Still, most of the men and women aboard Alpha were civilian employees. Ignore them, Kinsman knew. Take the high ground and the rest comes free. Control their electrical power and you control the station. Cut off their communica- tion with Earthside. Round up the officers before they can organize an effective defense.

Kinsman led the group heading for officer country. They clambered down the long, nearly endless spiral ladder that wound around the tube's inner wall, dropping in free-fall at first, then grabbing at the ladder's handrail and half walking, half leaping as the first gentle pull of gravity returned. Officers' quarters are at Level Four, which spins at a lunar grav, Kinsman knew, thankful that he would not have to face a full Earth gravity—not yet, at least.

They pushed past two startled civilians who were making their way up the tube. Neither of them said a word as the 443 armed men hustled past them. Let 'cm go. By the time they figure out what we're up to we'll be in command of the station. They clattered on, footsteps echoing metallically now through the narrow, dimly lit tube.

At last they burst out on Level Four and rushed down the central corridor toward the officers' area. His heart pounding against his ribs, Kinsman searched the nameplates on the doors they passed. There he is! L/C H. J. STAHL. He pushed the door open. Empty. Bed, desk, photos of wife and children, tape cassettes, but the man himself was not there.

Two other station officers were being pulled out of their compartments by Kinsman's grim-faced aides. One of them was Art Douglas; they had gone through astronaut training together. He was as bald and round-faced as Kinsman re- membered him from the last time they had met, but he had added a "station tour" mustache to his upper lip. "Chet! What're you doing here? What the hell's going on?" Flanked by the armed youngsters, Douglas and his buddy both looked surprised and more than a little annoyed.

"We're taking over the station, Art. Where's Harry Stahl?"

"Taking over? What do you mean?"

"Just what I said," Kinsman answered, walking down the corridor toward them. "Where's Stahl? This is no time for playing games."

Douglas was looking angry now. His buddy was staring at the guns that the young officers were holding. "This may come as a surprise to you, Chet, but the Colonel doesn't always take me into his confidence about every move he makes. Maybe he's in the head. How the hell should I know?"

Kinsman grimaced. "All right. Move—down into the mess hall." To his half-dozen men he said, "Clean out every compartment along the corridor. Herd them all down to the mess hall."

Douglas and the other officer walked ahead of Kinsman. They did not raise their hands over their heads, and Kinsman tucked his pistol into its holster. But they all knew what was happening.

"This is crazy, Chet. You can't get away with it."

"Just keep walking, Art."

The corridor sloped upward in both directions; it looked 444 as if you were always walking uphill, although it felt perfectly flat and there was no sensation of climbing at all.

The mess hall was nothing more than a widened section of the corridor with bulging blisters on both sides to make alcoves where people could sit and look outside. It had enough tables to accommodate fifty people at a time. Both ends of the mess hall were open to the corridor, which ran through Level Four like the inner tube of an old-fashioned bicycle tire. At the far end of the mess hall the corridor passed through the galley and a series of storage bays. Kinsman seated the two officers at one of the tables, then walked to the galley and waved a wide-eyed cook and his helpers to seats near Douglas and his smoldering friend.

The Earth slid past the window beside their table as the young lunar troops began bringing other station officers and men and women into the mess hall. They looked shocked, angry, bewildered. A few of them had obviously been awak- ened from sleep. Although a number of the enlisted person- nel were women, only three of the officers were female; the highest-ranking was a captain. Lieutenant Colonel Stahl was not among the prisoners.

"Colonel Kinsman," the overhead speaker blared. A young man's voice. "Colonel Kinsman, please call the comm center."

Kinsman went to the wall phone in the galley, keeping his eye on the rapidly filling tables. Men and women were coming from both sides now, urged by gun-wielding youngsters.

"Kinsman here," he said into the phone. "Put me through to the comm center."

The station's computer buzzed briefly, then a young man's voice said, "Communications."

"This is Kinsman."

"Yessir. Lieutenant Reilly here, sir. We have Colonel Stahl. He was in the comm center when we got here."

Involuntarily Kinsman let out a sigh of relief. "Very good. Bring him up to the officers' mess. You've secured the center?"

"Oh, yessir. No trouble at all."

"Good. Call me when the power station team calls in."