. “He seems to be bearing up well. Physically, he’s fine.”
Sure; he’s getting physical therapy from Melissa, Paul growled to himself.
“He wants to have a meeting with you, Paul,” Arnold went on. “To discuss the videodisk.”
“Discuss it? What do you mean?” Paul asked.
“Greg hasn’t decided whether or not to take the disk to the police. He wants to talk it over with you before he makes that decision.”
Paul felt alarmed. There’s more going on here than Brad’s telling us.
But
“And the raw materials are there. Aluminum, silicon, titanium, iron …”
“But how much will it cost to set up a mining operation on the Moon?” the youngster asked. “How long will it take? How much will that electric catapult cost and how soon can you have it in operation?”
“As soon as I goddamned can,” Paul said. Meaning, As soon as I can get the board of directors to put up the money I need to get Moonbase up and running.
The younger man nodded, unimpressed.
“In the meantime,” Paul said, “I want you to get the Windowall operation through development and into production. We can make enough money off that to keep your alloy processing going.”
Joanna was still in the sleeping bag when he returned to their quarters. She was awake, though, and looking almost healthy.
“It’s all right if I keep still,” she told Paul. “But as soon as I move my head, even a little bit, everything starts spinning.”
“I guess this was a lousy idea,” he said, hovering a few inches from her. For a moment he felt as if he were floating above her as she lay cocooned in the mesh sleeping bag, and a shudder of erotic heat flashed through him. He forced his feet into the restraining loops on the deck and his perspective shifted immediately; he was standing in front of her and she was pale and despondent.
“No, it was a
wonderful
idea. I’m just not cut out to be an astronaut.”
Paul disagreed. “It’s only a matter of adjustment. If we stayed up here for a week you’d be fine.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Your body’s already adjusting to zero gee. You’ve grown at least an inch taller.”
“Have I?”
“Look at the cuffs of your pants,” he said. Then quickly, “No, don’t bend your head down. But your sleeves are shorter now, too. See?”
“I really have grown taller,” Joanna said.
“Everybody does in zero gee. The spine unbends and you gain an inch or two. Your waist gets slimmer, too.”
“But my head feels so stuffed.”
“Mine too. The sinuses can’t drain the way they do on Earth. Zero gravity means no post-nasal drip.”
“I wish there was something I could take to make me feel better,” she said.
“The transdermal patches haven’t worked?”
“I don’t think so,” Joanna said, fingering the flesh-colored circular patch behind her ear. “Or maybe they are working and I’d feel even worse without them.”
He sighed. “I could call for a Clippership to take us back tonight.”
“No,” Joanna said firmly. “You’re not going to spend a few million dollars just to pamper me.”
He grinned at her. “Who else should I pamper?”
Before she could answer the phone buzzed. Paul reached across the tiny cubicle to the computer keyboard built into the bulkhead and tapped a key.
Bradley Arnold’s florid face appeared on the display screen.
“Ah, I got the two of you together,” he said, smiling widely. “Good.”
“What is it, Brad?” Joanna asked. Paul was surprised at the sudden strength in her voice.
“I’ve had a long talk with Greg. Did you know he’s been—ah, seeing—Melissa Hart?”
“Is that why you called?” Paul asked, annoyed.
“No, no, no. Not at all. But Greg and I had a long talk, almost a father-son talk, you might say.”
The man is a monument to poor taste, Paul thought.
“How is he?” Joanna asked.
Arnold blinked his frog’s eyes twice. “He seems to be bearing up well. Physically, he’s fine.”
Sure; he’s getting physical therapy from Melissa, Paul growled to himself.
“He wants to have a meeting with you, Paul,” Arnold went on. “To discuss the videodisk.”
“Discuss it? What do you mean?” Paul asked.
“Greg hasn’t decided whether or not to take the disk to the police. He wants to talk it over with you before he makes that decision.”
Paul felt alarmed. There’s more going on here than Brad’s telling us.
But
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