"Dammit, Colt'" Murdock actually drummed his chubby fists on the desk, like a little boy having a tantrum. "Do I have to spell it out? You know Kinsman's commanding Moonbase. He refused rotation last year, claiming medical reasons, and those fools on staff let him get away with it."

Now it was becoming clear. Colt almost smiled. "You want me up there to look over Chet's shoulder during the buildup."

"That's right."

"Because you don't trust him." 319

Murdock glared. "I've had to deal with Kinsman for more than fifteen years. He's too emotional. Too unreliable."

It was unkind to tease the Genera!, but Colt could not resist. "Then why don't you relieve him? Rotate him out of Moonbase. Nobody's supposed to serve on the Moon for more'n a year, anyway. How long's he been there now —three, four years?"

"More like five," Murdock answered, his bald head glistening with sweat. "But it's not that simple. Everybody up there's fanatically loyal to him. And it would be hard to find a qualified man of high-enough rank who'd be willing to stay on that rockpile for a year straight. Would you take the job? Willingly?"

"Hell no!"

"You see? And besides, Kinsman's got some medical problem in his record—a heart flutter or something like that. Probably faked, but if he's relieved of duty he could stay on the Moon as a medical case. Who'd want to take over as commander with him standing over his shoulder?"

Colt wanted to laugh, but instead he probed deeper. "Yeah, but Chet gets the job done, doesn't he? Moonbase is coming along fine, from what I hear: everything on schedule or ahead."

Murdock did not take the bait. Instead, he leaned forward confidentially and lowered his voice. "Listen, Frank, I know Kinsman. And I know a good deal more about him than you do. Things nobody else knows. I don't want him up there with a totally free hand if a crisis comes up. He's gotten very friendly with the Russians up there. He's just too soft all around. I want you up there so that you can take command, if and when the crunch comes."

Colt heard himself say, "Chet and I were buddies. We've been through a lot together."

"I know that. But he stepped right over you to grab the Moonbase assignment for himself. And a full colonel's ea- gles," Murdock said. "But I know that when the chips are down, you'll react like an American and an officer—not like a weak-kneed neurotic."

Neurotic? The word made Colt's stomach tighten.

"In an emergency situation," Murdock continued, grim- 320 faced, perspiring, "I know that you'll put your orders and the nation's well-being above your personal feelings."

Colt's eyes widened as he realized what Murdock was saying. "You mean you think Chet would commit treasonT'

"I'm not accusing anyone of anything," Murdock said, obviously doing just the opposite. "I'm just being careful."

As he packed his spartan travel kit Colt began to understand what Murdock was doing. The sonofabitch is using me! Because I'm a friend of Chefs and he trusts me. Gonna look great. Like Brutus sticking in his blade. He zipped the bag viciously and hefted it in one hand. And Murdock knows I'll do it, too. I've come too far and fought too many of those lily-white bastards to back down now. Never duck a tough job. Never turn down a chance for a promotion. Don't give 'em a chance to pass you over. And if I have to step across Chefs body to get the next step up—shit, if I don't do it somebody else will.

As he reached for the door of his compartment Colt remembered the technician working on his spaceplane. Fuck him. Let him work his white ass off. And he stepped into the corridor and strode off toward the Moonbound shuttle.

"When you said we were going for a walk I didn't realize you meant up here," Diane said.

She and Kinsman were in lunar suits, walking slowly and carefully across the inlet of the Mare Nubium that covered Selene and lapped up to the base of Alphonsus's ringwall.

Kinsman loathed the pressure suits. It was like being inside someone else's skin. Sluggish, difficult to move even in the gentle lunar gravity. They always smelled of plastic and machine oil and somebody else's sweat. He was annoyed with himself for not having the guts to order a special suit custom-made for him. The commander's entitled to it, espe- cially if you're going to spend the rest of your life up here. But you're afraid of looking less than egalitarian. Kinsman the nice guy, that's the image you want them to have of you.

"Everybody ought to see the surface," he said to Diane. "Too many ninety-dayers come here and stay down below all through their tour. Might as well be in the Pentagon or the New York subway."

"What's that?" Diane pointed toward a rounded plastic dome, more than a kilometer away. He could not see her face behind the helmet's glare-proof visor. Her voice was an electronic approximation in his earphones.

"That's the original Lunagrad dome," Kinsman ex- plained. "Leonov's people still land their shuttles over there." And why did Pete beg off meeting me today? What's going on with him?