"Very courageous of you," Leonov said thoughtfully.

But Kinsman said nothing. What would I have done if it had come to a brawl? What would I have done?

The four men walked slowly back to Durban's room, two 167 levels up closer to the surface.

'The whisky's in the brown carryall," Durban said as they entered the windowless room. "Help yourselves." He went straight to the bed and stretched out on it.

Colt and Leonov went to the whisky. Kinsman took a close look at the old man. His face was ashen, his thin chest heaving.

"Are you all right?"

"I've got some pills here ..." He fished in his jacket pocket. The pipe fell out and dropped to the floor, spilling black ashes across the cheap carpeting.

"I'll get you a glass of water."

Kinsman went to the sink across from the bed and took a plastic cup from the dispenser on the wall above it. Durban propped himself on one elbow to drink down the pill, then dropped back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling.

Leonov had taken the small room's only chair. Colt was sitting on the dresser top next to the open whisky bottle. They both had plastic cups in their hands.

"Hey, you need a doctor?" Colt asked.

"No . . ." Durban closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Just a little too much excitement for my heart. That, and the climb upstairs."

Leonov said, "We have a cardiac specialist with the Soviet delegation."

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Durban waved a hand at the Russian. "No, it's all right. I'll be okay in a minute."

Kinsman sat on the edge of the bed and helped the old man out of his jacket, then pulled off his shoes.

"You see." Durban said, sinking back against the pil- lows, "I really do need a low-gravity home. Damned heart's not fit to live on Earth anymore. It wants to be on the Moon."

"We'll get you there," Colt said.

"Yes," Leonov agreed, raising his cup to the proposition.

Kinsman shook his head. "If that miner had punched you, it probably would have killed you. You were taking your life in your hands."

Durban smiled at him. "Oh, I knew he wouldn't hit me. He couldn't,"

"He came damned close." 168

"Not a bit of it. I'm obviously a frail old man. It would ruin his self-image if he hit me. He knew that I'd go down with one punch. I could see it in his eyes. Where's the machismo in beating up an old man?"

'Then why ..."

"I got in front of you fellows so that he would be forced to hit me before anybody else started fighting. That was the best way to prevent a fight from starting."

"You still could've gotten hurt. Killed."