Joanna’s eyes widened briefly.

Quickly, Greg said, “If he’s out at the remote site, maybe the communications link isn’t there for a transmission to Earth.”

“He could relay a call through,” Joanna said.

“If anything had happened, we’d hear about it right away,” Greg said. “There’s nothing to worry about, really.”

With a weary sigh, Joanna said, “He knows I worry about him every time he goes into space. To him it’s fun, exciting. But it frightens me so!”

“He should have called you,” Greg agreed. “It’s not very sensitive of him to leave you here worrying about him.”

Joanna studied her son from across the dining table. Greg’s a grown man, she told herself. He’s matured so much in the past few months. Could he take the reins of the company if anything happened to Paul? Could the two of us handle all that responsibility?

“There’s no reason to be frightened,” Greg was saying. “After all, Mom, you went to the space station with him, didn’t you?”

“Once,” she said.

“It wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

“I was sick as a dog every minute,” Joanna said.

Greg laughed. “Really? I heard rumors about that but I didn’t believe them. I guess it wasn’t much of a honeymoon for you, then.”

“Did you tell Melissa to seduce Paul?” Joanna blurted, surprised to hear herself ask.

Greg flinched with surprise. “Tell Melissa? Me? I wouldn’t even speak to the bitch.”

“Do you really hate her that much?”

His face twisting, Greg snarled, “She was one of Dad’s concubines. Did you know that? Then she switched to Paul. And then she came on to me. She’s nothing but a slut.”

“You told me that she wanted your baby,” Joanna said. “Perhaps she really loved you.”

“Love? What’s love got to do with it? It’s nothing but her biological clock ticking. She’ll have a baby with whoever she can talk into bed. Maybe she’ll have Paul’s baby.”

“I’m having Paul’s baby,” Joanna whispered.

His mouth dropped open. His eyes flared. “What did you say?”

“I’m pregnant. You’re going to have a brother.”

Greg’s face went white. Trembling visibly, he pushed his chair away from the table and tried to stand up. The effort seemed too much for him.

“You… you’re going to have his baby?” Greg was panting as if he had run a thousand meters. “His baby?”

Joanna nodded solemnly.

“Abort it! Get rid of it!”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can’t have his baby,” Greg seemed about to dissolve in tears. “Don’t you see? It’s the last straw! The final nail in my coffin.”

“No,” Joanna said. “It won’t be like that.”

“The hell it won’t! He’ll want to give the corporation to his own son, not to me!” Greg howled. “He’ll push me out of the way, and you’ll help him!” Just then the butler came in with the main course.

“Get out!” Greg screamed at him. “Get out of here!”

Wide-eyed, the butler looked to Joanna. She nodded and he disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Greg, dear,” she said soothingly, “try to calm down. This isn’t going to change anything between us.”

“It changes everything!” he snapped. “I got Brad out of the way just to make sure. But what good is that now?”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“His baby! You’re going to give him a son so he can get rid of me once and for all. He murdered my father and now you’re helping him to kill me! Even after he’s dead he’ll still be killing me!”

Greg lurched to his feet, swung one fist across the table and knocked china and glassware crashing to the floor. Joanna jerked with sudden fear. Her son was standing over her, fists clenched, murderous rage boiling through him.

“I knew he was out to get me, but I didn’t think you would help him!”

“No one’s out to get you, Greg,” Joanna said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “Now sit down and—”

“You’re all against me! All of you! Brad, him, even you. But you’ll see. I’m smarter than he is. Smarter than all of you. He’ll never come back to you. Never! I’m going to be the master here, not him!”

He reached over the table and grabbed the vase with his flowers. “I’m going to destroy him. Like this!” And, raising the glass vase over his head, he smashed it on the table top. It shattered into bits, water and flowers exploding from it.

Joanna sat there, paralyzed with shock and fear. Greg’s insane, she thought. He’s homicidal.

Shaking his fist at her, Greg bellowed, “He’s not coming back to you. He’ll never leave the Moon. Never!”

Terrified, Joanna gasped, “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see,” he repeated. “You’re either with me or agains me now. You’ve got to decide. You get rid of my little brother and we can live just as happy as we were before Paul took you away from me. Otherwise…”

Joanna stared at her son, barely recognizing this wild-eyei maniac who stood over her so threateningly.

Abruptly, Greg strode out of the dining room, turning at the doorway to shout, “It’s your decision. Him or me. Then he left.

Joanna realized the butler was standing at the doorway to the kitchen, white-faced. She shooed him back into the kitchen.

What have I done? Joanna asked herself, looking over the dripping shambles of the dining table. I worked so hard to bring them together and now…

Greg’s gone insane. He hates me because I’m going to have Paul’s baby.

Paul wants to be on the Moon and Greg hates the sight of me, Joanna said to herself. I’m all alone. They’ll both leave me and I’ll be all alone.

No, she realized. Not alone. I have a new life within me. I’m not alone.

MARE NUBIUM

Like a madman Paul tottered on toward the glowing red beacon atop the tempo’s communications mast. Dragging his bad leg, staggering, gasping the last fumes of oxygen left in his tank, he pushed himself single-mindedly toward the safety that lay so tantalizingly just beyond the short lunar horizon.

It’s just over the horizon, he told himself. You can make it. Just over the horizon.

You know what the horizon is? taunted a voice in his head. An imaginary line that recedes as you approach it.

World peace is just over the horizon. Fusion energy is just over the horizon. The answer to all your prayers — just over the pissin’ horizon.

Through his smeared, fogged visor Paul saw that beckoning red eye rising higher and higher. He could not make out the mast itself against the black lunar sky, but he knew that with each step he was closer to safety.

Unless it’s a pissin’ star, that sardonic voice jeered at him. You could be heading for Mars, for all you know.

No, dammit, it’s the tempo. Gotta be.

Gotta be.

The ground was rising slightly. His right leg collapsed under him and he pitched forward again. This time he put out his hands as usual, but didn’t bother to push himself up to a standing position. Crawl, man. Like a little baby, down on all fours. You can make it. Just crawl right along.

He was getting dizzy, his vision blurring. Man, what I wouldn’t give for just a ten-minute break. Even five minutes.

Wouldn’t work, though’. Not unless you can hold your breath for five minutes. .

Suddenly he wanted to laugh, remembering a conversation with McPherson back when he had first become a division manager. Hie lawyer wanted Paul to make out a will. He seemed surprised that Paul had never had one.

“You’ve got to make arrangements for handling your estate,” McPherson had said, very serious.

“That’s easy,” Paul had told him. “I want to spend my last cent with my last breath.”

Coming up on your last breath pretty soon, he knew. If you’re lucky — damned motherhumpin’ shitfaced lucky — you’ll suck up the last oxygen molecule in the tank the instant you get inside the tempo’s airlock.

It almost worked out that way.

Paul looked up from his crawling and saw the mound of rubble that marked the buried shelter. He could even see the comm mast, he was so close. No hopper, though. Only a tractor sitting outside the airlock on four ludicrously thin, springy wheels.