"Yes," Kinsman cut him short. "It was all blown up out of proportion by the news media."

They stood there for a moment, none of them able to think of a thing to say, as the party pulsated around them.

Finally Diane said, "Mary-Ellen told me you might be here tonight. You and Neal are both working on something about the space program?"

"Something like that," Kinsman said. "Organized any 175 more protest demonstrations?"

She forced a laugh. "There's nothing left to protest about. Everything's so well organized in the Land of the Free that nobody can raise a crowd anymore. Public safety laws and all that."

"It does seem quieter. Nobody's complaining.'''

"They can't," Diane said. "You ought to see what we have to go through before every concert. They want to check the lyrics of every song I do. Even the encores. Nothing's allowed to be spontaneous."

"You manage to get in some damned tough lyrics," Kinsman said. "I've listened to you."

"The censors aren't always very bright."

"Or incorruptible," Davis added, smirking.

"So everybody's happy," Kinsman said. "You get to sing your songs about freedom and love. The crowd gets its little thrill of excitement. And the government people get paid off. Everybody gets what they want."

Diane looked at him quizzically. "Do you have what you want, Chet?"

"Me?" Surprised. "Hell no."

"Then not everybody's satisfied."

"Are you?"

"Hell no," she mimicked.

"But everything looks so rosy," Davis said, with acid in his voice. "The government keeps telling us that unemploy- ment is down and the stock market is up. And our President promises he won't send troops into Brazil. Not until after the elections, I bet."

Diane nodded. Then, brightening, "Larry, did I ever tell you about the time we tried to get Chet to come out and join one of our demonstrations? In uniform?"

"I'm agog."

She turned to Kinsman. "Do you remember what you told me, Chet?"

"No . . ." It was a perfect day for flying, for getting away from funerals and families and all the ties of Earth. Flying so high above the clouds that even the rugged Sierras looked like nothing more than wrinkles. Then out over the desert at Mach 2, the only sounds in your earphones from your own breathing and the faint distant crackle of earthbound men 176 giving orders to other earthbound men.

"You told me"—Diane was laughing with the memory of it—"that you'd rather be flying and defending us so that nobody bombed us while we were demonstrating for peace!"

It was funny now; it had not been then.

"Yeah, that sounds like something I might have said."

"How amusing," Davis smirked. "And what are you protecting us from now? The Brazilians? Or the Martians?"