Reluctantly, almost petulantly, the President turned away from the window. "We ought to do something. There must be millions of kids who'd like to see the tree."

"They do see it, on television," said the Defense Secre- tary. "It's difficult for them to get to the city." He was standing in front of the President's broad desk of genuine cherrywood, unconsciously tapping a thick sheaf of papers resting on the desktop.

"Um, well, I suppose they do." The President shook his head and then lowered his chunky body into the high-backed plush swivel chair behind the desk. He looked too small for the chair, for the broad desk itself. 332

"Now what am I supposed to be signing here?"

"These are the orders for the contingency plans, part of our follow-up on the ABM satellite problem."

"Oh." The President reached for his gold pen, then looked up at the Defense Secretary again. "And what's different about these that they need my signature?"

Defense's narrow, sharp-featured face clouded momen- tarily. "The contingency plans cover the possibility of a Soviet attack on our manned space stations. They provide for manpower and logistics backup to prevent such an attack from succeeding."

"Beefing up the stations' defenses?"

"Exactly."

"What's this going to cost? Are you sure we need it?"

"Sir, it's obvious the Russians are up to something big. The shooting incident in Antarctica—one of our naval offi- cers was killed, you know."

"What?"

Defense raised a calming hand. "We've only gotten scrambled reports out of McMurdo Station. They're investi- gating the incident. Our monitors have also intercepted similar reports from the Russian base at Mirnyy. All we know for certain is that a team of Russians and a team of Americans fired on each other. One American officer is dead."

The President's hands were trembling. "They killed one of our men?"

"Apparently. We'll know more shortly."

"I want a full report as soon as the information becomes available."

"Of course."

"No matter what hour of the day or night. Do you hear me? A full report."

"Yes, sir. Certainly."

His voice still hollow with shock, the President went on, "Now, what's this got to do with the space stations?"

Defense said, "It's all part of a pattern. They're getting tough in Antarctica. They're building up their troop concen- trations in Syria. Intelligence reports show that they intend to replace their present commander at Lunagrad, a coexistence type, with a hard-line full general straight out of the Kremlin. They're up to something big." 333

Wordlessly the President scribbled his signature on the top page of the sheaf of papers.

"Thank you, Mr. President." Defense snatched the sheaf of papers from his desk and strode quickly out of the office.

In the anteroom outside, the burly angry-faced man paced across the plush carpeting. He walked with a slight limp, as if his feet were not meant to be in the shoes he was forced to wear.

He glared up at the Defense Secretary. "He signed?"