The Precipice by Ben Bova. Part two

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

Randolph smiled tiredly at her in the fading light. “Sure, go right ahead.”

“I’ve heard rumbles that you were—well, that Astro’s got money problems.”

Randolph hesitated a moment. Then, “Corporations always have money problems.”

“I mean, like, you’re purty close to broke.”

“Pretty close,” he admitted.

“Then why’re you sinkin’ all this money into the fusion ship?”

The light was dying fast. Pancho could barely see his face. But she heard the determination in his voice.

“Two reasons, kid,” he said. “First, if it works, Astro can get first licks at the Belt. Our stock will zoom up, our profits will skyrocket, and the only money problem I’ll have is how to spend all the cash flowing in.”

Pancho said nothing, waiting for his second reason.

“And also,” Randolph went on, “opening up the Belt is crucial for the human race’s survival.”

“You really think so?”

He stopped walking and turned toward her. “We can’t take much more of this climate warming, Pancho. Millions have died already, tens of millions. But the worst is yet to come. If Greenland goes—”

“And Antarctica,” she interjected.

“And Antarctica,” he agreed. “If they melt down, civilization drowns. Billions will die, not just from the floods but from starvation and disease. We can’t support the Earth’s population now, for god’s sake! There’s famine in half the world, and it’s getting worse, not better.”

“You think the asteroids can help?”

“We need those natural resources. We have to rebuild our industrial base, rebuild our wealth.”

“In space.”

“Yep. Where we should’ve been building for the past half-century.”

Pancho made a low whistle. “That’s a big order, boss.”

“You’re damned right it is. But if we fail, the human race fails. Only a handful of people will live through this, and they’ll be thrown back to a pre-industrial level. Subsistence farming. No electricity. No machinery. No medicines.”

“The Middle Ages.”

“More like the Stone Age,” Randolph grumbled.

“That’s why you’re hangin’ everything on this flight to the Belt.”

She couldn’t see his face in the deepening darkness, but she sensed him nodding.

“Everything I’ve got,” he said flatly.

Everything he has. The enormity of it suddenly hit Pancho like an avalanche. He’s risking everything he has on this flight, his whole company, his whole life. He’s willing to gamble everything he’s worked for and built up over his lifetime on this one mission. And he’s trusting me to fly it for him. Me.

The responsibility felt like the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Lemme ask you somethin’ else,” Pancho said, her voice trembling slightly. “Why’d you pick me to make this flight? You’ve got lots of other pilots with more experience.”

Randolph chuckled softly. “More experience, sure. But they’ve got families to support. Spouses. Kids.”

I’ve got a sister, Pancho thought. But she said nothing.

“Besides,” Randolph went on, “none of them have your abilities.”

“My abilities?”

“Listen, kid, I went through every scrap of data on every pilot in Astro’s employ and quite a few who aren’t on the company’s payroll. You came out on top. You are the best we’ve got.”

Pancho felt suddenly breathless. Hell, I know I’m good, but am I really that good?

“Before you ask for a raise,” Randolph said, “I’ve got to tell you that my personnel people don’t agree with me. They think you’re a flake.”

“Whattaya mean, a flake?” Pancho demanded.

“The rap on you, kid, is that you’re not serious. You like to take risks, play games.”

“Not with my flyin’.”

“Oh no? Like the time you raced Wally Stinson from Selene to the Farside site?”

“Aw, c’mon, I was only havin’ some fun,” Pancho protested. “Wally let his testosterone do his thinkin’ for him.”

“And this bet a few months ago about vacuum breathing?”

“That was just a hoot.”

He chuckled in the growing darkness, but then said, “You’re a gambler, Pancho. That scared the hell out of the personnel gurus.”

“I won’t gamble with your fusion ship,” she said firmly.

Randolph was silent for a few heartbeats, then he said, “I know you won’t, Pancho. That’s why I picked you to fly her.”

“What about Amanda?” she heard herself ask. “She’s better’n me, isn’t she?”

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