"I can't kill anyone again," Kinsman said. "Not even if it's only by sitting back and letting others push the buttons. I have to try to stop them. Have to, Peter."

"And you cannot do it without Lunagrad's help."

"Without your help."

"Forgive me, old friend. I could never have trusted you if you had not told me. It's ridiculous, but I could not have trusted you."

They stood side by side, looking out the window at the bleak landscape and empty sky.

"Too many of us have died," Kinsman told him. "It's time to stop the killing."

Staring at the barren rocks, the ancient weary moun- tains, the stark framework of human artifacts, Leonov asked quietly, "Do you think there are enough people like us in Selene to carry it off? Can we make a success of it, or will we merely start the war here on the Moon? I have no desire for a glorious failure. Only the victors write the history books."

"Dammitall, Pete, if we don't try there won't be any history books."

"The world's savior," Leonov said. There was no sar- casm in it- He gestured toward the window and the unused telescope. "You want to make the blind see. You've already brought a dead man back to life. And now you want to save the world from hellfire." He sighed deeply. "They will crucify us, you know."

Kinsman shrugged.

Then, with a smile that was more sadness than anything else, Leonov slowly raised his hand and extended it toward Kinsman. Taking it in his, Kinsman gripped the Russian's hand firmly.

"Wasn't it one of your revolutionaries who said, 'We must all hang together, or we will surely all hang separately?'"

Kinsman laughed. "Franklin."

"We must act swiftly," Leonov said. "And we must start now."

Now, Kinsman repeated to himself as he sank into the foam couch of the ballistic rocket. Takeoff from Farside was 404 felt rather than heard. A pressure squeezing you into your couch. A distant rumbling that was more a vibration in your bones than an audible sound.

The engine thrust cut off and Kinsman felt the pressure ease to zero. Free-fall. Floating. His hands drifted off the couch's armrests. He still leaned back in the couch, unable to see the dozen other passengers cocooned in their own couches, their own thoughts.

Swinging the couch up to its sitting position. Kinsman touched the communications keys on the right armrest. The screen on the seatback in front of him flickered to life and within a few moments he was looking at Pat Kelly's worried, lip-nibbling face.

"What do you hear from your wife and family, Pat?" Kinsman asked.

Kelly looked puzzled that the boss would call from the Farside ferry rocket with a personal question. "They were at Kennedy yesterday. I haven't checked with Alpha yet, but they ought to be transshipping to the lunar shuttle this afternoon. That's the schedule."

"Good. Listen, Pat. Get Alpha on the horn and find out exactly when that shuttle took off and who's on it. I want the crew and passenger list on my desk when I land back at Selene."

"Okay. Sir."

"There's more," Kinsman said. He pulled the pin mike from the armrest and lowered his voice as he spoke into it. "I want you to set up a red-alert condition ..."

Kelly's mouth dropped open.

"No, it's not really a red alert. But I want you to get the whole base buttoned up as if it were. The best people we have at all the critical centers: communications, power, water factory, launch center. Only permanent Luniks, no ninety- dayers. The program's all set up in the command computer, all you have to do is run off the orders."

Kelly scratched at his thinning hair. "Well, are we on red alert or aren't we? What do I tell—"