"You're in trouble?"

"I am always in trouble," Leonov said, trying to make it sound jovial. "That's why I was given the Lunagrad post in the first place. This is even better than Siberia—a banishment that appears to be a promotion. Most of the people in Lunagrad are exiles."

"If they're anything like the people in our half of Selene," Kinsman said, "they wouldn't want to go back to Earth. It's too crowded down there, Pete. Like rats, that's the way they're living."

"I know. But our superiors don't realize that. They are still living in the past. They still think of Lunagrad as a sort of exile for troublesome officers."

"They're calling you back, though."

"Yes. The game is becoming serious. They have finally realized that we supply most of the oxygen and foodstuffs and fuels for the space stations. Lunagrad—forgive me, Selene —is a vital logistics center for the orbiting platforms. And the men in those stations are in charge of the antimissile satellites. So we here on the Moon hold the key to all the military operations going on in orbit around the Earth. That is why I 330 am being replaced. They want a reliable soldier up here."

Kinsman turned his head inside the helmet of his pres- sure suit. His nose wrinkled at the smell of sealant grease and fear. The rim of the crater blocked everything from view with a continuous wall of solid rock. He and Leonov could not see the other men and women, the crawlers and buggies, the lunar plain, or even the ever-watchful Earth. Nothing could be seen except the rock-strewn crater slope, the solemn unblinking stars directly overhead, and this other human being standing before him. Kinsman's eyes saw only the outside of a bulky, impersonal lunar suit; even the visor was a mirrored blank. But he could sense the man inside, the soul that animated the plastic and metal.

"Pete, I'm not supposed to tell you this," Kinsman said, "but something big is brewing. I don't mean just tinkering with the ABM satellites. That's been going on for a long time. I think they're getting ready to take the next step."

He could sense Leonov nodding slowly. "Yes. That is why they want to remove an unreliable officer from command of Lunagrad."

"They're sending up a 'good soldier' to be my second-in- command, too," Kinsman said. "Pat Kelly's being rotated back Earthside and Frank Colt's coming up to keep an eye on me."

"Colt? The black one. Yes ... I remember him."

"Dammitall!" Kinsman balled his fists. "They're going to have their war. They're going to start killing people in orbit and they'll end up destroying everything."

"History is inexorable."

"Stop talking like a goddamned robot!" Kinsman snapped. "This isn't abstract. It's you and me, Pete! They're going to try to make us kill each other. Those shitheads won't be satisfied with tearing the Earth apart; they're going to send us orders to go to war up here."

"I won't be here," Leonov said quietly. "I'll be home in Kiev with my wife and children, waiting for your missiles to fall on us."

"And you're just going to let them do it to you? You're not going to try to do anything about it?"

"What can we do?" Leonov's voice deepened to a growl. 331

"We have talked about this many times, Chet. But what good is talk? When the actual moment comes—what can I do? What can you do?"

"I can refuse to fight," Kinsman heard himself say. "And so can you, for as long as you're in command up here. We can stop them from making war here on the Moon."

"Bravo. And what about the seven billions of human beings back on Earth?"

Kinsman stared at his friend. He had no answer.

It was almost fully dark in Washington. Streetlights and store windows were lit because the damage and danger of darkened streets was far worse, experience had proved, than the drain of energy from keeping the lights on. Commuters were scurrying for the police-protected buses that would speed them to the relative safety of their suburban enclaves, leaving the city to the poor, the black, the angry.

The President stood at his office window, staring across Lafayette Park to the National Christmas Tree. It soared nearly forty feet high, a triumph of plastic technology and chemical fluorescence. A Marine honor guard paced around it with bayoneted automatic rifles.

"Nobody comes to see the tree anymore," the President murmured. "When I was a kid we used to watch the tree being lit up on television every year. The first time I came to Washington we saw the Christmas tree. Now nobody comes at all. Nobody pays any attention to it . . ."

The Secretary of Defense coughed politely. "The orders for the contingency plan, sir—they require your signature."