"But the First Amendment ..."

"Is in trouble," Kinsman said. "Just like the rest of the country."

Jill rested her chin on a tiny fist. "She was good. I used to buy her tapes."

Brightening, Kinsman said, "There's no reason why she can't sing here. We could use a little entertainment around the old joint."

"That's right."

"She'd still have to work her regular shift, at least for the time being. But we could get her to moonlight after shift . . ."

"That's a terrible pun!"

Surprised, he asked, "What is?"

"Moonlighting."

"Oh—on the Moon. I see." Kinsman grinned. "It wasn't intentional."

"And there's nothing serious between you two?"

"Not really."

"You look awfully happy, all of a sudden."

He shrugged.

"It's about time you got serious about somebody, don't you think?" Jill asked, running a finger around the rim of her coffee cup. "You're getting a little elderly for the playboy lifestyle."

"Yeah. Maybe you're right. I'm too young to be a roue."

With a knowing smile Jill asked, "So what are you going to do about it?"

What can I do? he wanted to shout. Instead he merely muttered, "This is a lousy time to get my personal life tangled."

"Why?" Jill asked. "What's so bad about this particular time?"

He hesitated. "Things . . . are brewing. Trouble's com- ing. Big trouble." He reached across the table and grabbed Jill's wrist. "Listen, kid. You and your Russian friend better grab whatever fun you can get, and grab it quick. Because in the next week or two the lid could blow off. All hell's going to break loose. And soon." Then he heard himself add, "Unless we can stop it."

Saturday 4 December 1999:

1830 hrs UT

KINSMAN STOOD AT the airlock hatch in the main dome, waiting for it to open. Outside, the shuttle rocket sat squat and ungainly, connected to the hatch by an airtight access tube.

The hatch popped ajar with a sigh, then swung smoothly back. Kinsman felt a slight stir of air as the pressure in the dome equilibrated.

Frank Colt stepped through the hatch and into the dome. 338