So what? We’ll use the resources of space to solve all those problems. Energy? We’ll build solar power satellites, beam energy from space to wherever it’s needed. Raw materials? We’ll mine the Moon and the asteroids; there’s more natural resources in space than the whole Earth can provide. Food production?
Well, that would be a tough one. We all knew that. But with enough energy and enough raw materials we could irrigate the croplands that were being desiccated by the climate shift.
Yeah, sure. And when half the world’s major cities got flooded out, what did we do? What could we do? When the electrical power grid got shattered, what did we do? When earthquakes and tsunamis wiped out the heart of Japan’s industrial capacity, what did we do? Diddley-squat. When this quake flattened the midwest, what did we do? We tried to help the survivors and Jane got herself killed in the attempt.
The office door banged open and a huge, red-bearded man pushed in, carrying an ornately-carved teak tray laden with steaming dishes. In his massive hands the tray looked like a little child’s toy.
“Teresa says you’ve got to eat,” he announced in a high, sweet tenor as he set the tray on Dan’s desk.
“I told her I’m not hungry.”
“You can’t fookin’ starve yourself. Eat something.”
Dan glanced at the tray. A steaming bowl of soup, a salad, a main course hidden under a stainless steel dome, a carafe of coffee. No wine. Nothing alcoholic.
He pushed the tray toward the red-haired giant. “You eat it, George.”
Pulling one of the upholstered chairs up close to the desk, Big George looked his boss in the eye and pushed the tray back toward Randolph.
“Eat,” he said. “It’s good for ya.”
Dan stared back at George Ambrose. He’d known Big George since he’d been a fugitive on the Moon, hiding out from the Selene City authorities with a handful of other free souls who styled themselves the Lunar Underground. Big George was Dan’s personal bodyguard now; he wore custom-tailored suits instead of patched coveralls. But he still looked like a barely-tamed frontiersman: big, shaggy, the kind of man who could gleefully pound your head down into your ribcage with no personal malice at all.
“Tell you what,” Dan said, feeling a reluctant smile bend his lips a little ‘I’ll split it with you.”
George grinned back at him. “Good thinking, boss.”
They ate in silence for several minutes, George gobbling the entire main course, which turned out to be a thick slab of prime rib. Dan took a few spoonfuls of soup and nibbled at the salad.
“Better than the old days, huh?” George said, still chewing prime rib. Fookin’ soyburgers and recycled piss for water.”
Dan ignored the younger man’s attempt to jolly him. “Has Teresa gone home?” he asked.
“Nope.”
Nettled, Dan glanced at his wristwatch. “She’s not my nursemaid, double-damn it. I don’t want her hovering over me like—”
“That Humphries bloke is still waitin’ to see you,” George said.
“Now? He’s out there now? It’s almost nine o’clock, for chrissakes. What’s wrong with him? Is he stuck here because of the storm? Doesn’t Teresa have the smarts to put him up in one of the guest suites?”
George shook his shaggy head. “He said he’ll wait until you’re ready to see ‘im. He did have an appointment, y’know.”
Dan let his breath out in a weary sigh. I just got back from the funeral and they expect me to stick to a schedule made out weeks ago.
“Teresa says he’s makin’ her nervous.”
“Nervous?”
“He’s comin’ on to her. I can see it meself.”
Frowning, Dan muttered, “Teresa can take care of herself.”
“The voice of experience?” George grinned.
“He’s been hitting on her all the time he’s been waiting for me?”
“Want me to shoo ‘im off?” George asked.
For a moment Dan relished the image of George hustling his visitor out of the building. But then he realized that the man would simply come back tomorrow. I’ll have to get back to business, he told himself. Can’t avoid it forever.
“Take the tray out,” he said to Big George,” and show this Humphries guy in.”