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Dreyer watched him. "That's why he isn't afraid of the Russians. He's a goddamned socialist himself." He shook his head and laughed bitterly. "When he finds a place that doesn't have soldiers or capitalists he's going to be in heaven."

 

"Guess he'll snub Saint Michael," Kinsman said, "unless Mike puts away his armor and sword."

 

"Yeah. And there's a few capitalist saints he won't get along with, either."

 

Kinsman chuckled.

 

"He reminds me," Dreyer went on, "of what a kid in the office said about the head of the Office of Technology Assessment: 'He's no prophet; he's a loss.'"

 

They laughed together and got up and went to the bar for another drink. As they walked slowly back toward the window that looked out on the stars, Kinsman said:

 

"I've been thinking ... let me ask you a hypothetical question."

 

"Shoot."

 

Kinsman put out his free hand and touched the plasti- glass. It was cold. Space cold. Death cold. He could feel it drawing the heat out of him, pulling his soul into space.

 

He yanked his hand away and said to Dreyer, "Suppose the government was willing to sink a few billion dollars into building a mining facility on the Moon. Would your board of directors be interested in putting some of your own money into the operation?"

 

"Sure!" Dreyer answered immediately. "If Uncle Sugar is taking most of the risk, why the hel! not?"

 

"That's what I thought," Kinsman said.

 

"You talking about a space colony now or something else?"

 

"Not a colony. Just the lunar mining facilities. And factories, either on the Moon or in orbit."

 

"To build solar power satellites?"

 

"No. Something else."

 

Dreyer said nothing for a long moment. Then, "Just what do you have in mind?"

 

Kinsman shook his head.

 

With a knowing grin, Dreyer said, "There used to be talk about building the Star Wars satellites in space, out of lunar raw materials."

 

Kinsman answered, "So I've heard."

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