In a very small voice, Amanda said, “It’s my fault, actually.”
Dan looked at her.
“Martin…” she hesitated, then said, “Martin doesn’t want me to go on the mission. I’m sure he’s had some influence on Dr. Greenleaf’s position.”
Pancho explained, “He’s bonkers about Mandy.”
Dan asked, “And how do you feel about him, Amanda?”
“Trapped,” she replied immediately. “I feel as though there’s nowhere on Earth I can go to get away from him. Or the Moon, for that matter. I feel like a trapped animal.”
Dan left the two women and went to his office. As he slipped into his desk chair he commanded the phone to locate his chief counsel, the woman who headed Astro’s corporate legal department.
The phone computer system found her on the ski slopes in Nepal. Her image was faint and wavered noticeably. She must be holding her wrist communicator in front of her face, Dan thought. He could see a bit of utterly blue sky behind her. She was in ski togs, polarized sun goggles pushed up on her forehead, and not at all happy about being buzzed by the boss.
“What in the nine billion names of God are you doing in Nepal?” Dan asked, irritated. Then he had to sit, fuming, for the few seconds it took for his message to reach the lawyer and her reply to get back to him.
“Trying to get in some skiing while there’s still snow left,” she snapped, equally irked.
“Skiing?”
“I do get some vacation time now and then,” she said, after the usual pause. “This is the first time I’ve taken any since lord knows when.”
Through gritted teeth, Dan explained the IAA inspector’s decision to her.
“You could appeal,” she said, once she understood the situation, “but that would take longer than running the uncrewed test flight he wants you to do.”
“Couldn’t we ask for another hearing, a different inspector?” Dan demanded. “This guy’s a New Morality fanatic and they’re dead-set against space exploration.”
The lawyer’s face hardened when she heard Dan’s words. “Mr. Randolph,” she said, “I am a member of the New Morality and I’m not a fanatic. Nor am I against space exploration.”
Feeling surrounded by enemies, Dan said, “Okay, okay. So I exaggerated.”
She said nothing.
“Can we claim an asteroid with an uncrewed spacecraft?”
“No one can claim ownership of any body in space,” her reply came back. It was what Dan had expected. Then she went on, “No planet, moon, comet, asteroid—no celestial body of any kind. That’s been international law since the Outer Space Treaty of 1967, and subsequent amendments and protocols.”
Trust a lawyer to use two dozen words when one will do, Dan groused to himself.
She went on, “Individuals are allowed to have exclusive use of part or all of a celestial body, for the purpose of establishing a human habitation or extracting natural resources. In that instance, corporations are regarded as individuals.”
“So could Astro Corporation claim use of an asteroid that an uncrewed spacecraft rendezvouses with?”
Nearly three seconds later she replied, “No. Such a claim can only be made by humans on the scene of the claim itself.”
“But the double-dipped spacecraft would be under human control, remotely, from Selene.”
Again the lag, and again the answer, “No, Dan. It’s not allowed. Otherwise corporations would be able to send miniprobes all over the solar system and claim everything in sight! It would be like the efforts to patent segments of DNA and living organisms, back around the turn of the century.”
“So an uncrewed test flight wouldn’t do us any good at all,” he said.
Once she heard his question, the lawyer answered, “That’s a decision that you’ll have to make, Dan. I’m just a lawyer; you’re the CEO.”
“Thanks a lot,” Dan muttered.
Martin Humphries had not bothered to chase after the IAA inspector. What was the point? The young bureaucrat had done precisely what Humphries had wanted. Barely able to hide his satisfaction, he rode the moving stairs down to his home deep below the Moon’s surface.
It’s all working out very neatly, he congratulated himself as he walked along the corridor toward the cavern. Just enough delay to break Randolph’s back. Astro’s stock is in the toilet, and the other major shareholders will be glad to sell once they hear that the asteroid mission has to be postponed for more testing. By the time they finally get the mission going, I’ll own Astro and Dan Randolph will be out on his ass.