"General Tech. You're that Dreyer!" 229

T. D. Dreyer grinned boyishly, happy to be recognized. He was slightly shorter than Kinsman, barrel-chested and burly of build. His blue-gray leisure suit had been carefully tailored to make him look as slim as possible, but his face betrayed him: a heavyset, happy ex-footballer who constantly battled overweight. It was a deeply tanned face. He either has a sunlamp at his desk, Kinsman concluded, or he spends most of his time in the field.

"And I know who you are," Dreyer said. "You're Major Chester Arthur Kinsman, former astronaut, now part of the Aerospace Force's team for Moonbase."

A faint chill of panic raced through Kinsman. "You've got a good intelligence network."

Dreyer's eyes lit up. "You bumped a Wright-Patterson general who's been giving one of my divisions a hard time over a contract we have with him. I was going to try a little friendly persuasion on him while we were both here and away from our desks. When I heard my pigeon had been bumped I made it my business to find out who had bumped him—and at the last minute, too. That takes some clout."

"Hell, if I had known . . ."

"Naah, don't worry about it. I'll catch up with him next week." Dreyer moved half a step closer to Kinsman and lowered his voice slightly. "Frankly, I have a feeling the guy's scared to fly. I was kinda looking forward to watching him shit his pants when I dragged him over to the observation window."

They laughed together.

"You've been up here before," said Kinsman.

"Sure. Big job like this, I come up and look as often as I can get away from that damned desk in Dallas. Gives my insurance people fits, but I like it up here. It's a relief to be away from all those damned numbers crunchers and ribbon clerks."

"I'll drink to that!" Kinsman lifted his cup.

After a long pull of beer, Dreyer said, "Y'know, the trouble with being chairman of the board is that you're supposed to be dignified and conservative. My board mem- bers don't believe me when I tell 'em we should be pouring every dollar we can into space operations."

"They think it's too risky?" 230

"It's not that so much as the fact that it's so easy to take government contracts instead. The profit is low but it's guaranteed. No risk at all, as long as you do a halfway decent job."

"What about the talk I hear about private companies building their own facilities up here? Factories and research labs and solar power satellites?"

Dreyer made a sour face. "Yeah, maybe. But not any- body who's got a board of directors to satisfy. Not as long as there are government contracts to be had."

"Dreyer! I thought that was you." A tall, lithe, hollow- cheeked man with a small pointed beard joined them. He seemed to Kinsman to be in his thirties. He wore a white one-piece jumpsuit. His face was lean and bony, ascetic; his reddish-brown hair was shaved so close to the scalp that he almost looked bald. His hands were empty.

"Well," the newcomer asked, gesturing out toward the view of space, "what do you think of it?"

"Very nice," Dreyer answered. "I think there's a future in it."

"You're being facetious."

"No, but I'm not being polite. Major Kinsman, allow me to introduce Professor Howard Alexander of Redlands Uni- versity. Howard, this is Chet Kinsman."

Alexander's hands stayed at his sides. "I didn't know that any Air Force people were on the invitations list. You're on duty with NASA, I take it."

"No," Kinsman said.

"Chefs a former astronaut. Now he's on the Moonbase team."

" Oh, that.'' The temperature of the conversation dropped fifty degrees.