Joanna looked unconvinced. “Another report that says exactly what its readers want to hear.”

“The best consultants money can buy,” Paul said.

I’m sure.”

More seriously, Paul said, “I got a report from McPherson this afternoon.”

“About Gregory?” Joanna tensed visibly.

“He had terminal cancer of the prostate,” Paul told her. “That’s why he killed himself.”

She was silent for a long time. Paul let her absorb the information, sort out her feelings. He looked out at the clouds below, like a range of massive white mountains, but alive, dynamic, billowing up and reaching toward them. Above the clouds everything always seemed so much better, cleaner. The sun was always shining up here. The sky was always bright blue.

“Then he didn’t know about us, after all,” Joanna said at last.

“Or didn’t care. He had other problems.”

“He never had much of a tolerance for pain,” Joanna murmured, so low that Paul could hardly hear her over the engines. “His own pain, that is.”

“He killed himself to end his pain,” Paul said.

Joanna nodded, her face unreadable.

Paul heard a sudden burst of chatter in his earphone. He pulled the headset back on. “Masterson one-oh-one,” he said crisply into the pinhead microphone. “Repeat, please.”

“One-oh-one, mis is Masterson base. Paul, we just got word that Mr. Arnold’s plane has gone down.”

“What?”

Automatically, Paul reached for the intercom switch on the control panel and flicked it on, so Joanna could hear the radio transmission, too.

“Arnold’s plane is down. Over the Atlantic. Coast Guard’s sent out search planes, but they don’t expect any survivors.”

“What happened?” Paul demanded.

“Dunno. Got one Mayday transmission that said they’d lost power on both engines.”

“Holy God.”

They flew in silence for a while, Paul’s mind churning. Brad’s gone. That supersonic blowtorch of his has the glide ratio of a grand piano. Must have hit the water like a bomb. Gripes, what a blow!

But a part of his mind was thinking that with Arnold out of the way Greg had no one of real importance backing him on the board of directors. This strengthens my hand. A lot, he told himself.

He looked over at Joanna. She seemed lost in thought, also. Weighing the odds, he knew. Trying to figure out how the balance of power has shifted.

Just like I am.

The board meeting went on anyway. Most of the directors had come from considerable distances to attend the emergency meeting. The old days when the rich and powerful lived in or near New York were long gone. Now the directors came from Tucson and Aspen, Houston and Sarasota, Seattle and Hilo. Several had flown in from Europe and the Asian rim.

The vice chairperson, a white-haired superannuated woman who had once been the corporation’s director of personnel, seemed staggered when Paul told her that Arnold was dead.

“First Gregory and now Brad,” she whispered.

She easily agreed to let Paul run the meeting. Paul thought she was eager to escape the responsibility.

Leaving Arnold’s seat at the head of the table vacant, Paul convened the meeting and broke the news to the stunned board.

“My God,” said one of the older directors, his hair white, his skin gray. “Who’s next?”

“I move that we observe a minute of silence for our late chairman,” said Greg. He sat halfway down the table, wearing his usual black business suit. He had not even glanced at Melissa, sitting at the end of the table. Paul thought that either he really did hate her now, or they were putting on a damned good act.

Once the minute of silence ended, Paul said, “I suppose we should elect a new chairman right away.”

Heads bobbed agreement. Directors turned in their chairs, murmured to one another.

“I suggest we take a fifteen-minute break,” Paul said, “then reconvene to hear nominations.”

They didn’t even bother to vote; just pushed their chairs back and headed for the bar and snacks at the back of the meeting room. Paul saw that the directors clumped into knots of threes and fours. Plenty of whispered conversations. Plenty of sudden, desperate politicking.

Joanna came up to his side. “Do you have a nominee in mind?” she asked.

Surprised, Paul admitted, “No. I haven’t even thought about it.”

Before Joanna could say anything more, Greg stepped between them. “I need to talk to you,” he said to Paul, pointedly turning his back to his mother.

“You can talk to both of us,” Paul said, shifting sideways a step so that he was once more side by side with Joanna.

“Certainly,” Greg said tightly.

“So?” Paul prompted.

“You were out at the nanotech division, right?”

Paul nodded.

“Several board members want to shut it down.”

Joanna said, “It’s going to be years before it has any hope of showing a profit”

“Just like Moonbase,” Greg snapped.

“What’re you driving at?” Paul demanded.

“Just this. You vote to keep the nanotech division going and I’ll vote to keep Moonbase going.”

Paul blinked with surprise. “You’ll back Moonbase?”

“If you’ll back the nanotech division.”

Glancing at Joanna, Paul thought, This is the way a corporation goes broke; everybody’s got his own pet project that he wants to keep alive, so nobody kills anything and we all go down the tubes.

Almost as if he could read Paul’s thoughts, Greg said, “Kris Cardenas showed you the lunar construction demo, didn’t she?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, why don’t we pool our interests and set up a demonstration on the Moon?”

“Demonstration of what?” Joanna asked.

“Nanotech construction,” Greg told his mother. “Set up a construction task for the nanomachines at Moonbase. Use it to prove that we can build lunar facilities at a fraction of today’s costs.”

“I don’t understand,” Joanna said.

Feeling suddenly enthusiastic, Paul jumped in, “We can send a handful of nanomachines up to Moonbase and have them construct new facilities out of regolith materials.”

“Right,” said Greg.

“Can that be done? I mean, now? Today?”

“In a few months,” Greg replied.

Paul said, “If the demonstration works, we can cut the costs of Moonbase by half or more.”

“And prove to the world that nanotechnology has useful applications here and now,” Greg added.

Joanna looked from her son to her husband, then back again. “Greg, that’s — beautiful!”

“I think it can work,” Greg said. “I’m certain it could work.”

“You might be right,” Paul admitted. “Gripes, we could build a viable Moonbase right away and start making a profit off it within a couple of years.”

“Or sooner,” said Greg.

Joanna smiled happily. “This is a fine idea, Greg.”

“You’re right,” Paul agreed.

Greg put his hand out. “Can we work together on this? You and me, Paul?”

Grabbing his proffered hand in his own, Paul said, “Damned right.”

“Good,” said Greg, beaming. “And once the meeting reconvenes, I’ve got another little surprise for you.”

Paul looked at his wristwatch. “Hey, we’d better get them back to work.”

It took a few minutes to get the directors settled back in their chairs around the long conference table.

“All right,” Paul said. “Before we get into the regular agenda, we should take nominations for the new chairman of the beard.”

Greg spoke up immediately. “I nominate Joanna Masterson — er, Stavenger.” Paul stared at him.

“Second,” said the elderly woman vice-chair. She’s happy with the title she’s got, Paul thought; she doesn’t want any real responsibility.

“Move we close the nominations,” Greg said.

“Second.”

Numb with surprise, Paul looked at Joanna, sitting acrossthe table from him. She seemed just as shocked as he was. “Automatically, he called for discussion.

“Let’s go straight to a vote,” said the old man at Paul’s right.