Description "Where in the world did you get that spacesuit?" "I bought it used." "Why buy used?" "Because I can't afford a new one. I can barely afford a used one, and you guilds won't let anyone without a spacesuit join anyway." "You should have saved up to buy a new one." That kind of excuse didn't fly with Bob Lewis, a former U.S. Marine. More importantly, he was the head instructor of the Extravehicular Activity Guild. He had to report to the guild president, but Bob alone decided whether new members passed. And if you didn't become a member, you couldn't go out on EVA alone, or take tourists outside. That's just how the guild worked. Jerks. "So? Did I pass?" Bob scoffed. "Are you kidding? Jazz, you failed. Completely and utterly failed." "Why!" I demanded. "I completed every required maneuver, finished every task, and cleared the obstacle course in under seven minutes. And when things went critical, I got back to the city safely without putting my partner at risk." Bob opened his locker and put away his gloves and helmet. "The spacesuit is your responsibility. And it malfunctioned. That means you failed." -p.16 In Artemis, Aldrin is the district that makes more money than anywhere else. There's nothing in the shopping area I can afford. But someday, I'll make enough money to live here myself. That's the plan, anyway. I took one more slow look around, then turned and headed for customs. Aldrin is the bubble closest to the landing pad. The rich don't need to pass through the slums to experience poverty, right? So they head straight for the nice part of town. -p.22 "Why do you want to acquire an aluminum company?" "Because I love expanding my business," Trond replied with exaggerated flair. "And it's my specialty, too." "But aluminum? I mean... isn't that kind of boring? Sounds like a tough manufacturing business." "True," Trond said. "Not like the old days when aluminum was king. It used to take forty thousand tons of aluminum just to build one bubble. But now, with population growth stagnant, no one's building new bubbles anymore. Honestly, if it weren't for rocket fuel production using aluminum, the industry would have died out long ago. And even that barely turns a profit." "Sounds like the easy money days are over. So why get into it now?" "Because I think I can make a fortune again." "How?" "That's none of your business." -p.63 "I'm just being honest. If you get caught, promising not to drag me into it is part of the deal too." "Why me? Why do you think I can pull this off?" "Jazz, I'm a businessman. What I do is develop underutilized resources. And you are a massively underutilized resource." Trond stood up, walked to the cabinet, and poured himself another drink. "You could have been anything. Didn't want to be a welder? Fine. You could have been a scientist. An engineer, a politician, a successful businesswoman, anything. But you became a porter." I frowned. "I'm not judging," Trond said. "Just analyzing. You're genuinely smart, and you want money. I genuinely need someone smart, and I have money. Interested?" "Hmm..." I thought for a moment. Was this even possible? -p.70 A wave of stifled laughter spread among the passengers. It wasn't even that funny a joke, but the tourists loved it. The train started moving. Smooth as could be. No jolting, no shaking whatsoever. (Of course) it ran on electric motors, and the tracks had never been warped by harsh weather. Plus, compared to Earth, the weight bearing down on the tracks was much lighter. Each row of seats had round windows on either side. The passengers took turns eagerly peering out at the dull, rocky scenery. Why all the fuss, I wondered...