Colt looked over at Kinsman. "Hey, man, you still up and around?"
"Well, it is a lot easier if I hold on to a wall or something."
Landau said, "Wait, this is serious. Suppose my govern- ment makes it impossible for Jill to live at Lunagrad? Could I take up residence here in Moonbase?"
"'S'okay with me," Kinsman said, "but I don't think your own people would let you do it. Leonov had to break six hundred rules to let Baliagorev come over to have his goddamned life saved."
"But—"
"No buts," Colt said. "This is very serious. You guys 382 might have gotten along as friends up here so far, but things are changing very fast."
"Frank, old buddy," Kinsman said, holding himself as stiffly erect as he could manage, "I don't pull rank often, but I don't want this stupid crap to go any further." He turned to Landau, "Alex, husband-to-be of the woman who is virtually a sister to me, if you want to live here, you are welcome to. I am not going to permit this chickenshit from Earth to make a mess of things here. No way. Not now. Not ever. Not as long as I'm in command here."
Colt chuckled lazily. "That's a great way to make me commander of Moonbase, pal."
Kinsman found himself tottering down the corridor to- ward his own quarters with no idea of what time it was or how the well-built redhead got attached to his arm.
By concentrating so hard that it made his head hurt, he could remember the conversation with Colt and Jill and Landau. The tense silence that ended it. Going back to the bar in the living room and finding that all the scotch was gone. The girl popping up beside him . . .
With an effort, he focused his bleary eyes on her. Even in the unflattering overhead fluorescents of the chilly corridor she looked good. Young, soft, large of eye and full of lip. Big boobs. Her dress had slipped off one shoulder and her hair was disarrayed. She smelled of lost and forbidden memories; flower gardens and soft summer evenings.
She smiled up at him. "You got awfully quiet."
"I am old enough to be your father," he said, feeling stupid, "Just about."
"Oh, don't be silly," she said. "You're cute."
Cute? Holy shit. Cute! He scowled at her, but she only smiled all the more. Diane doesn't show up at the party and I'm dragging teenagers home with me.
"Cute," he muttered at her.
He knew why. He did not like it, but he knew. Don't ever put yourself into a spot where your survival depends on one individual. Don't let yourself become so vulnerable to Diane or anyone else. Armor plate. Surround yourself with it. Otherwise it's too fucking easy to get shot down. 383
"Cute," he grumbled at her again. She laughed and slid her arm around his waist and snuggled closer as they walked.
What the hell, he thought. Maybe she's a good lay.
Tuesday 7 December 1999:
