"It's your wife and kids. Pat. You'll be killing them, too."

"You're the guy who made me bring them here! Was that your idea, to use them as hostages?" "I'm trying to save their lives."

For the first time Kelly turned to face Kinsman. "By 421 handing them over to the Russians? So they can shoot them?" He banged a fist against the catwalk railing, making it reverberate hollowly. "If we go to war they're as good as dead anyway. I'm not going to let you help the Russians beat America."

"Then why don't you help me to prevent the war from happening?" Kinsman's voice rose enough to echo off the huge metal machinery below them.

"You can't talk your way out of this," Kelly said, starting to walk along the catwalk again. "You can't avoid the war by giving the enemy everything he wants."

"Leonov and his people aren't the enemy."

"They're Russians' That's the enemy! I took an oath to protect and defend the United States of America!" Kelly shouted, his voice cracking. "So did you. It might not have meant anything to you, but it's the most important thing in my life."

"It won't work. Pat."

"I know what my duty is'"

"And your family?"

"I know what my duty is!" Kelly was nearly screaming.

Very quietly, ignoring the growing sullen pain in his chest, Kinsman said, "Joseph Goebbels."

Kelly blinked at him. "Who?"

"Goebbels. Propaganda minister for the Nazis, under Hitler. During the final days of World War Two, when the Russians were pounding Berlin to rubble, he gave cyanide to his wife and kids. Six or seven of them, I think. Then he took some himself."

With a disgusted snort, Kelly sped up his stride along the catwalk. He was almost running.

"I could never understand how a man could do that," Kinsman went on, easily keeping pace with the shorter man. "Not since I first read about it, in high school. Now I know."

Kelly flushed deep red.

"Hold it right there!" It was Frank Colt's voice, coming from somewhere below them. Kinsman peered over the catwalk railing. There he was, down on the floor of the water factory, three levels below. The black Lieutenant Colonel was wearing his regulation fatigues, Aerospace Force blue, 422 with his silver oak leaves pinned to the collar and a heavy automatic pistol strapped around his middle.

"Search him," Colt ordered.

Kinsman took a palm-sized transistor radio from the chest pocket of his coveralls. "This is all I'm carrying." Plus the homing beacon inside my left shoe.

Kelly searched him anyway and missed the flea-sized signaling device as he patted down Kinsman's arms, torso, and legs. They clambered down the long ladder to Colt. Kinsman went slowly; he found that he was panting, short- breathed. Kelly followed him down.

Stepping out onto the stone floor of the factory, Kinsman said to Colt, "Congratulations, Frank. Murdock's made you commander of Moonbase."

Colt's eyebrows shot up, "Yeah? Tliat's good. Makes everything legal and official."

"Except for the fact that Moonbase no longer exists," Kinsman said, forcing a grin. "Murdock doesn't know that yet, but he's always been behind the curve." More seriously, "This is now the nation of Selene, Frank. Washington's orders have no authority here anymore. Neither do Mos- cow's." I hope! he added silently.

Colt glanced at his wristwatch. "In another minute and a half there won't be any water factory, buddy. Unless you call this shit off."