"Yessir!" The youngster was on his way before Kinsman had finished speaking.

The kid finished draining the coffee cup as the other officer pressed the hypospray against his sleeve. "Tranquiliz- er," he said. "Settle your nerves."

"Shot him," the kid was muttering. "Colonel Stahl himself. Just pointed the gun at Polanski and shot him while he was still on the floor."

Warrior of the week, Kinsman fumed silently. Stahl will get a medal for heroism, shooting kids. Then he thought, And if we win, Polanski will be our first martyred hero. We'll 454 probably put up a statue to him. Big consolation.

The phone buzzed. "Sir, the air pumps to Level Four also supply parts of Level Three, including the comm center, where we are."

Shit! "Better get into pressure suits damned fast," Kins- man said.

The voice sounded distinctly unhappy. "Yessir."

"And what about that P.A- hookup to Level Four?"

"All set, sir, whenever you want it."

"Are they pumping the air out?"

A brief hubbub of background noise. "Yessir, they've just started now."

"All right," said Kinsman. "Plug me into the P.A."

"You're on ... now."

Kinsman hesitated a moment. Then, "Stahl, this is Kinsman. You'd better stop now, before anybody else gets hurt."

For a moment nothing but a sizzling hum came out of the phone grille. Then Stahl's voice crackled clearly, "Kinsman, the game's over! You've got five minutes to give yourself up, or we'll recapture the station, level by level. I've got the men and the weapons to do it!"

He sounds happy. Kinsman realized. Elated. The sonofa- bitch is enjoying this. He's high on it!

"Stahl, listen to me. You can't get out of Level Four. All the hatches are sealed."

"That's your story."

"We've disarmed the explosive bolts."

"We've got primacord and thermite from the engineering section. We'll get through the hatches. Come on, Kinsman, you're beaten. Give up."

It always comes down to this, Kinsman told himself. You knew it would. There's no such thing as a bloodless coup. Now you make your choice: let them win or be ready to kill them. No idle threats. You can't talk your way out of this one. You've got to be ready to kill them. All of them. That's all they understand.

"Come on, Kinsman!" Stahl snapped impatiently. "We've got three of your own men here. One of them's bleeding to death. You'd better give up quick so we can get him to sick bay in time to save his life." 455

Rage suddenly boiled past Kinsman's self-control. "You damned hypocritical bastard. You shot the kid, and now you're using him as a hostage!"

"Damned right! I only wish it was you—traitor^

And just as suddenly, with that word, Kinsman's rage turned glacier cold. It was not gone. The fear and anger were still there, greater than ever. But instead of bubbling hot within his guts, now they were frozen into an iron-hard purpose. Beyond all trembling. Beyond all self-doubt. Stahl was no longer a threat, a man to be feared. He was an obstacle that had to be hurdled, a barred gate that must be broken through. Kinsman almost smiled. Idly he glanced at the faces of the men around him: apprehensive, questioning, frightened.