He carried a single small travel kit and wore a regulation Aerospace Force blue uniform the way officers did Earthside, with a chestful of decorations, instead of the casual lunar coveralls.
Kinsman was always surprised at Colt's lack of physical size. The black astronaut had a giant's strong personality but physically he was slight. A black Alexander Hamilton, Kins- man thought. Tough, waspish. Then he remembered that Hamilton had been killed in a duel by a man later called a traitor to the United States.
At the sight of Kinsman, Colt snapped to bayonet-stiff attention and saluted crisply. Suppressing a grin. Kinsman returned a lazy salute, then reached for Colt's hand. "Frank, you old ass-kicker—good to see you! Welcome aboard."
Colt grinned widely. "How're you, pal? Letting your hair grow, huh?"
With a glance at Colt's close-cropped fuzz, Kinsman countered, "Jealous?"
"Shit, man, if I let mine go natural I'd never get a helmet over it."
Laughing, they made their way to the power ladder.
"You can drop your bag off at your quarters and have dinner with us," Kinsman said as they stepped aboard the moving rungs.
"Sure, sure. But shouldn't I be presenting my orders and officially checking in?"
"We can do that tomorrow. You must be hungry. And the food at Alpha hasn't improved any, I'll bet."
Colt laughed as he clung to the handgrip in front of him. "Hell, no."
They rode down four levels as the ladder's distant electric motor whined faintly. As they stepped off the ladder Colt said, "Maybe I can wait a couple more days and officially take my new post on Pearl Harbor Day. That'd have a nice historical touch to it."
"Pearl what?" Kinsman asked.
"Pearl Harbor. December seventh. World War Two. It was in all the papers."
Kinsman led him down the corridor. "You've got an odd sense of humor, Frank."
"History, man. History. It's my big subject." 339
Half an hour later they were in the cafeteria. It was a small place, with only a couple dozen tables. Most of them were filled, but the acoustical insulation kept the background noise down to a muted murmur.
Colt's face was grim as they sat down. "Aren't those Russians over there?" He cocked his head in the direction of the table where Jill Meyers was sitting with Landau and a pair of Russian medi-techs.
Kinsman nodded. "We've got one of their people in our intensive-care unit. Heart condition."
"Chet, this is supposed to be a military installation. It's bad enough to be sitting right next door to the enemy ..."
