"Like hell! Can't trust Reds. Not any of 'em."

Kinsman felt as if he'd run a thousand meters—no, a thousand kilometers. "Frank, you're scared of trusting any- one. You're scared of taking the risk. And I'm telling you that unless we trust Leonov and his people, unless we start trusting one another, the world's going to go up in flames."

Colt stubbornly shook his head.

"You're chicken, Frank. Scared of trying something new. 426

So you fall back on the regulations. When in doubt, follow the rules. Right?"

"Right!"

"Play it Murdock's way. Obey all orders blindly. Do what they tell you. Tote dat barge, lift dat bale . . ."

Colt punched him. A short savage right that came from the hip and clipped Kinsman squarely on the jaw. Kinsman actually felt himself lifting off his feet, flailing ridiculously in the low lunar gravity, and collapsing in a heap—ass, spine, shoulder, head—on the stone floor. His feet were the last to touch down.

Pat Kelly stared at him, frozen with surprise.

For a moment Kinsman lay there, tasting blood in his mouth. "That's the way, Frank. Kill and be killed."

A tangled skein of expressions worked across Colt's face. He said nothing.

"Frank," Kinsman said, still on his back, propping himself up on one elbow, "the black people of America, of Africa, of everywhere, are going to die. Before the month is out. Maybe before another week is out. Is that what you want?"

"And you're gonna save 'em by turning 'em over to the Reds?"

"I'm going to save them by making them free."

"Ahhh ..." Colt's face went sour. "You sound like a fucking dumb revolutionary. I been that route. It sucks."

"Why isn't Ernie back?" Kelly worried out tou-d. He peered nervously down the dim walkway.

Maybe Perry's men intercepted him, Kinsman hoped. Another explosion boomed faintly. Far off. Gas grenade? More likely another chunk of the factory being destroyed.

Kinsman got slowly to his feet. "Frank, Pat—have either of you thought about what it is that you're defending? The United States of America. Is it really the nation you want it to be? Does it work the way you want it to?"

"Don't start that," Kelly muttered.

"Think about it," Kinsman said. "Look at what's hap- pening down there. Fuel shortages. Food shortages. Riots. More people in Jail than on the streets. Army patrols in every city. Curfews. Surveillance. What the hell kind of a nation is that?"

"So you want to let the Russians blow it up?" "No! I want it changed. But they're not heading toward change. They're heading toward war."

"The United States will never start a war," Kelly said. "What difference does it make who starts it?" Kinsman snapped. "Who's going to prevent it? We're the only ones who can."

"The United States . . ."

'Tat, stop spouting schoolbook lessons! There are peo- ple down there who want the war! They think they'll live through it while the rabble get fried."

"That's Communist propaganda!"