The Rock Rats

“It sounds ridiculous,” Humphries said. “How reliable is this information?”

The aide let a wintry smile cross her tempting lips. “Quite reliable, sir. The prospectors are all talking about it, back and forth, from one ship to another. They’re chattering all across the Belt about it.”

“It still sounds ridiculous,” Humphries grumbled.

“Beg to differ, sir,” said the aide. Her words were deferential, but the expression on her face looked almost smug. “It makes a certain amount of sense.”

“Does it?”

“If they could build a habitat and spin it to produce an artificial gravity that approaches the grav field here on the Moon, it would be much healthier for the people living out there for months or years on end. Better for their bones and organs than sustained microgravity.”

“H’mmph.”

“In addition, sir, the habitat would have the same level of radiation shielding that the latest spacecraft have. Or even better, perhaps.”

“But the prospectors still have to go out into the Belt and claim the asteroids.”

“They are required by law to be present at an asteroid in order for their claim to be legal,” the aide agreed. “But from then on they can work the rock remotely.”

“Remotely? The distances are too big for remote operations. It takes hours for signals to cross the Belt.”

“From Ceres, sir,” the aide said stiffly, “roughly five thousand ore-bearing rocks are within one light-minute. That’s close enough for remote operations, don’t you think?”

Humphries didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of admitting she was right. Instead he replied, “Well, we’d better be getting our own people out there claiming those asteroids before the rock rats snap them all up.”

“I’ll get on that right away,” said the aide, with enough of a smile curving her tempting lips to show that she had already thought of it. “And mining teams, too.”

“Mining operations aren’t as urgent as claiming the stupid rocks.”

“Understood,” she said. Then she added, “The board meeting is this morning at ten. You asked me to remind you.”

He nodded. “Yes, I know.” Without another word he tapped the keypad on the nightstand and her wallscreen image winked off.

Slumping deeper into the pillows, he heard the woman who’d spent the night in his bed singing in the shower. Off-key. Well, he said to himself, music isn’t her best talent.

Fuchs. The thought of Lars Fuchs pushed all other notions out of his mind. He’s out there with Amanda. I never realized she’d stay out in that wilderness with him. She doesn’t belong there, living in a crummy ship like some gypsy, some penniless drifter wandering out there in the empty wastes. She should be here, with me. This is where she belongs.

I made a mistake with him. I underestimated him. He’s no fool. He’s not just prospecting and mining. He’s building an empire out there. With Pancho Lane’s help.

The young woman appeared at the bathroom door, naked, her skin dewy and flawless. She posed enticingly and smiled for Humphries.

“Do we have time for one more? Are you up to it?” Her smile turned just a tad impudent.

Despite himself, Humphries felt stirred. But he said gruffly, “Not now. I’ve got work to do.”

And he thought, This twat could get possessive. I’d better transfer her to some job back on Earth.

Martin Humphries drummed his fingers impatiently on his desk, waiting for the lame-brained techs to make all the connections so the board meeting could get underway.

After all these years, he fumed to himself, you’d think that setting up a simple virtual reality meeting with a half-dozen idiots who refuse to leave Earth would be an easy matter. He hated waiting. He loathed being dependent on anyone or anything.

Humphries refused to leave Selene. His home was on the Moon, he told himself, not Earth. Everything he wanted was here in the underground city, and what wasn’t here could be shipped to Selene upon his order. He had fought Selene’s legal system to a standstill to prevent them from exiling him back to Earth.

Earth was crippled, dying. The greenhouse flooding had wiped out most coastal cities and turned hundreds of millions of people into homeless, starving wanderers. Farmlands withered in droughts while tropical diseases found fresh territories in what used to be temperate climates. Electrical power grids everywhere faltered and sputtered lamely. A new wave of terrorism unleashed man-made plagues while crumbling nations armed their missiles and threatened nuclear war.

It’s only a matter of time, Humphries knew. Despite all the efforts by the so-called world government, despite the New Morality’s fundamentalism and relentless grip on the political reins of power, despite the suspension of individual freedoms all across the globe, it’s only a matter of time until they start nuking each other into extinction.

Safer here on the Moon. Better to be away from all that death and destruction. What was it Dan Randolph used to say? When the going gets tough, the tough get going—to where the going is easier.

Humphries nodded to himself as he sat in his high-backed chair. He was alone in his sumptuous office, a mere twenty meters from his bedroom. Most of Humphries Space Systems’ board members also lived in Selene now, yet hardly any of them were allowed into the house. They stayed in their own homes, or came to the HSS offices up in the Grand Plaza tower.

Damned waste of time, Humphries grumbled to himself. The board’s just a rubber stamp, anyway. The only member who ever gave me any trouble was Dad, and he’s gone now. Probably trying to tell St. Peter how to run heaven. Or more likely arguing with Satan in hell.

“We’re ready now, sir,” said his aide’s silky voice in the stereo earplugs Humphries wore.

“Then do it.”

“Are your goggles in place, sir?”

“I’ve been wearing my contacts for damned near fifteen minutes!”

“Of course.”

The young woman said nothing else. An instant later, the long conference table that existed only in Humphries’s computer chips sprang into existence before his eyes, each seat filled by a board member. Most of them looked slightly startled, but after a few seconds of turning in their chairs to see if everyone was there, they began chatting easily enough with one another. The half-dozen who were still on Earth were at a disadvantage, because it took nearly three seconds for signals to make the round-trip from Moon to Earth and back again. Humphries had no intention of holding up the proceedings for them; the six old farts had little power on the board, no need to worry about them. Of course, they each had a lot to say. Humphries wished he could silence them. Permanently.

He was in a foul mood by the time the meeting ended, cranky and tired. The meeting had accomplished nothing except very routine decisions that could have been made by a troop of baboons. Humphries called for his aide over the intercom phone. By the time he had gone to the lavatory, slipped his VR contacts out of his eyes, washed his face and combed his hair, she was standing in his office doorway, wearing a cool powder blue pantsuit accented with asteroidal sapphires.

Her name was Diane Verwoerd, born of a Dutch father and Indonesian mother, a teenaged fashion model in Amsterdam when her dark, sultry looks first attracted Humphries’s notice. She was a little on the skinny side, he thought, but he paid her way through law school anyway and watched her climb his corporate ladder without ever once succumbing to his attempted seductions. He liked her all the more for her independence; he could trust her, rely on her judgment, which was more than he could say about the women who did flop into his bed.

Besides, he thought, sooner or later she’ll give in. Even though she knows that’ll be the end of her job in my office, she’ll crawl into bed with me one of these nights. I just haven’t found the right motivation for her yet. It’s not money or status, I know that much about her. Maybe power. If it’s power she’s after, she could be dangerous. He grinned inwardly. Playing with nitroglycerine can be fun, sometimes.

Keeping those thoughts to himself, Humphries said without preamble as he stepped back to his desk, “We need to get rid of the rock rats.”

If the statement surprised her, Verwoerd showed no hint of it. “Why should we?” she countered.