Asteroid Wars - The Precipice Part 18

The bartender broke into their conversation. "Hey, Ike, don't you think you've had enough for one night?"

Walton nodded solemnly. "Yup. You're right."

"So why don't you go home to your wife," the bartender suggested.

Pancho heard something more than friendliness in his tone, an undercurrent of-jeeps, she thought, he almost sounds like a cop.

"You're right, pal. Absolutely right. I'm going home. Whatta I owe you?"

The bartender waved a meaty hand in the air. "Forget it. Anniversary present."

"Thank you very much." Turning to Pancho, he said, "You wanna walk me home?"

She glanced at the bartender, who still looked unusually grim, then shrugged and said, "Sure, Ike. I'll walk you home."

He wasn't as unsteady on his feet as Pancho had thought he'd be. Once outside the bar Walton seemed more depressed than drunk. Yet he nodded or said h.e.l.lo to everyone they pa.s.sed.

"What's the Achievement Prize?" Pancho asked as they walked down the corridor.

"Kind of a secret."

"Oh."

"I did the impossible for them, y'see, but I did it too late to be of any use and they don't want anybody to know about it so they gave me the prize as hush money and told me to keep my trap shut."

Confused, Pancho asked, "About what?"

For the first time that evening, Walton broke into a smile. "My cloak of invisibility," he answered.

Little by little Pancho wormed the story out of him. Walton had been working with Professor Zimmerman, the nanotech genius, when the old U. N. had sent Peacekeeper troops to seize Moonbase.

"Stavenger was in a sweat to develop nonlethal weapons so we could defend ourselves against the Peacekeepers when they got here without killing any of them," Walton said, growing steadier and gloomier with each step along the corridor. "Zimmerman promised Stavenger he'd come up with a way to make our guys invisible, but the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds killed him when they attacked. Suicide bomber got down to his lab and blew the old man to smithereens."

"Himself, too?" Pancho asked.

"I did say 'suicide, ' didn't I? Anyway, the so-called war ended pretty quick and we got our independence. That's when we changed the name from Moonbase to Selene."

"I know."

"For a while there I didn't have anything to do. I'd been Zimmerman's a.s.sistant and now the old man was gone."

Walton had doggedly kept working on Zimmerman's idea of finding a method for making a person invisible. And eventually he succeeded.

"But who needs to be invisible?" Walton asked. Before Pancho could answer he went on, "Only somebody who's up to no d.a.m.n good, that's who. Spies. a.s.sa.s.sins. Crooks. Thieves."

Selene's governing council decided to mothball Walton's invention. Bury it so that no one would even know it existed.

"So they gave me the big fat prize to keep me me quiet. It's a pension, really. I can live in comfort-as long as I stay in Selene and keep my mouth shut." quiet. It's a pension, really. I can live in comfort-as long as I stay in Selene and keep my mouth shut."

"Sounds cool to me," Pancho said, trying to cheer him up.

But Walton shook his head. "You don't understand, Pancho. I'm a freaking genius and n.o.body knows it. I've made a terrific invention and it's useless. I'm not even supposed to mention it to anybody."

Pancho said, "Aren't you taking a chance, talking to me about it?"

He gave her a sidelong glance. "Aw, h.e.l.l, Pancho, I hadda tell somebody tonight or bust. And I can trust you, can't I? You're not gonna steal it and go out and a.s.sa.s.sinate anybody, are you?"

" 'Course not," Pancho answered immediately. But she was thinking that it might be a hoot to be invisible now and then.

"Wanna see it?" Walton asked.

"The invisibility dingus?"

"Yeah."

"If it's invisible, how can I see it?"

Walton broke into a cackle of laughter. Clapping Pancho on the back, he said, "That's what I like about you, Pancho ol' pal. You're okay, with a capital oke."

Walton turned down the next cross-corridor and led Pancho up to the level just below the Grand Plaza, where most of Selene's life-support machinery chugged away, purifying the air, recycling the water, rectifying the electrical current coming in from the solar farms. Pumps clattered. The air hummed and crackled. The ceilings of these chambers were rough, unfinished rock. Pancho knew that on their other side was either the manicured lawn of the Grand Plaza or the raw regolith of the Moon's surface itself. And along a corridor not far from where they walked lay the catacombs.

"Isn't the dingus under lock and key?" Pancho asked as Walton led her past a long row of metal lockers.

"They don't even know it exists. They think I destroyed it when they gave me their lousy prize. Destroy it, h.e.l.l! I'll never destroy it. It's the only one in the whole wide solar system."

"Wow."

He nodded absently. "And it's not a 'dingus', it's a stealth suit."

"Stealth suit," Pancho echoed.

"Like a wetsuit, covers you from head to toe," he explained in a hushed voice, as if afraid someone would hear him. Pancho strained to listen to him over the background hum and chatter of the machinery.

Pancho followed Walton down the long row of metal lockers. The corridor smelled dusty, unused. The overhead lights were s.p.a.ced so far apart that there were shadowy pools of darkness every few meters. Walton stopped in front of a locker identified by a serial number. Pancho saw that it had an electronic security lock.

Feeling uneasy, Pancho asked, "Don't they have any guards patrolling up here?"

"Nah. What for? There's cameras at the other end of the corridor, but this old tunnel's like an attic. People store junk up here, personal stuff they don't have room for down in their quarters."

Walton tapped out the security code on the electronic lock and pulled the metal door open. It squealed slightly, as if complaining.

"There it is," he said in a hushed voice.

Hanging inside the locker was a limp bodysuit, deep black.

"Ain't she a beauty?" Walton said as he carefully, lovingly, took the suit from the locker and held it up by its hanger for Pancho to admire.

"Looks almost like a wetsuit," Pancho said, wondering how it could make someone invisible. It glittered darkly in the feeble light from the overhead fluorescents, as if spangled with sequins made of onyx.

"The suit's covered with nanocameras and projectors, only a couple of molecules thick. Drove me nuts getting 'em to work right, lemme tell you. I earned earned that prize money." that prize money."

"Uh-huh," Pancho said, fingering one of the gloved sleeves. The fabric felt soft, pliable, yet somehow almost gritty, like grains of sand.

"The cameras pick up the scenery around you," Walton was explaining. "The projectors display it. Somebody standing in front of you sees what's behind you. Somebody on your left sees what's on your right. Just like they're looking through you. To all intents and purposes you're invisible."

"It really works?" she asked.

"Computer built into the belt controls it," Walton said. "Batteries are probably flat, but I can charge 'em up easy enough." He pointed to a set of electrical outlets on the smoothed-rock wall of the corridor, opposite the lockers.

"But it really works?" she repeated.

He smiled like a proud father. "Want to try it on?"

Grinning back at him, Pancho said, "Sure!"

While Pancho wriggled into the snug-fitting suit Walton plugged the two palm-sized batteries into the nearby electrical outlet. By the time she had pulled on the gloves and fitted the hood over her head, he was snapping the fully-charged batteries into their slots on the suit's waist.

"Okay," Walton said, looking her over carefully. "Now pull the face mask down and seal it to the hood."

Narrow goggles covered Pancho's eyes. "I must look like a terrorist, Ike," she muttered, the fabric of the mask's lining tickling her lips.

"In a minute you won't look like anything at all," he said. "Unlatch the safety cover on your belt and press the pressure switch."

Pancho popped the tiny plastic cover and touched the switch beneath it. "Okay, now what?" she asked.

"Give it fifteen seconds."

Pancho waited. "So?"

With a lopsided grin, Walton said, "Hold your hand up in front of your face."

Pancho lifted her arm. A pang of shock bolted through her. "I can't see it!"

"d.a.m.n right you can't. You're invisible."

"I am?"

"Can you see yourself?"

Pancho couldn't. Arms, legs, booted feet: she could feel them as normally as always but could not see them.

"You got a full-length mirror in your locker?" she asked excitedly.

"Why the h.e.l.l would I have a full-length mirror in there?"

"I want to see what I look like!"

"Cripes, Pancho, you don't look like anything. You're completely invisible."

Pancho laughed excitedly. She made up her mind at that moment to borrow Ike's stealth suit. Without telling him about it, of course.

HUMPHRIES TRUST RESEARCH CENTER.

Covered from head to toes in the stealth suit, Pancho crept slowly, silently along the corridor of Martin Humphries's palatial underground house. She had come down to the mansion with Amanda, although Mandy didn't know it. For weeks Pancho had been dying to root around in Humphries's mansion. The man was so stinky rich, so ruthlessly powerful and sure of himself, Pancho figured that there must be plenty of dirt under his fingernails. Maybe she could find something that would help Dan. Maybe she could find something that would profit her. Or maybe, she thought, burglarizing Humphries's house would just be a hoot, a refres.h.i.+ng break from the endless hours of study that she and Mandy were grinding through. Besides, it'd be fun to wipe that smug smile off the Humper's face.

So she had borrowed the stealth suit from Walton's locker the very next morning after he'd shown it to her. Pancho had gone to bed that night arguing with herself over whether or not she should ask Ike's permission to use the suit. She had awakened firmly convinced that the less Ike knew the better off each of them would be. So, with a tote bag swinging from her shoulder, she'd gone to the catacombs instead of to work with Mandy, then detoured to the dusty, seldom-used corridor where Walton had stashed the suit. She remembered the singsong of the locker's electronic security code and tapped it out without a flaw.

With a glance at the tiny red eye of the security camera on the ceiling at the far end of the corridor, Pancho quickly bundled the suit into her tote bag. Security people can't watch every screen every minute, she told herself. Besides, even if one of em's watchin', I ain't doin' anything to rouse an alarm.

Pancho then went back to her quarters. Amanda was busily at work in the simulations lab; Pancho had the apartment to herself. Immediately she started putting on the stealth suit.

Once she got it on-and saw in the bedroom's full-length mirror that she was truly invisible -she went out to test the suit. It worked wonderfully well. Pancho walked slowly, carefully, through Selene's corridors, threading her way through the pedestrian traffic. Now and then someone would glance her way, as if they'd seen something out of the corner of their eyes. A stray reflection from the overhead lights, Pancho thought, an unavoidable momentary glitter off the array of nanocameras and projectors. But no one really saw her; she drifted through the crowds like an unseen phantom.

She spent the day wandering ghostlike through Selene, gaining confidence in the suit and her ability to use it. The suit fit her snugly, but the boots attached to its leggings were Ike's size, not her own. Pancho had solved that problem by wadding stockings into the boots. They weren't exactly comfortable, but she could walk in them well enough.

For kicks she lifted a soyburger from the counter of the fast-food cafeteria up in the Grand Plaza when no one was working the place except a dumba.s.s robot. She immediately realized, though, that if anyone saw a soyburger floating in midair it would cause a fuss, so she dropped it into the recycler at the end of the counter before anyone noticed her.

By mid-afternoon Pancho returned briefly to her quarters, took off the suit, and dashed out for a quick meal. She was famished. Being invisible makes you hungry, she joked to herself. By the time Amanda returned from her day's work and began dressing for her dinner with Martin Humphries, Pancho was back in the stealth suit, standing quietly in a corner of the bedroom, waiting for Amanda to finish her d.a.m.ned primping and go out.

A cloak of invisibility, Pancho thought as she rode the escalators a few steps ahead of Amanda, down to Selene's bottom layer. What did they call those fancy suits the toreadors wear? A suit of lights, she remembered. Well, I'm wearing a suit of darkness. A cloak of invisibility.

She had to keep her distance from everyone. If somebody jostled into her they'd know she was there, invisible or not. Pancho felt glad that Selene did not allow pets. A dog would probably have sniffed her out easily.

The escalators got less and less crowded as she went down level after level. By the time she was riding down to the last level, she and Amanda were alone on the moving stairs. Once at the bottom, she waited for Amanda, then fell into step behind her. Mandy was heading for a private little dinner with Humphries. Just the two of them, they thought. Pancho smiled to herself. If the Humper tries anything Mandy doesn't like, I'll coldc.o.c.k him. I'll be her guardian angel. Then she wondered just how far Mandy was willing to go with Humphries-and how far she could tease him without getting herself into real trouble. Well, she shrugged to herself, Mandy's a grownup, she knows what she's doing. Or she ought to.

Mandy looked like a princess in a fairy tale, wearing a short-sleeved frock of baby blue with a knee-length fringed skirt. Modest enough, Pancho thought, although on Mandy nothing could look really modest. Not in the eyes of a man like Humphries, anyway. Pancho couldn't recall seeing the dress before; Mandy must have bought it in one of Selene's shops. Everything cost a fortune there, except for stuff actually made on the Moon. Is Humphries buying her clothes? Pancho wondered. He hadn't given Mandy any jewelry, she was sure of that. Mandy would have showed it off if he had.

Amanda walked purposively down the length of the corridor and into the grotto that housed the Humphries Trust research garden and house. Humphries was at the front door to greet her, all smiles. Pancho slipped in behind her, nearly brus.h.i.+ng Humphries's hand as he pulled the door shut. If the Humper felt anything, he didn't show it. Pancho was in the house and he didn't know it.

As Humphries guided Amanda off to the bar, Pancho stood stock-still in the foyer. A man like Humphries would have a state-of-the-art security system in his home, she reasoned. No matter that the house was in Selene; Humphries would insist on topflight security. He might give the human staff the night off for his dates, but he wouldn't turn off his alarm systems. Motion sensors were her big worry. Humphries obviously wouldn't have any working in the residential wing of the house. But the offices would be another thing altogether. She could see the long, s.p.a.cious living room and the corridor that led to the formal dining room and, beyond it, the library/bar. That was the direction Humphries and Amanda had gone.

On the other side of the foyer was a single closed door. Pancho guessed that it opened onto the suite of offices and laboratories that the ecologists used. Would he have motion sensors set up in there? Probably not, she thought, but if he did...

There must be a central control for the security system. Most likely in Humphries's own bedroom or his office. His bedroom? Pancho grinned at the thought. That's one room in the house where he'd have any motion sensors definitely turned off!

Slowly, on tiptoes despite the thick carpeting, Pancho made her way up to the second floor. The master bedroom was easy to find: beautifully-carved double doors at the end of the hallway. She eased the door open. No sirens, no hooting klaxons. Could be silent alarms, she told herself, but if he's dismissed the servants for the night he'll have to come up here his own self, and I can handle that, easy.

The room was sumptuous, and Humphries's bed was enormous, like a tennis court. That bed could handle a whole squad of cheerleaders, she thought. Prob'ly has, Pancho told herself.

Through a half-open door she saw a desktop computer, its screen saver showing some old master's painting of a nude woman. As Pancho cautiously approached the door and eased it all the way open, the screen's image dissolved into another painting of another nude. Huh! she grunted. Some art lover.

Pancho sat at the desk and saw that the computer had a keyboard attached to it. Tentatively, she pecked at the ENTER key. The artwork vanished, and a honey-warm woman's voice said, "Good evening, Mr. Humphries. The time is eight-twelve and I'm ready to go to work anytime you are."

Frowning, Pancho turned the audio down to zero. The screen displayed a menu of options. h.e.l.l, he doesn't have any protection on his programs at all. She pictured Humphries at his computer, too impatient to deal with code words and security safeguards. After all, who'd have the b.a.l.l.s to break into his home, his own bedroom?