The Japanese astronomer seemed stunned. "Er . . . our major costs over the past two years have been maintenance, housekeeping, basic supplies, things of that nature. And, of course, the largest cost has been that of bringing up tempo- rary people from Earth and transporting them back home again."

"Pete, why can't we keep Farside going? We don't need Earthside replacements every ninety days. There's enough of a staff among the permanent Luniks to keep the research going here."

Leonov finally did smile. Sadly. "I have orders to close the center."

"If your orders read like mine," Kinsman countered, "they merely inform you that no further Earthside funds will be allotted for Farside, and that you're to take the necessary actions. We still have our own resources."

Half the people around the table started talking at once, 399 and the silent ones either grinned hugely or glowered at Kinsman. The grinners were astronomers. The glowerers were administrators from Selene, mostly ninety-dayers.

Leonov got to his feet and called for silence. "Wait! Wait. This is something that Colonel Kinsman and I must discuss in private before we go any further."

"Right," agreed Kinsman. He got up and started around the table. "Why don't we break for lunch? Colonel Leonov and I can talk right here and see if we can come up with a meeting of the minds."

The others—some puzzled, some upset—left the room in a buzzing, chattering group. When the door clicked shut behind them Leonov turned to Kinsman and smiled sardoni- cally.

"Very well. You've been trying to get me alone for the past three days. What is it?"

Kinsman walked toward the window. "I wondered why you didn't return my calls."

"I am being carefully watched. So are you."

Nodding, "Think this room's bugged?"

"1 doubt it." Leonov came to the window and glanced out at the idle telescope. "Even if it is," he said, pulling a tiny flat dead-black plastic square from his pocket, "this will keep the bugs from biting us."

Kinsman felt his eyebrows go up a notch. "Scrambler?"

"No, a new type of transmitter that broadcasts at the frequencies of most listening devices. I have programmed it with decadent American hot-rock music; my security people will think you are carrying a jammer."

Kinsman laughed. "Wonder what my security people will think?"

"That is your problem, old friend."

Lowering his voice. Kinsman said, "I think I've got a solution to our other problem."

"Not your independence idea again!"

"Yes, but . . ."

Leonov closed his eyes. "I have received my orders. I will not be sent home, after all. I will be stationed at the Tyuratam launch complex for the duration of the emergency. All space-qualified officers have been placed on maximum alert basis. No leaves."

"Red alert?"

Leonov nodded. "Only for space-qualified personnel. All other military units are on standby alert."

"When do you leave?"

"My replacement arrives in five days."