“I work for her,” Jinny said, “but I can’t say that I know her very well. Not socially.”

Kris Cardenas said, “Still, if we all want the same thing, we ought to present a united front.”

Fine by me,” said Jinny, delighted to have a Nobel prizewinner and her mentor as unexpected allies.

Greg’s face looked like a storm cloud, when he stepped into the reception area beneath the rocket landing pads.

“What’s the matter?” Joanna asked him.

“Jinny Anson,” he snapped.

“Jinny?”

“She’s on the incoming ship, with Cardenas and Zimmerman.”

“But she’s supposed to be in Houston.”

“She’s on the ship. She thought she’d sneak in here without my knowing it. Thought I wouldn’t bother checking the LTV’s manifest.”

Joanna immediately recognized the problem. Naturally Greg would be suspicious of having the former director of the base suddenly pop in for a visit. Especially when she hasn’t told anyone she’s coming or even asked permission to make the trip.

“They’ll be corning down in a few minutes,” Greg said, in a tight-throated whisper. “Flight control has locked in on them.”

Joanna nodded wordlessly, wondering what she could do or say to ease his misery.

“Where’s Doug?” Greg asked her.

“He went up to the observation bubble,” she said. “He likes to watch the spacecraft land.”

Greg made a sour face. Everything’s a game to Doug; just a big entertainment. Impatiently he went to the wall panel beside the hatch and flicked on the intercom.

“Fifteen… right down the pipe,” said the flight controller’s voice. “Ten… five…”

“Green light,” a different voice announced. The spacecraft’s pilot, Greg assumed.

“Touchdown confirmed.”

“Shutting down.”

“Base power connected. The snake’s on its way.”

Greg paced impatiently across the small room. Doug came in through the door from the flight control center.

“Hi, Greg,” he said.

His half-brother gave him a dark look in return. Joanna thought how strange it was that they could both wear the same color coveralls, but Doug’s sky-blue jumpsuit looked bright and sunny while Greg’s seemed somehow darker, more ominous.

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” Greg snapped.

“My doing? What?”

“Bringing Anson here.”

“Jinny Anson?” Doug looked genuinely surprised. “She’s aboard this ship?”

Greg waved a finger in Doug’s face. “Don’t play innocent with me, Doug. I know what you’re doing, you and your Operation Bootblack.”

“I didn’t know Jinny Anson was coming here until this moment,” Doug said evenly.

“You’re a liar!”

Joanna’s breath caught in her throat. Greg stood red-faced before his half-brother, slightly taller but much slimmer. Doug seemed stunned by the accusation, his face frozen with shock, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“That’s quite enough,” Joanna said, stepping between them. “I won’t stand for you two fighting like this.”

But Doug smiled and stepped back, his hands relaxing. “Honestly, Greg, I’m just as surprised as you are that Jinny’s come here. As for Operation Bootstrap, okay, we’re trying to make Moonbase profitable without costing you any cash flow. It’s all to your benefit, really.”

“Really?” Greg sneered.

“Really,” said Doug as pleasantly as a springtime breeze.

The airlock hatch’s signal-chikie interrupted them. Joanna and her two sons turned to the heavy metal hatch as the indicator light on its/panel turned from red to amber and one of the mission controllers came hustling into the reception area. She was a petite, almost frail-looking young woman, wearing the gray coveralls of the transportation division. Why do they give the heaviest jobs to the smallest kids? Joanna wondered. The hatch had to be swung open manually, and even though there was a pilot and co-pilot on this flight, standard procedure was for one of the controllers to be on hand to open the hatch from this side, if necessary.

It wasn’t necessary. As soon as the indicator light went from amber to green, the heavy metal hatch swung open. Joanna felt a slight stir of air in the reception room; the air pressure on the other side of the hatch had not exactly matched the pressure on this side.

The pilot pushed the hatch all the way open, grinning at the mission controller. “See,” he said, “there is a reason for carrying us up from Earth orbit, after all.”

“Then you ought to get paid as a doorman,” said the controller.

He wasn’t all that much bigger than she, Joanna realized. The pilot’s eyes widened when he recognized Greg. “Hey,” he said to the controller, “don’t talk that way in front of the boss.”

Greg forced a smile for them as they passed him, on their way to the flight control center. They didn’t recognize Joanna, apparently; at least the pilot didn’t.

Then Jinny Anson stepped through the hatch. Right behind her came Kris Cardenas and, finally, the lumbering form of Wilhelm Zimmerman.

For an awkward moment no one knew what to say. Greg looked like a smoldering volcano, Doug seemed nonplussed, and Joanna herself wondered what was going to happen.

Then Zimmerman broke the silence. “We seek asylum,” he said, with great dignity.

DIRECTOR’S OFFICE

“Let me get this straight,” Greg said. “You’re seeking political asylum? Here at Moonbase?”

“You are now under the legal jurisdiction of the nation of Kiribati, is that not so?” Zimmerman asked.

“Legally, yes,” said Greg.

“So! We seek asylum. Me from Switzerland, she from Canada.”

The six of them sat around the circular conference table in Greg’s office, where Greg had taken them immediately after their arrival. Joanna sat between her two sons, facing Anson across the table. Cardenas’ and Zimmerman’s luggage was still at the reception area, out at the rocket port.

“I don’t know if it’s political asylum or what,” said Kris Cardenas, “but we want the freedom to continue our research—”

“And our teaching,” interrupted Zimmerman.

Cardenas nodded. “And our teaching.”

“And you can’t do it Earthside?” Doug asked.

“Not once this treaty goes into effect,” said Zimmerman heavily. “All research on nanotechnology will be banned. Teaching also.”

Joanna saw the despair in his fleshy face. She had never considered how the nanotech treaty would affect researchers like Zimmerman and Cardenas.

Greg steepled his fingers before his face and looked at Anson. “Jinny, don’t tell me you’re seeking asylum, too.”

She grinned mischievously. “Nope. I just wanted to talk to you — and Mrs. Stavenger — about getting transferred to someplace where my husband can teach without the New Morality on his back.”

“What does he teach?” Joanna heard herself ask.

“English literature,” Anson replied. “Specializes in Marlowe — the Elizabethan, not the detective.”

No one laughed.

“Why don’t we invite him here?” Doug asked.

“Here?” Greg demanded. “To Moonbase? We can’t afford to carry nonproductive people here. What would we do with an English lit professor?”

“Start a university,” said Doug.

“What?”

Gesturing toward Zimmerman and Cardenas, Doug said, “We have two of the world’s greatest nanotech researchers, don’t we? Let Jinny’s husband teach English lit from here. Bring up a few other teachers and researchers. Moonbase can start its own university and people will pay good money to study here.”

“But the transportation costs,” Joanna pointed out.

Doug gave her a patient smile. “Mom, I’m studying at Caltech and the Sorbonne and the American University in Rome — all without leaving Moonbase. People on Earth can study with our faculty the same way.”

“Electronically.”

“Virtual reality, when you need it,” said Doug.

Greg seemed intrigued despite himself. “You mean we could make a profit out of a university?”