SELENE
Pancho had no trouble getting through customs this time. The same inspector went through her bags perfunctorily, not even blinking at the mice in their sealed plastic cage.
But he paid elaborate attention to Amanda. Pancho groused to herself as the inspector carefully went through Amanda’s travel bag, alternately grinning at Mandy and reddening as he saw her lacy underclothes.
He’d strip-search her if he could find the slightest excuse, Pancho thought, fuming.
Mandy simply stood on the other side of the table, looking wide-eyed and innocent while she kept up a constant nervous chatter.
“I don’t know why they always go through my bag, Pancho. I really don’t. You’d think that after all these times we’ve come to Selene they would simply let me pass through without all this bother.”
“He went through my bag, too, Mandy,” Pancho replied.
“Yes, but he didn’t paw through your underwear.” Grinning with gritted teeth, Pancho said, “Yours are a lot purtier than mine.”
The inspector kept his head down as he searched diligently through Amanda’s one piece of luggage, but Pancho could see the back of his neck turn beet red.
“All the other passengers have already gone through,” Amanda noticed. “We’re the last ones.”
“The rest of ’em are either up here to start a long-term work contract or they’re tourists. We come and go all the time, so we could be smugglers.”
“Smugglers?” Amanda looked shocked. “Us? Me?” Pancho reached across the table and tapped the inspector on the shoulder. “Ain’t that right? What’re you looking for, dope or contraband seeds or maybe illegal bottles of air?”
The inspector mumbled something incomprehensible.
At last he finished and pushed the bag back across the table toward Amanda.
“There you go, Ms. Cunningham. Sorry to have delayed you. I’m just doing my job, miss.”
Amanda thanked him politely as she zipped her bag shut and hefted it to her shoulder. Pancho saw that the inspector couldn’t help but stare at Mandy’s expansive chest. Even in a standard-issue flight suit she looked sexy.
Visibly working up his courage, the inspector said, “Um… Ms. Cunningham… could I take you out to dinner some time while you’re here?” He made a sweaty smile. “To, uh, make up for inconveniencing you and all.”
Mandy smiled sweetly at him. “Why, that would be lovely. Call me, won’t you?”
“I sure will!”
Pancho seethed as the two of them left the customs station and headed for one of the electric carts that carried new arrivals through the tunnel from the spaceport into the underground city. He asked me to dinner when I was alone, but with bimbo boobs here he never even saw me. I could’ve carried the Eiffel Tower up here and he wouldn’t have noticed.
The message light was blinking on their phone by the time they got to the quarters they were sharing. When Pancho had first come to work for Astro Manufacturing, six years earlier, pilots still got private quarters when they worked on the Moon. Not any more. The rumor back at La Guaira was that Randolph was going to rent a dormitory area for the spacecraft pilots and crews.
Why not just fire all of us? Pancho wondered. If Randolph had any real sense he’d talk the IAA into getting rid of their stupid regulations about keeping human crews aboard the ships.
Yeah, fine, she answered herself. Then what do you do? Get a job as a mission controller? Fat chance!
As soon as they opened the door to their quarters and saw the phone blinking on the nightstand between their two beds, Amanda dropped her bag on the floor; it landed with a gentle lunar thump as Mandy stretched out on the bed and put the handset to her ear.
With a surprised look on her face, Mandy held the phone out to Pancho. “It’s for you,” she said, as if she didn’t really believe it.
Pancho took the handset and saw on the phone’s tiny console screen that the caller was Martin Humphries. Rather than activate the speaker, Pancho put the handset to her ear.
“Pancho, is that you?” Humphries’s voice said, sounding annoyed. “You’re standing outside the camera view.”