The Precipice gt-8

by Ben Bova

  On the other side of the foyer was a single closed door. Pancho guessed that it opened onto the suite of offices and laboratories that the ecologists used. Would he have motion sensors set up in there? Probably not, she thought, but if he did… There must be a central control for the security system. Most likely in Humphries’s own bedroom or his office. His bedroom? Pancho grinned at the thought. That’s one room in the house where he’d have any motion sensors definitely turned off! Slowly, on tiptoes despite the thick carpeting, Pancho made her way up to the second floor. The master bedroom was easy to find: beautifully-carved double doors at the end of the hallway. She eased the door open. No sirens, no hooting klaxons. Could be silent alarms, she told herself, but if he’s dismissed the servants for the night he’ll have to come up here his own self, and I can handle that, easy. The room was sumptuous, and Humphries’s bed was enormous, like a tennis court. That bed could handle a whole squad of cheerleaders, she thought. Prob’ly has, Pancho told herself.

  Through a half-open door she saw a desktop computer, its screen saver showing some old master’s painting of a nude woman. As Pancho cautiously approached the door and eased it all the way open, the screen’s image dissolved into another painting of another nude. Huh! she grunted. Some art lover. Pancho sat at the desk and saw that the computer had a keyboard attached to it. Tentatively, she pecked at the ENTER key. The artwork vanished, and a honeywarm woman’s voice said, “Good evening, Mr. Humphries. The time is eighttwelve and I’m ready to go to work anytime you are.”

  Frowning, Pancho turned the audio down to zero. The screen displayed a menu of options. Hell, he doesn’t have any protection on his programs at all. She pictured Humphries at his computer, too impatient to deal with code words and security safeguards. After all, who’d have the balls to break into his home, his own bedroom?

  Grinning from ear to ear, Pancho delved into Martin Humphries’s computer files. It turned out that most of the individual file names were indeed coded and incomprehensible to her. So he does have some security built into his programs, she realized. Many of the files required special keywords. One, though, was labelled BED. Curious, Pancho called it up. The screen went blank, except for the words INITIATING HOLOTANK. An eye-blink later the screen announced STARTING HOLOTANK. Then the screen went to a blank gray, except for a bar across its bottom that bore video commands.

  Puzzled, Pancho saw a blur of color reflected off the blanked screen. Turning slightly in the desk chair, she saw that what had appeared to be a cylindrical glass objet d’art had metamorphosed into a hologram, a full-color three-dimensional moving picture of Humphries naked in bed with some woman. Son of a bitch, Pancho said to herself. He vids his own sex life. She watched for a few moments. They weren’t doing anything that unusual, or thrilling, for that matter, so Pancho touched the fast-forward button on the screen. It was downright funny watching Humphries and his women in fast-forward. He’s a Humper, all right, Pancho thought as she watched a succession of beautiful naked women performing arduously with him. She recognized the redhead from her first visit to the house. I wonder if they know they’re being videoed, she asked herself.

  After a half-dozen of Humphries’s home videos, Pancho got a little bored. She cut the program and returned to the screen’s menu of options, but she had new respect for the program labelled VR — PERSONAL. She looked into just one of its files for a few minutes, then angrily clicked it off, revolted. The nasty S. O. B. uses his bedmates as models for his virtual reality fantasies, she realized. What he can’t get them to do in real life he has them doing in his VR wet dreams. Creep!

  With a disgusted shake of her head she decided to leave Humphries’s sex life alone and started hacking into the other files.

  When she glanced at the digital clock in the corner of the screen, Pancho was shocked to realize that nearly two hours had elapsed. It had been a fruitful time, though. The Humphries Trust was now paying the rent on Susan Lane’s cryonic storage unit, a big burden off Pancho’s shoulders and a picayune pinprick in the Trust’s multibillion funds.

  Most of the files were incomprehensible to Pancho; some were technobabble and equations, lots of them were stock manipulations and business deals encoded in so much jargon and legalese that it would take a team of lawyers to decipher them. But now they all contained a new subroutine that allowed Pancho to tap into the files from a remote site. Codeword: Hackensack. Which was just what Pancho was preparing to do.

  Got to be careful, though, she warned herself. Don’t get greedy enough for him to recognize he’s being hacked. A man like Humphries’ll have you slapped into the slammer so fast it’ll break the sound barrier. Or he’ll just have somebody pay you a visit and rip out your arms.

  Satisfied with her work, Pancho closed down the computer and left Humphries’s office, careful to leave the door ajar just the way she’d found it. As she made her way downstairs, she wondered if Mandy and Humphries were still at dinner, after all this time.

  They were. Peeking in on the dining room, Pancho saw the remains of some fancy dessert melting in their dishes, and half-empty flutes of champagne sparkling in the subdued light from the crystal chandelier above the table. Mandy was saying, “… it’s certainly beautiful, Martin, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I can’t accept it. Really, I can’t.”

  Pancho crept closer, staring. Humphries held an open jewelry case in one hand. It contained a stunning sapphire necklace.

  “I got it specially for you,” he was saying, his voice almost pleading. “Martin, you’re a dear man, but I can’t get myself involved in a relationship now. You of all people should understand that.”

  “But I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll be heading off on the mission in a few months. I might never come back.”

  “All the more reason to grab whatever happiness we can now, while we can.” Amanda looked genuinely distressed. Shaking her head, she said, “I simply can’t, Martin. I can’t.”

  In a gentle whisper he said, “I could have you removed from the mission. I could see to it that you stay here, with me.”

  “No. Please…”

  “I could,” he repeated, stronger. “By god, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “But I don’t want you to,” Amanda said, alarmed. “You don’t have to go through with it,” Humphries insisted. “I know it’s dangerous. I had no idea that you’re afraid of-”

  “Afraid!” Mandy snapped. “I’m not afraid! Simply because I understand the risks involved does not mean that I’m afraid.”

  Humphries puffed out an exasperated breath. “Then you’re using the mission as an excuse to keep your distance from me, is that it?”

  “No!” Amanda said. “That’s not it at all. I simply…” Her voice trailed off into silence.

  “Then what’s wrong?” Humphries asked. “What’s the problem? Is it me?” She stared down at the table for a long, miserable, silent moment. Pancho thought she saw tears glistening in Mandy’s eyes. The expression on Humphries’s face was somewhere between bafflement and anger.

  “Martin, please,” Amanda said at last. “We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. You’re a very wonderful man in many ways, but I’m not ready for a meaningful relationship. Not now. Not with this mission coming up. Perhaps afterward, when I return, perhaps then.”

  Humphries pulled in a deep breath. It seemed obvious to Pancho that he was trying to control his temper.

  “I’m not a patient man,” he said, his voice low. “I’m not accustomed to waiting.” No, Pancho thought. What you’re accustomed to is taking your women up to your bedroom and videoing the whole thing for playback. And then VR games. “Please bear with me, Martin,” Amanda whispered, her voice husky with tears.

  “Please.”

  If he tries to get rough with Mandy, Pancho told herself, I’ll kick his balls into next week. She wished she’d brought Elly, but the stealth suit was too confining for the snake; she’d left Elly back at
her quarters.

  Humphries snapped the jewelry case shut with a click that sounded like a gunshot.

  “All right,” he said tightly. “I’ll wait. I wish I’d never started this fusion business.”

  Amanda made a sad smile. “But then we’d never have met, would we?” He conceded the point with a hopeless shrug, then got up and led Amanda to the front door of the house.

  “Will I see you again?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

  “It might be best if we don’t, Martin. Not until after I return.” He nodded, grim-faced. Then he grasped both her wrists and said, “I love you, Amanda. I really do.”

  “I know,” she said, and kissed him swiftly, lightly, on the cheek. She hurried down the walk away from him so quickly that Pancho almost didn’t make it through the door before Humphries slammed it shut.

  LIVING QUARTERS

  Pancho had to sprint up the escalators to get back to the quarters she shared with Amanda before Mandy did. Twice she nearly stumbled and fell; it wasn’t easy to run up moving stairs when you can’t see your own feet. It was late enough that the corridors were not crowded. Pancho easily dodged around the few people still up and about, leaving a couple of them bewildered as she brushed past them; they felt certain that someone had just rushed by, yet there was no one in sight. She got to their quarters well ahead of Amanda, powered down the stealth suit as soon as she slid the door shut behind her, stripped to her skivvies, and stuffed the suit under her bed. Elly was snoozing comfortably in her plastic cage, actually a box that still smelled faintly of the strawberries it had carried from China to Selene. Pancho had packed it with several centimeters of gritty regolith dirt, stuck in an artificial cactus, and kept a saucer of water in it for Elly’s comfort.

  She was kneeling beside the plastic box, pouring fresh water into the saucer when Amanda came in.

  Pancho looked up at her roommate. Mandy’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying.

  “How’d your date go?” she asked, innocently. Looking troubled, Amanda said, “Oh, Pancho, I think he wants to marry me.”

  Pancho got to her feet. “He’s not the marrying kind.”

  “He’s been married. Twice.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  Amanda sat on her bed. “He… he’s different from any other man I’ve ever met.”

  “Yeah. He’s got more money.”

  “No, it isn’t that,” Amanda replied. “He’s…” She searched for a word.

  “Horny?” Pancho suggested.

  Amanda frowned at her. “He’s powerful. There’s something in his eyes… he almost frightens me.”

  Thinking about Humphries’s home videos, Pancho nodded.

  “I can’t see him again. I simply can’t.”

  She sounded to Pancho as if she were trying to convince herself. “He’s so accustomed to getting whatever he wants,” Amanda said, more to herself than Pancho. “He doesn’t like being turned away, rejected.”

  “Nobody does, Mandy.”

  “But he…” Again her words faltered. “Pancho, with other men I could smile and flirt and let it go at that. But Martin won’t be satisfied with that. He wants what he wants, and if he doesn’t get it he can be… I just don’t know what he’d do, but he frightens me.”

  “You think he wants to marry you?”

  “He said he loves me.”

  “Aw hell, Mandy, guys have said that to me, too. All they want is to get into your pants.”

  “I think he really believes that he loves me.”

  “That’s a strange way to put it.”

  “Pancho, I can’t see him again. There’s no telling what he might do. I’ve got to stay away from him.”

  Pancho thought that Amanda looked scared. And she’s got plenty to be scared of, she told herself.

  First thing the following morning, Pancho phoned Dan Randolph and asked to meet with him. One of Randolph’s assistants, the big beefy-faced guy with the sweet tenor voice, said he’d call her back. In five minutes, he did. Randolph would see her in his office at ten-fifteen.

  Astro Corporation’s offices were just down the corridor from the living quarters that the company rented. In most corporations, executive country was conspicuously more luxurious than the regular troops’ territory. Not so at Astro. There was no discernible difference along the length of the corridor. As she walked along the row of doors, looking for Randolph’s name, Pancho decided that she wouldn’t tell him about the stealth suit. She’d returned it first thing that morning to Walton’s locker. Ike knew nothing of her borrowing the suit; if there was any bad fallout, he couldn’t be blamed for anything. Randolph looked tense when Pancho was ushered into his office by the big Aussie she’d talked to on the phone.

  “Hi, boss,” she said brightly.

  It was a small office, considering it belonged to the head of a major corporation. There was a desk in one corner, but Randolph was standing by the sofa and cushioned chairs arranged around a coffee table on the opposite side of the room. Pancho saw that the walls were decorated with photos of Astro rockets launching from Earth on tongues of fire and billowing smoke. Nothing personal. No pictures of Randolph himself or anyone else. Pancho grinned inwardly when she saw that Randolph’s desk was cluttered with papers, despite the computer built into it. The paperless office was still a myth, she realized.

  Gesturing to the sofa, he said, “Have a seat. Have you had breakfast?” Instead of sitting down, Pancho asked, “Is that a trick question? Astro employees are up at the crack of dawn every day, boss, and twice on Sundays.” Randolph laughed. “Coffee? Tea? Anything?”

  “Can I use your computer for a minute?” she asked.

  He looked puzzled, but said, “Sure, go ahead.” Louder, he called, “Computer, guest voice.”

  Pancho went to the desk and leaned over the upright display screen. She gave her name and the computer came to life. Within a few seconds, she waved Randolph over to look at the screen.

  He peered at the display. “What the hell’s that?”

  “Martin Humphries’s personal menu of programs.”

  “Humphries?” Randolph sank into his desk chair.

  “Yep. I hacked into his machine last night. You can tap in anytime you want.”

  Randolph looked up at Pancho, then back at his screen. “Without his knowing it?”

  “Oh, he’ll figger it out sooner or later, I guess. But right now he doesn’t know it.”

  “How the hell did you do this?”

  Pancho smiled at him. “Magic.”

  “H’mp,” Randolph grunted. “It’s a shame you couldn’t do this a few days earlier.”

  “How come?”

  “We’re partners now.”

  “You and Humphries? Partners?”

  “Humphries, Selene and Astro. We’ve formed a limited partnership: Starpower, Limited.”

  “Hot spit! Where can I buy stock?”

  “It’s not public. Duncan and his people will get a block of shares, but otherwise, it’s Humphries, me, and the good citizens of Selene. It should help keep Selene’s taxes down, if it works.”

  Feeling a bit disappointed, Pancho grumbled, “Oh, just the big boys, huh?” Randolph gave her a sly grin. “I suppose,” he said, running a finger across his chin, “that we’ll award a few shares here and there, for exceptional performances.”

  “Like piloting a bird to the Belt and back.”

  Randolph nodded.

  “Okay,” Pancho said, with enthusiasm. “Meanwhile, you can poke into Humphries’s files anytime you want to.”

  Randolph cleared the screen with a single, sharp, “Exit.” To Pancho, he said, “You’re wasting your time jockeying spacecraft. You make a mighty fine spy, kid.”

  “I’d rather fly than spy,” she said.

  Randolph looked at her. He’s got really neat eyes, she thought. Gray, but not cold.

  Deep. Flecked with gold. Nice eyes.

  “I’m not sure that I want to poke into Humphries’s
files,” he said.

  “No?”

  “A man named Stimson was the U. S. Secretary of State back a century or more ago,” Randolph said. “When he found out that the State Department was routinely intercepting the mail from the foreign embassies in Washington he stopped the practice. He said, ‘Gentlemen do not read each other’s mail.’ Or something like that.”

  Pancho snorted. “Maybe you’re a gentleman, but Humphries sure ain’t.”

  “I think you’re half right.”

  “Which half?”

  Instead of answering, Randolph tapped a button on the phone console. The big Australian came through the door from the outer office almost instantly. “You two know each other?” Randolph asked. Without waiting for a reply from either of them, he said, “George Ambrose, Pancho Lane.”

  “Pleased,” said Big George. Pancho made a quick smile. “George, who do we have who can download a complete hard drive without letting the hard drive’s owner know it?”

  Big George glanced at Pancho, then asked, “You want this done as quiet as possible, right?”

  “Absolutely right.”

  “Then I’ll do it meself.”

  “You?”

  “Don’t look so surprised,” George said. “I used to be an engineer, before I hooked up with you.”

  “You were a fugitive from justice before you hooked up with me,” Randolph countered.

  “Yeah, yeah, but before that. I came to the Moon to teleoperate tractors up on the surface. My bloody degree’s in software architecture, for chrissakes.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Randolph said.

  “Well now you do. So what needs doing here?”