Paul laughed. “You don’t like him?”

Wojo looked up and gave Paul a withering glance. “He tells lies, his feet stink, and he don’t love Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “You don’t like him.”

“He’ll make a ton of money for you. He’s so tight-fisted his palms have never seen the light of day.”

Paul made his way past the receiving desk before Wojo could ask for any favors. Jinny Anson, pert and blonde and feisty, directed him through the tunnels to the sleeping quarters they had reserved or him.

“I tried to find you a corner that’s at least a little quieter than most. No snorers on either side of you, and you can barely hear the pumps.”

“Thanks,” Paul said. “I appreciate the special treatment.”

“Nothing but the best for our new CEO.”

“You’re just trying to butter up the boss,” he kidded. Yet he realized that this was the first time the CEO had visited Moonbase.

Jinny led him through two of the interconnected shelters, down another tunnel, and along the narrow central passageway of a third tempo: She’s a chipper little handful, Paul thought. Fills out her coveralls in all the right places. Then he frowned inwardly. Cut that out. You made a promise to Joanna and you’re gonna keepit. Yeah, he agreed silently. But it won’t be easy.

“How’s the air recycling plant going?” Paul asked, trying to put his focus on business.

“Humming along fine,” Jinny replied. “Getting close to eighty percent efficiency. Gimme another few months and I’ll have the loop closed good, I betcha.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Then we’ll only need new oxy for what leaks through the airlocks, little stuff like that.”

“Good.”

They stopped at the last partition; Paul saw his name neatly printed on the card alongside the doorway. And Lev Brudnoy’s name on the partition across the narrow corridor.

He doesn’t snore, Paul thought, but he grunts a lot during the mating season. Which is always, for him.

“Not quite an executive suite, huh?” Jinny said, pulling back the accordion-fold partition to reveal a standard habitation compartment, one hundred ninety-six cubic feet that had to serve as sleeping quarters and office. No bigger than anyone else’s quarters.

On a space station, in zero gee, a hundred ninety-six cubic feet was almost generous. Here on the Moon it came close to inducing claustrophobia.

Paul shrugged and gave the standard line, “Beats sleeping outside.”

“Not by much,” Jinny replied with the standard counter.

He could smell a soft flowery fragrance. “How do you stay so fresh in these sardine cans?”

She smiled prettily. “I just took my weekly shower a couple of hours ago. In your honor. Ask me again in a few days.”

A vision of her lithe body glistening with sweat filled Paul’s mind for an instant. “Pheromone heaven,” he muttered.

“More like pheromone hell,” Jinny said. “Head colds are a blessing around here.”

Paul mumbled, “Yeah. Maybe so.”

“My cubbyhole’s at the other end of this row,” she said, grinning. “In case you get lonely.”

“I’m a married man,” Paul said quickly, thinking as he spoke that it sounded terribly nerdy.

Jinny’s grin turned saucy. “Well, just in case…”

Paul thanked her for the escort service and shooed her off, then went into his compartment, dropped onto the bunk, and immediately went to the desktop computer to call Joanna. But he was thinking of how pleasing it would be if Jinny really buttered up the boss; or vice versa.

“I just don’t trust machines I can’t see,” Wojo grumbled.

Paul and the tractor teleoperator were sitting in the galley, hunched over Paul’s hand-sized computer.

“If these things work we can let them do all the construction out on the surface and you can sit down here in comfort and count your insurance benefits.”

Wojo fixed him with a baleful stare. The man’s breath smelled terrible. Like the exhaust fan from a brewery, Paul thought. But where in the hell would he get beer up here?

“Just how smart are these slime-sucking bugs?” Wojo asked.

“Like ants,” said Paul.

Wojo scratched at his shaggy beard. “Read a book once—”

“No!” Paul pretended shock.

With a small grin, Wojo said, “You’d be surprised what I’m capable of. Anyway, this book was about army ants in South America. Every once in a while they run amok and strip the whole festering jungle right down to the bark and bone. Don’t leave anything alive in their path.”

“These bugs aren’t like that,” Paul said.

“How do you know?”

Paul had to think a moment. “Well, for one thing, they’re programmed to stop functioning at temperatures above thirty degrees.”

Wojo heaved his bulk up from the spindly chair and trudged over to the thermostat on the curving wall of the galley. “It’s twenty-seven degrees in here right now. Just a smidge over eighty, Fahrenheit.”

“I thought it felt warm in here.”

Walking back to the long, narrow table and settling ponderously into the little chair across from Paul, Wojo complained, “We need more radiator surface outside. Only way to get rid of heat is to radiate it away. You know that. I know that. But your pus-infested, maggot-brained, excrement-eating systems engineers sitting comfy and cool in their air-conditioned offices in Savannah haven’t seen fit to honor our humble requests for more radiators.”

“But thermal conduction—”

“Isn’t worth a thimbleful of warm spit,” Wojo said. “We’re dug in nice and deep. The rock outside our shells conducts heat about as well as a politician tells the unvarnished truth.”

“So turning the thermostats down won’t help?”

With a massive shake of his shaggy head, Wojo said, “All you’d do is put an extra load on the air conditioners and the radiators. Which we need about as much as a prostitute needs an honest cop.”

I’ll get you more radiators,” Paul said.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” said Wojo. “Now, to get back to these mechanical viruses you brought up here with you — you say they’re programmed to shut down at thirty Cee?”

“That’s right.”

“All that means is that they won’t work out on the surface in daylight. Even at our current level of discomfort, they could be doing whatever it is they’re programmed to do in here right now. How would we stop ’em?”

“Each set of the nanomachines is programmed to utilize one type of atom or molecule. When they run out of that material, they stop functioning.”

“And what materials are these bugs programmed to use?”

Paul punched up the list on his computer.

Squinting at the small screen, Wojo mumbled, “Titanium, aluminum, silicon — for the love of sweet Jesus, they could munch their way right through the whole body of the Moon and come out the other side!”

“No, no,” Paul insisted. “We have other safeguards.”

“You better show ’em to me.”

Tapping on the miniaturized keyboard, Paul said, “See, a polarizing current can shut them all down immediately.”

“Long as you can get the current to them.”

Paul looked at Wojo’s grizzled face. He’s being extra cautious, and he’s right to look at it that way. This is so new that nobody’s had any experience with it.

But he said, “Look, Wojo, if these nanobugs work we can turn this set of tin cans into a regular palace in a couple of years. Moonbase can start making profits right away.”

“But if it doesn’t work—”

“That’s why we’re conducting the demonstration at a remote site,” Paul said, with growing irritation. “If anything goes wrong, it’ll go wrong out there and won’t threaten the base here.”

Wojo nodded solemnly. “It’ll go wrong out there, all right. With you and me twenty miles from help.”

“We’ll have a hopper, for chrissake,” Paul snapped. “We could jump all the way back here in fifteen minutes, if we had to.”

Wojo nodded. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. But he didn’t sound as if his heart was in it.