"A lunar base makes sense, dammitall, on a straight cost-effectiveness basis. You've seen the numbers, Neal. The base will pay for itself in ten years. It'll save the taxpayers 178 billions of dollars in the long run."

A crowd was gathering around them. McGrath automati- cally raised his voice a notch. "That's Just like Mary-Ellen saves me money at department store sales. I can't afford to save that kind of money. Not this year. Or next. The capital outlay is too high. To say nothing of the overruns."

"Now wait . . ."

"There's never been a military program that's lived within its budget. No, Chet. Moonbase is going to have to wait."

"We've already waited twenty years."

The rest of the party had stopped. Everyone was watch- ing the debate.

"Our first priority," McGrath said, more to the crowd than to Kinsman, "has got to be for the cities. They've become jungles, unfit for human life. We've got to reclaim them and save the people who're trapped in them before they all turn into savages."

"But what about energy?" Kinsman demanded. "What about jobs? What about natural resources? You can't save the cities without them, and space operations can give us all those things."

"Let the corporations develop those programs. Let them take the risks and make the profits. We're putting enough money into space and too much into the Pentagon—including plans for a manned antisatellite spaceplane that your brass won't even tell us lowly Senators about."

The spaceplane, Kinsman realized. Neal's pissed because nobody's briefed him on the new spaceplane interceptor concept.

Aloud he was still arguing, "The corporations aren't going to develop anything, Neal, unless the government backs them. You know how they work: let Uncle Sam take the risks and when it's safe they'll come in and take the profits."

McGrath nodded. "Sure. Fine. But NASA's the agency that's running with that particular ball. The Aerospace Force has no business extending its gold-plated tentacles all the way to the Moon."

It's like he's running for re-election. Kinsman said to himself. Then he realized. Of course he is! They always are.

"Sure, Neal, play kick the Pentagon," he said. "That's an 179 awfully convenient excuse for ducking the issue."

With the confident grin of a hunter who had finally cornered his quarry, McGrath asked, "So you want to build a permanent base on the Moon, despite the fact that we've signed treaties with the Russians to keep the Moon demilitarized ..."

"This base isn't going to be a fortress, for god's sake. You know that. It's a hospital. We're just using military astronauts to get the job done because we have a trained corps of people who aren't being utilized. The Russians want to work with us on this."

"AH right, all right." McGrath waved his hand, still grinning. "Even so. You put up this hospital of Durban's, this super geriatrics ward on the Moon, at a cost of billions. How's that going to help the welfare class in the cities? How's that going to rebuild New York or Detroit?"

"Or Washington," someone murmured.

Kinsman said, "It will create jobs . . ."

"For white engineers who live in the suburbs."

"It will save lives, for Chrissake!"

"For rich people who can afford to go to the Moon to live."

"It'll give people hope for the future."

"Ghetto people? Don't be silly."

"Neai," Kinsman said, exasperation in his voice, "maybe space operations won't solve any of those problems. But neither will anything else you do. Without a strong space effort you won't have the energy, the raw materials, the new wealth you need to rebuild the cities. Space gives us a chance, a hope—space factories and space power satellites will create new jobs here on Earth, increase the Gross National Product, bring new wealth into the economy. Nothing that you're promising to do can accomplish that, and nothing short of that can solve the problems you're so damned worked up about."