His mouth was parched. Can’t go ten more miles it the sunshine without drinking water. You’ll dehydrate and collapse.

Okay, he said to himself. If it is to be, it’s up to me. You know what you’ve got to do. Make it quick and do it right You won’t get two chances.

If the water tube was no longer properly connected insidi the collar ring, the only way to fix the problem was to re-seal the collar. Inside a shelter, or even in an airlock, Paul would have unlocked the collar seal, taken off his helmet, checked the connection to make certain it wasn’t blocked or broken then put the helmet back on and sealed it tight again.

Out here in the vacuum of the lunar surface he didn’t have that luxury. But I can do most of it, he told himself. If I’m quick enough.

Painfully he wormed his arm back into its sleeve and wriggled his fingers back into the glove. Then, still, breathing hard, swiftly going through the emergency procedure in his mind. It works in the procedures he told himself. Now let’s see if it works for real.

He took one long, last breath, then exhaled slowly. Holding: his breath, he clicked open the seal of the collar ring and slid the helmet half a turn, as if he were going to take it off. A slight hiss of air made every nerve in his body tighten. But he held the helmet for a moment that seemed years long, then twisted it back to the closed position and snapped the seal shut again.

The hissing stopped and Paul took a big, grateful gulp of oxygen.

Then he turned his head to the left and found the nipple of the water tube with his lips. Carefully he sipped.

Water. Just a dribble, and it was warm and flat. But it tasted better than champagne to him.

He took another sip. Still had to suck hard, but at least some water was flowing now. The connection had been dislodged when he fell and now it was back in place. Okay.

“Okay,” he said aloud, his throat not so parched now. “Let’s get on with it.”

He started off again, still using the trail of his own boot prints to point him in the right direction. The glare of the sun made him want to squint, even behind the heavily tinted visor.

Ten more miles,” he said. “Okay, maybe twelve. Could be less, though. Hard to tell.”

He trudged on, boots kicking up soft clouds of dust that fell languidly in the gentle gravity of the Moon. His mind turned back to Greg. Nanomachines. The sonofabitch turned them into a murder weapon. Kid’s brilliant. Crazy but brilliant. Will he turn on Joanna? Will he try to kill his own mother? How crazy is he? Or is it all a very clever scheme to get what he’s always wanted — total control of the corporation. Total control of his mother. Total control of Melissa, too.

Melissa. Paul thought about her as pushed himself across the barren rocky plain. Sweet silky Melissa. I knew she’d be my downfall. I knew it, but I let it happen anyway.

Paul’s tour of the corporation’s divisions took him to Houston Denver, Los Angeles and finally to the struggling nano technology division in San Jose, squarely in the dilapidated heart of what had once been called Silicon Valley.

Joanna stayed in Savannah. They had not made love since the ill-starred trip to the space station. The night after Greg’s confrontation over the videodisk, Joanna had flinched when Paul had touched her in bed.

“Not now,” she said. “I just can’t.”

Trying not to feel angry, Paul leaned against the pillows and grumbled, “You’re acting as if I did kill Gregory.”

Joanna turned to face him. “Maybe we did, Paul. In a way.”

Paul started to shake his head.

“He found out about us,” Joanna said. “That might have driven him to kill himself. We’re responsible.”

The hell we are.”

“Why else would he do it?” she asked, her voice filled with anxiety. Yet her eyes were dry and clear. “Unless Greg’s right and somebody actually did murder him?”

“He blew his own brains out,” Paul insisted.

“But why?”

Paul thought a moment. “Good question. I’ll ask McPherson to look into it.”

“What do you mean?”

“There must have been some reason for Gregory’s suicide. And I don’t mean us. Let McPherson hire some investigators. There’s a lot about Gregory’s life that we don’t know about.”

Joanna’s face hardened. “There’s a lot about his life that I don’t want to know about. Not the details.”

“Okay. But I want to know the details. I want to know if there’s anything there that could be a reason for his killing himself.”

“Such as?”

“How the hell would I know? Let McPherson look into it.”

Joanna agreed — hesitantly, Paul thought. But they didn’t make love that night, nor any night afterward until Paul left on his swing of visits to the corporation’s facilities across the country.

Paul was surprised to see Bradley Arnold at the Houston division. The chairman of the board was sitting in the division manager’s office when Paul arrived. He looked uneasy, his bulging frog’s eyes darting back and forth between Paul and the division chief, who was coming around his desk, his hand extended to Paul.

“I didn’t know you were coming here, Brad,” Paul said as he shook hands with the youthful division manager. “I could have flown you out in my plane.”

“I’m on my way to a meeting in Tokyo,” Arnold said, fiddling with his ill-fitting toupee nervously.

“Tokyo? By way of Houston?” Paul forced himself to chuckle as he sat beside the chairman in front of the manager’s desk. Arnold refused to fly in the Clipperships. He would take all day to get from Savannah to Tokyo on his private supersonic jet rather than make the jump in forty minutes aboard a Clippership.

“I wanted to stop off here and talk with you,” Arnold replied. Turning to the manager, he added, “In private.”

The manager took the hint and excused himself. Once he shut the office door behind him, Paul asked, “What’s this all about, Brad?”

Radiating earnestness out of his florid face, Arnold said, “I know it looked as if I were on Greg’s side, back there at the house—”

“It sure did,” said Paul.

“But I’m on your side, Paul. I want you to understand tha and believe it.”

Yeah, Paul said to himself. And Brutus loved Caesar so much he stabbed him.

“I wanted that meeting to be a reconciliation between you two. I had no idea Greg was going to make the demand he did.”

“You didn’t seem terribly surprised,” Paul said.

“Oh, but I was!”

“If I remember correctly, you told me that you were going to play Greg’s videodisk for the rest of the board members.”

“I had no choice!” Arnold pleaded. “Greg’s going to do it anyway, so I went along with him. How can I act as a mediate between the two of you if he doesn’t trust me?”

Paul looked into Arnold’s hyperthyroid eyes and saw nothing but ambition. He’s playing both sides of the street or trying to. If Greg can shove me out of the corporation, Brad runs the show. Greg’ll be CEO but Brad will be pulling the kid’s strings. If I hang in and beat Greg, the bastard wants me to believe that he’s been on my side all along.

“All right,” Paul said calmly. “What are you going to do about the disk?”

Arnold spread his chubby hands in a gesture of helplessness. “What can I do? Greg’s determined to show it to each and every member of the board. All I can do is try to downplay it, tell them that Gregory had turned into a paranoid alcoholic and committed suicide.”

Pouncing on that, Paul demanded, “You’ll say that to the board?”

Arnold nodded.

“In front of Greg?”

“Yes.”

Thinking swiftly, Paul said, “All right, then. Can you call an emergency meeting of the board as soon as I get back from this trip? Let’s get this out in the open and finish it, once and for all.”

Bobbing his head up and down, Arnold said, “The quarterly meeting is due—”