The Precipice

LUNAR ORBIT

She looks better now, doesn’t she?” Dan asked as their jumper coasted toward the fusion-powered spacecraft. Pancho nodded her agreement. The ship was still utilitarian, not sleek, but now the starkness of the bare engine system by itself was dwarfed by six huge, gleaming spherical propellant tanks. Big white letters stenciled along the cylindrical crew module identified the craft as STARPOWER 1; the logos of Astro Corporation, Humphries Space Systems and Selene adorned one of the propellant tanks. The jumper was little more than an ordinary lunar transfer buggy with an extra set of tankage and a bigger rocket engine for ascents from the Moon’s surface into lunar orbit and descents back to the ground again. Dan and Pancho wore tan Astro coveralls as they rode in the bulbous glassteel crew module, standing with their booted feet anchored in floor loops because seats were not needed for this brief, low-g flight. An instrument podium rose at the front of the module, its controls standing unused, since the vessel was being handled by the flight controllers back at Armstrong. Still, Dan felt good that Pancho was a qualified pilot. You never know, he thought.

As they approached the fusion-powered vessel, Pancho whistled at the size of the propellant tanks. “That’s a lot of fuel.”

“Tell me about it,” Dan said ruefully. “I’ve had to default on two helium-three contracts with Earthside power utilities to fill those double-damned tanks.”

“Default?”

Nodding, Dan said grimly, “Two steps closer to bankruptcy.”

Pancho decided to change the subject slightly.

“So what’ve you decided to do about the long-duration test?” Pancho asked.

Dan shook his head. “I’ve spent the past four days pulling every wire I know.”

“And?”

“Nothing so far. Zip. Nobody’s going to lift a finger to go against the IAA.”

“So you’ll have to do the test flight?”

Running a finger across his chin, Dan said reluctantly, “Looks that way.”

“Then why are we takin’ this ride?”

The shadow of a smile crossed Dan’s face. He was thinking of the time, many years earlier, when he had briefly become a privateer, a pirate, hijacking uncrewed spacecraft for their cargoes of ore. It had started as a desperation ploy, the only way a frustrated Dan Randolph could force open the space markets that had been closed by monopolists. He had won his war against monopoly and opened the solar system to free competition among individuals, corporations and governments. But at a price. His smile faded as he remembered the people who had died fighting that brief, unheralded war. He himself had come to within a whisker of being killed.

“So?” Pancho prodded, “Is this a joyride or what?”

Putting his thoughts of the past behind him, Dan replied, “I want to see the crew module for myself. And we’re going to meet the planetary geologist that Zack Freiberg’s picked out for us.”

“The asteroid specialist?”

“Yep. He’s aboard the ship now. Came up to Selene yesterday and went straight to the ship. He slept aboard last night.”

Pancho huffed. “Eager beaver. College kid, I bet.”

“He’s got a mint-new degree from Zurich Polytech.”

The flight controllers brought the jumper to a smooth rendezvous with Starpower 1. While Dan and Pancho stood watching, the little transfer buggy linked its airlock adapter section to the hatch of the bigger vessel. They floated through the womb-like adapter to the fusion ship’s airlock hatch.

The airlock opened into the midsection of the crew module. To their left, Dan saw the accordion-fold doors of a half-dozen privacy compartments lining the passageway. Further up were the galley, a wardroom with a table and six small but plush-looking chairs, and — past an open hatch — the bridge. To their right was the lavatory and a closed hatch that led to the equipment and storage bays. Dan headed left, toward the galley and the bridge.

“Chairs?” Pancho asked, looking puzzled, as they pushed weightlessly past the wardroom, floating a few centimeters above the deck’s carpeting. “You’ll be accelerating or decelerating most of the way,” Dan pointed out. “You won’t be spending much time in zero-g.”

She nodded, looking disappointed with herself. “I knew that; it just didn’t latch.” Dan understood how she felt. He’d seen the layout of the crew module hundreds of times, viewed three-d mockups and even walked through virtual reality simulations. But being in the real thing was different. He could smell the newness of the metal and fabric; he could reach his hand up and run his fingers along the plastic panels of the overhead. The bridge looked small, but shining and already humming with electrical power.

“Where’s our college boy?” Pancho asked, looking around.

“That would be me, I suppose,” said a reedy voice from behind them. Turning, Dan saw a husky-looking young man gripping the edges of the open hatch with both hands. He was a shade shorter than Dan, but broad in the shoulders, with a thick barrel chest. The build of a wrestler. His face was broad, too: a heavy jaw with wide, thin lips and small, deepset eyes. His hair was cropped so close to his skull that Dan couldn’t be sure of its true color. He wore a small glittering stone in his left ear-lobe, diamond or zircon or glass, Dan could not tell. “I heard you enter. I was in the sensor bay, checking on the equipment,” he said in a flat midwestern American accent, pronounced so precisely that he had to have learned it in a foreign school.

“Oh,” said Pancho.

“I am Lars Fuchs,” he said, extending his hand to Dan. “You must be Mr.

Randolph.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Fuchs.” Fuchs’s hand engulfed his own. The young man’s grip was strong, firm. “This is Pancho Lane,” Dan went on. “She’ll be our pilot on the flight.”

Fuchs dipped his chin slightly. “Ms. Lane. And, sir, I am not Dr. Fuchs. Not yet.”

“That’s okay. Zack Freiberg recommends you highly.”

“I am very grateful to Doctor Professor Freiberg. He has been very helpful to me.”

“And my name is Dan. If you call me Mr. Randolph it’ll make me feel like an old man.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to offend you, sir!” Fuchs said, genuinely alarmed.

“Just call me Dan.”

“Yes, sir, of course. And you must call me Lars.” Turning to Pancho, he added, “Both of you.”

“That’s a deal, Lars,” said Pancho, sticking out her hand. Fuchs took it gingerly, as if not quite sure what to do. “Pancho is a woman’s name in America?”

She laughed. “It’s this woman’s name, Lars old buddy.”

Smiling uneasily, Fuchs said, “Pancho,” as if testing out the name. “You handle weightlessness very well,” Dan said. “From what Zack told me, this is your first time off-Earth.”

Fuchs said. “Thank you, sir… Dan. I came up last night so I could adapt myself to microgravity before you arrived here.”

Pancho smiled sympathetically. “Spent the night makin’ love to the toilet, huh?”

Looking flustered, Fuchs said, “I did retch a few times, yes.”

“Ever’body does, Lars,” she said. “Nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

“I am not ashamed,” he said, his chin rising a notch.

Dan moved between them. “Have you picked out which cabin you want for yourself? Since you were first aboard you get first pick.”

“Hey,” Pancho griped, “I’ve been aboard this buggy before, you know. So has Amanda.”

“The privacy compartments are all exactly alike,” Fuchs said. “It doesn’t matter which one I get.”

“I’ll take the last one on the left,” Dan said, peering down the passageway that ran the length of the module. “It’s closest to the lav.”

“You?” Pancho looked surprised. “Since when are you comin’ on the mission?”

“Since about four days ago,” Dan said. “That’s when I made up my mind… about a lot of things.”