But while all this impressed Pancho, she was totally unprepared for Martin Humphries’s home. At the very end of the corridor was a blank metal door, polished steel from the look of it. More like an airlock hatch or a bank vault than the fancy-pants door she’d passed along the corridor. It slid open with a soft hiss as Pancho approached within arm’s length.

Optical recognition system, she thought. Or maybe he’s got somebody watching the corridor.

She stepped through the open doorway and immediately felt as if she’d entered another world. She found herself in a wide, high-ceilinged cavern, a big natural cave deep below the lunar surface. Flowers bloomed everywhere, reds and yellows and green foliage spread out on both sides of her. Trees! She gaped at the sight of young alders and maples, slim white-boled birches, delicately fronded frangipani. The only trees she’d seen in Selene were up in the Grand Plaza, and they were just little bitty things compared to these. After the closed-in gray sameness of Selene’s warren of corridors and tightly-confined living quarters, the openness, the color, the heady scent of flowers growing in such profusion nearly overwhelmed Pancho. Boulders jutted here and there; the distant walls of the cave and the ceiling high above were rough bare rock. The ceiling was dotted with full-spectrum lamps, she saw. Jeez, it’s like being in Oz, Pancho said to herself. Like Oz, there was a path winding through the shrubbery, littered with flower petals. Pancho liked that much better than yellow bricks. She realized that there were no birds singing in the trees. No insects buzzed among the flowers. There was no breeze sighing past. This ornate garden was nothing more than a big, elaborate hothouse, Pancho decided. It must cost a freaking fortune.

She glide-walked along the path until a final turn revealed the house set in the middle of the cavern, surrounded by still more trees and carefully-planted beds of roses, irises and peonies. No daisies, Pancho noted. No marigolds. Too ordinary for this layout.

The house was enormous, low but wide, with a slanted roof and walls of lunar stone, smoothed and glazed over. Big sweeping windows. A wide courtyard framed the big double doors of the front entrance, with a fountain gurgling busily in its center. A fountain! Pancho approached the door slowly, reached out her hand to touch its carved surface. Plastic, her fingertips told her, stained to look like wood. For several moments she stood at the door, then turned to look back at the courtyard again, the gardens, the trees, the fountain. What kind of a man would spend so much money for a private palace like this? What kind of a man would have that much money to spend?

“Welcome, Ms. Lane.”

The sound of his voice made Pancho flinch. He had opened the door silently while her back had been turned as she surveyed the greenery. She saw a man apparently about her own age, several centimeters shorter than she, a little on the pudgy side. He was wearing an open-necked pale yellow tunic that came down to his hips. His slacks were cinnamon brown, perfectly creased. His feet were shod in fancy tooled leather boots. His skin was doughy white, his hair dark and slicked back. “I’m here to see Mr. Humphries,” she said. “I’ve been invited.”

He laughed lightly. “I’m Martin Humphries. I gave my staff the night off.”

“Oh.”

Martin Humphries gestured Pancho to come into his house. Knowing Elly was comfortably wrapped around her ankle, Pancho stepped right in. The house was just as luxurious as the grounds around it, perhaps even more so.

Big, spacious rooms filled with the most beautiful furniture Pancho had ever seen. A living room long enough to hold a hockey rink, sofas done in gorgeous fabrics, holowindows showing spectacular Earth-side scenery: the Grand Canyon, Mt. Fujiyama, Manhattan’s skyline the way it looked before the floods. The dining room table was big enough to seat twenty, but it was set for just the two of them: Humphries at its head, Pancho at his right hand. Humphries walked her past it, though, and into a book-lined library where the single holowindow showed the star-strewn depths of space.

There was a bar along one side of the library.

“What would you like to drink?” Humphries asked, gently guiding her to one of the plush-cushioned stools.

“Whatever,” Pancho shrugged. A good way to judge a man’s intentions was to let him select the drinks.

He looked at her for a fleeting, intense moment. Like being x-rayed, Pancho thought. His eyes were gray, she noted, cold gray, like lunar stone. “I have an excellent champagne,” he suggested.

Pancho smiled at him. “Okay, fine.”

He pressed a button set into the bar’s surface, and a silver tray bearing an opened bottle of champagne in a refrigerated bucket and two tall fluted glasses rose up to serving height with a muted hum of an electrical motor. Humphries pulled the bottle from its bucket and poured two glasses of champagne. Pancho noticed that the ice-cold bottle quickly beaded with condensation. The glasses looked like real crystal, prob’ly made at Selene’s glass factory.

The bubbles tickled her nose, but the wine was really good: crisp and cold, with a delicate flavor that Pancho liked. Still, she merely sipped at it as she sat beside Martin Humphries on the softly-cushioned bar stool.

“You must be awful rich to have this place all to yourself,” she said.

His lips edged into a thin smile. “It’s not mine, really.”

“It’s not?”

“Legally, this building is a research center. It’s owned by the Humphries Trust and operated jointly by a consortium of Earthside universities and the Selene executive board.”

Pancho took another sip of champagne while she sorted that out in her mind. Humphries went on, “I live here whenever I’m at Selene. The research staff uses the other end of the house.”

“But they don’t live here.”

He laughed. “No, they live a few levels up, in… um, more ordinary quarters.”

“And you get the whole place rent-free.”

With a waggle of his free hand, Humphries said, “One of the advantages of wealth.”

“The rich get richer.”

“Or they lose what they’ve got.”

Nodding, Pancho asked, “So what do they research down here?”

“Lunar ecology,” Humphries replied. “They’re trying to learn how to build Earthlike ecologies here on the Moon, underground.”

“Like the Grand Plaza, up topside.”

“Yes. But completely closed-cycle, so you don’t have to put in fresh supplies of water.”

“That’s what all the flowers and trees are about.”

“Right. They’ve been able to make a lovely garden, all right, but it’s incredibly expensive. Very labor-intensive, with no birds or insects to pollinate the plants. The idiots running Selene’s environmental safety department won’t let me bring any up here. As if they could get loose! They’re so stupidly narrow-minded they could look through a keyhole with both eyes.”

Pancho smiled at him, remembering how hard it had been for her to get the approval to bring Elly and her food into Selene. I must be smarter than he is, she thought. Or maybe Selene’s execs just don’t like megazillionaires trying to push them around.

“And those full-spectrum lamps cost a fortune in electricity,” Humphries went on.

“Electricity’s cheap, though, isn’t it?”

Humphries took a long draft of his champagne, then answered, “It’s cheap once you’ve built the solar energy farm up on the surface… and the superconducting batteries to store electrical energy during the night. High capital costs, though.”

“Yeah, but once you’ve got the equipment in place the operating costs are pitiful low.”

“Except for maintenance.”

“Keeping the solar farms clean, up on the surface, you mean. Yeah, I guess that ain’t cheap.”

“Any work on the surface is damned expensive,” he grumbled, bringing his champagne flute to his lips.