Fuchs gave a little snort of disdain. “They’ll need years of testing before I’d buy one.”
As he wormed his hands into the gloves, George said, “Me too.”
Handing the bigger man his fishbowl helmet, Fuchs said, “Thanks for agreeing, George. It means a lot to me.”
George nodded solemnly. “I know. You two want to have kids.”
Fuchs’s cheeks reddened. “It’s not that!”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, not alone, no.” Fuchs looked away from George for a moment, then slowly admitted, “I worry about Amanda, yes. I never thought she would want to stay out here with me. I never thought I myself would be out here this long.”
“There’s a lot of money to be made here in the Belt. A lot of money.”
“Yes, yes indeed. But I worry about her. I want her to be in a safer place, with enough gravity to keep her from deconditioning.”
“And enough radiation shielding to start a family,” George said, grinning. Then he pulled on his helmet before Fuchs could think of a reply.
CHAPTER 2
Once George had cycled through Starpower 1’s airlock and jetted back to his own Waltzing Matilda, Fuchs went down the ship’s narrow central passageway to the compartment where his wife was working.
She looked up from the wallscreen as Fuchs slid the compartment door open. He saw that she was watching a fashion show beamed from somewhere on Earth: slim, slinky models in brightly colored gowns of outrageous designs. Fuchs frowned slightly: half the people of Earth displaced by floods and earthquakes, starvation rampant almost everywhere, and still the rich played their games.
Amanda blanked the wallscreen as she asked, “Has George left already?”
“Yes. And he agreed to it!”
Her smile was minimal. “He did? It didn’t take you terribly long to convince him, did it?”
She still spoke with a trace of the Oxford accent she had learned years earlier in London. She was wearing an oversized faded sweatshirt and cutoff work pants. Her golden blonde hair was pinned up off her neck and slightly disheveled. She wore not a trace of makeup. Still, she was much more beautiful than any of the emaciated mannequins of the fashion show. Fuchs pulled her to him and kissed her warmly.
“In two years, maybe less, we’ll have a decent base in orbit around Ceres with lunar-level gravity.”
Amanda gazed into her husband’s eyes, seeking something. “Kris Cardenas will be happy to hear it,” she said.
“Yes, Dr. Cardenas will be very pleased,” Fuchs agreed. “We should tell her as soon as we arrive.”
“Of course.”
“But you’re not even dressed yet!”
“It won’t take me a minute,” Amanda said. “It’s not like we’re going to a royal reception.” Then she added, “Or even to a party in Selene.”
Fuchs realized that Amanda wasn’t as happy as he’d thought she would be. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said, too quickly. “Not really.”
“Amanda, my darling, I know that when you say ‘not really’ you really mean ‘really.'”
She broke into a genuine smile. “You know me too well.”
“No, not too well. Just well enough.” He kissed her again, lightly this time. “Now, what’s wrong? Tell me, please.”
Leaning her cheek on his shoulder, Amanda said very softly, “I thought we’d be home by now, Lars.”
“Home?”
“Earth. Or even Selene. I never dreamt we’d stay in the Belt for three years.”
Suddenly Fuchs saw the worn, scuffed metal walls of this tiny coop of a cubicle, the narrow confines of the ship’s passageway and the other cramped compartments; smelled the stale air with its acrid tinge of ozone; felt the background vibrations that rattled through the ship every moment; consciously noticed the clatter of pumps and wheezing of the air fans. And he heard his own voice ask inanely:
“You’re not happy here?”
“Lars, I’m happy being with you. Wherever you are. You know that. But—”
“But you would rather be back on Earth. Or at Selene.”
“It’s better than living on a ship all the time.”
“He’s still at Selene.”
She pulled slightly away, looked straight into his deep-set eyes. “You mean Martin?”
“Humphries,” said Fuchs. “Who else?”
“He’s got nothing to do with it.”