"Diane," said Kinsman, "this is Hugh Harriman. He's half Irish, half Jewish, half Spanish ..."
"Portuguese, dammit! Watch your mouth, Kinsman."
"This is Diane Lawrence," Kinsman finished.
Harriman's bellicose expression suddenly melted into baby-blue innocence, all rolling eyes and a cupid's-bow smile. "Charmed, I'm sure." He reached for Diane's free hand and kissed it.
"I'm pleased to meet you," Diane responded.
A thoughtful expression crossed Harriman's face. "But aren't you the famous folksinger?"
"The ex-famous folksinger," Diane said sadly. "The government got tired of hearing me."
Everything went absolutely still. No one said a word or made a murmur. No one knew what should be said.
"Diane's starting a new life here on the Moon," Kinsman said firmly. Turning to face her, he added, "And I guarantee you that nobody here will get tired of hearing you."
A mutter of agreement went through the crowd. But it was only a mutter. Most of the people there intended to return to the States to spend the remainder of their lives.
"Tell me," Diane said to Harriman, "what do you do here at Moonbase?"
"Selene, my dear," he replied. "Selene. That's the name we have given to this haven of refuge." Harriman paused for a breath, glared for an instant at Kinsman as he sipped his drink, then smiled back at Diane. "I am a political exile, my dear. An unfortunate victim of diabolical forces. Would you care to hear the story of my life?"
"He's a secret agent," Kinsman said, "but we haven't been able to figure out which side he's working for—or against."
"Doesn't matter," Harriman said.
Kinsman asked, "Who set up the bar? What's going on around here tonight?"
Harriman went back to glaring. "Fuck off, Kinsman! You know damned well this is a surprise party for you. But you don't know what the real surprise is."
Kinsman was about to answer when a clamor erupted from the general direction of the laddenvay, and a deep voice proclaimed: "Greetings and felicities from the peace-loving 303 peoples of the Soviet Union of Socialist Republics to the money-grubbing imperialist lackeys of Wall Street!"
Suddenly Kinsman felt better. "Leonov." He grabbed Diane by the wrist and towed her through the crowd toward the ladderway, "It's Piotr Leonov, the commander of the Russian half of Selene."
Leonov was flanked by two smiling Russian women in zipsuits. Damned good figures, Kinsman noted automatically. The Russian was in full uniform, with colonel's insignia on his shoulders. He was slightly shorter than Kinsman, a bit heavier. His face was dominated by brilliant ice-blue eyes, very expressive, and a full-lipped mouth. His hair was already iron-gray, but it flopped boyishly over his forehead; he was constantly brushing it back with his hand.
"Chet! Bloated reactionary plutocrat! Happy birthday!"
