Kinsman got about halfway through the first movement and then flubbed. He tapped out a few notes from a childhood exercise and then stood up. Everyone applauded.

Leonov came up to him. "Congratulations! But you must move the instrument from this dome. Too humid. It will never stay in tune here."

Kelly said. "We can put it in your quarters, Chef. We checked. There's enough room."

"No," Kinsman said. "Everybody ought to be able to use it. Put it in the assembly hall downstairs."

"They'll ruin it in a month. And the kids . . ." 312

"No, they won't. And we'll borrow Pete's tuner when we need him."

"Agreed," said Leonov. "On two conditions."

Kinsman cocked a brow at him.

"First, that you allow my frustrated musicians to use the instrument now and then."

"Of course."

"And second," Leonov raised two fingers, "that you keep it here on your side of Selene so that I don't have to listen to them!"

"Sure," Kinsman said. "And your secret police can plant their bugs in it, too."

"Wonderful. That will make them very happy."

Harriman was standing beside Diane. "Regular Renais- sance man, aren't you. Kinsman? Musician, soldier, astro- naut ..."

"I used to be a swordsman, too. On the Academy's saber team."

"Humph. Goddamned Cyrano de Bergerac in our midst!"

"My nose isn't that bad," Kinsman said.

"I like your nose," said Diane.

Harriman tried to make his round face frown, and almost succeeded. "I'm consumed with jealousy," he groused. "You get to do everything. Kinsman. I can't piay a note. I can't even get my stereo to work right."

With a laugh. Kinsman answered, "Playing a piano is like politics, Hugh. The secret is not letting your left hand know what your right hand is doing."

Several other people tried their hand at the piano. The dome rang with concussion rock, Chopin, soul, Strauss. One of the new ninety-day youngsters ran through some of the neo-Oriental style that was getting popular back in the States.

"Bah! Peasants and degenerates," Leonov grumbled at last, and plopped himself down on the piano bench. He pounded out some heavy-handed Mussorgsky, then broke into melancholy Russian folk tunes.

"Hey, I know that one," Diane said. She sat down beside Leonov and sang in Russian.

"What do the words mean?" she asked when they finished.

Leonov smiled at her. "What difference, beautiful one? Just to hear such a voice makes the words pale into insignifi- cance."