His fuel was too low for him to try an actual rendezvous with the Soviet satellite. He would have a chance for one shot at it, and that would be all.

Is there a nuke on board, and is it salvage-fused? Colt thought briefly about whether it would be better to be blown away by a nuclear fireball or fried by a blast of x-rays. He smiled grimly and toggled the ARMED switch of his missile control panel. Its tiny light glowed a baleful red.

As the course of his spaceplane carried it through the plane of the Soviet satellite's orbit, Colt touched the AUTOFIRE stud on the missile control panel. He felt a quiver shake the cockpit as the missile launched itself. On the display screen he saw a tiny flash on the side of the satellite. No explosion. No x-rays.

He blew out a breath that he had not realized he had been holding in. Punching an extreme closeup of the satellite he saw that several of the lenses were shattered and there was a ragged hole where the missile's solid head had hit it.

"Scratch one," he sang out.

"We copy satellite interception," said the communica- tor's voice, flat and professional.

"Okay," Colt said, "re-aligning attitude for re-entry. Please update navigational program."

The controller's voice responded, "Set channel frequen- cy to 0415 for computer update on optimum transfer trajec- tory."

Colt tapped out the numbers on the keys to his right. "Freak 0415, check . , . Hey, what's today's score?"

"You got the only one so far—"

He grunted.

"—and they got three of ours."

Selene's recreation dome was much smaller than the main dome, where the shuttles landed. It was set on slightly higher ground, so that someone standing at the edge of the swimming pool could see the main dome, the undulating plain of the Sea of Clouds, and the slumped shoulders of the ringwall mountains of Alphonsus. The main viewing attrac- tion, of course, was Earth, hanging blue and white and gleaming against the dead-black sky. The planet was a fat crescent, almost half full, its light strong enough to bathe the 296 lunar night with far greater brightness than the full Moon lavished on Earth.

Kinsman and Diane stepped off the moving power ladder together. She was wearing red slacks and a gray sweater that clung to her. She carried a tiny plastic bag.

"Nobody told me you could swim up here," she was saying. "I had to borrow a suit from one of the women. I hope it's not too small for me."

Kinsman put on a leer. "There's no such thing as a too-small swimsuit."

She made a sour face at him. "Don't tell me you've reverted to male chauvinism out here on the frontier."

"Yeah, I guess maybe we have." On impulse, he reached for her hand. "Christ, I'm glad you came up here! It's the happiest surprise I've ever had."

Diane squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you're still here, Chet."

They stood grinning at each other for a foolish, happy moment. Then Kinsman said, "Now remember to look surprised."

"Okay, boss." They walked from the ladder through the humid, warm atmosphere toward the row of lockers that lined one side of the dome. The lockers had started service as temporary life-support modules when the first manned out- posts were being set up on the Moon. Kinsman and the other lunar explorers had fondly referred to them as "telephone booths" when they had to live in them for two weeks at a time.

"Funny—I don't smell chlorine," Diane said.

"We don't use it," explained Kinsman. "There's plenty of oxygen available from the rocks, and plenty of solar energy, so we make ozone and keep the pool clean with that. Breaks down into oxygen. No more stinging eyes."

He led her to the lockers and helped her step up into one, then entered the one next to hers. Kinsman simply unzipped his coveralls. He was already wearing his trunks. He had not bothered to bring a towel. With electric heat lamps plentiful in Selene, he had almost gotten out of the habit of toweling himself.

Stepping out of the locker he scanned the pool area. A crowd was already there, filling the dome with noisy echoing 297 laughter and splashing. A few families had their children with them. A teenage boy and girl executed simultaneous dives off the thirty-meter platform, pinwheeling slowly in exact syn- chronization. Impossible on Earth, but only marvelously difficult in one-sixth gravity.