"That's right," General Hofstader was saying. "This could all be a goddamned trick to catch us with our pants down."

"And keep us from instant readiness to launch a counter- strike," the Defense Secretary added.

"Or a preemptive strike," Hofstader said. The burly man whispered harshly. "More than that. While our attention is focused on the drama in space, we still face a very real crisis here on Earth. The Antarctic coal fields, the battles between our fishing fleets last summer ..."

". . . and they sank one of our submarines," Marshal Prokoff insisted, waggling one stubby finger in the air. "Do not let this trickery with the satellites blind us to the realities of Earth!"

Wearily, the General Secretary objected, "But this new situation has greatly altered the correlation of forces. What do you recommend as a new course of action? Clearly we cannot launch a missile strike against the West—for which ill fortune, I think, we should perhaps be grateful."

"Perhaps," the Nameless One said. Then with a thin smile he added, "But it will be necessary to send troops to recapture the orbital stations."

"Can it be done?"

"We will find a way."

"Remember, they have the orbital bombs with them at the space stations," Marshal Prokoff said. "We cannot allow them to hold these weapons over our heads."

The General Secretary glared at him. "The bombs that you insisted we place in orbit."

The Security Minister cleared his throat. "We should 483 arrest the family of Colonel Leonov and anyone else who is part of this lunar rebellion."

"What good would that do?" the General Secretary grumbled.

"They might become useful hostages." "Idiot! Think of the hostages they have at their mercy!"

"Hostages?"

Rapping the table with his knuckles on each word, the General Secretary counted, "Moscow, Leningrad, Smolensk, Volgagrad, Kiev ..."

"Then we're agreed," the Defense Secretary said, "that recapturing the space stations is our first order of business."

"Yes," whispered the burly man.

General Hofstader nodded.

"I'm not so sure," the President said. "How can we get troops up there if they're going to shoot down all our rockets?"

"We'll have to work out a plan," said Hofstader.

"There are a lot of things we'll have to work out," the

Defense Secretary agreed.

"Yes," came the angry whisper. "A lot of things."

It was nearing midnight when General Murdock read the TWX for the last time. He was still in his office, at his desk. The lights of Vandenberg Aerospace Force Base were still blacked out; the red alert had not yet been lifted.

His wife had phoned three times, and each time he had told her he would be home in an hour. He had not mentioned the TWX to her. He stared at the flimsy sheet of paper. "Right out in the open," he muttered. "Not even a private communication. Everybody on the base must know about it. They knew about it before I did."