Kinsman looked at them for a moment. They were all watching him. "What is this, a parade?" he joked. "Go ahead, go on out. I don't have to be the first in line."

He followed them through the access tube that connected the shuttle hatch with the airlock of Selene's main dome. It felt like a long walk. Behind him was the excitement, the terror, the passion of action: the swift, fearful climax of so many years of self-doubt, so many weeks of indecision and mounting tension. Now it was done and men had died because of it. Because of me. Kinsman knew. But strangely he 487 felt no guilt. Only weariness, and the beginnings of dread.

Kinsman realized that this revolution, if it really was one, had barely begun. The fighting may be over but the real struggle had only started. Now we have to make it stick. Make a nation of little more than a thousand people stay independent of the seven billions on Earth. We've got a long lever and a place to stand—but is it enough?

The inner airlock hatch was closed when Kinsman stepped into the metal chamber. "Something wrong?" he asked the youngster ahead of him.

The officer shrugged. "Dunno. It was open and people were going through, then somebody outside yelled 'Stand by,' and they shut the damned thing in my face."

Before Kinsman could go to the wall phone the hatch swung open again. The young officer stepped through and Kinsman followed him out onto the floor of the main dome.

It was thronged with people. Off to his right, a motley collection of musicians struck up a barely recognizable ver- sion of "Hail to the Chief," playing a battered slide trom- bone, a dozen or more recorders and kazoos, a few homemade instruments, at least one violin, a few drums made from oil cans, and a dulcimer. Everyone was shouting and cheering. Kinsman was so surprised he did not have the strength even to stagger. He stood frozen to the spot. The trombonist was smiling as he played!

The crowd was still yelling as the band ground to a ragged stop. The dome reverberated with their cheers. Hugh Harriman somehow appeared beside Kinsman, pounding him on the back. Leonov was there, too, grinning and kissing everyone in sight, man or woman.

"Congratulations, Chet!" Harriman was yelling in his ear. "We ran an election this afternoon and you lost! You're the Chief Administrator of this crazy nation."

"And I am Deputy Chief," Leonov beamed. "In charge of immigration. I get to interview all the girls who want to come live here."

It was a dizzy, crazy whirl. Diane came out of the crowd and took Kinsman's arm as the whole population descended upon him, laughing, cheering, grabbing for his hand, telling him and each other that they were ready to defend their new nation and follow his leadership. 488

Kinsman lost all track of time. Diane climbed up on the fender of a tractor, guitar in hand, tears in her eyes, her voice nearly choking as she reached the words she had not been allowed to sing for so many years:

"It's the hammer of justice, It's the bell of freedom, It's the song 'bout the love between my brothers and my sisters, All over this world."

Food appeared as if by magic, and drink: all sorts of drink, from precious bottles of champagne to locally distilled rocket juice that seemed to be still fermenting. After what seemed like hours of ear-numbing noise and crowds and music and folk dancing that snaked all across the dome and down the corridors below ground, a small group of them ended up in Diane's quarters; Harriman, Leonov, Jill and Alexsei Landau, Diane herself.

"Immigration?" Kinsman was asking. His head was still spinning, and there was a tall drink in his hand. Diane was perched on the arm of the couch beside him.

Leonov nodded vigorously. He had a vodka bottle in one hand and a tiny shot glass in the other. He was standing, his boots were planted solidly on the grassy floor, but his body weaved slowly from side to side, like a fern in a fishtank. Kinsman could not decide if it was his own eyesight or the Russian's stabilization system that was going kaput.

Leonov boomed jovially, "Do you realize how many requests for immigration visas we have received in the past twenty-four hours? Thousands! From almost every nation in the world."

"We've already been officially recognized by several nations," Diane said. "Starting with Sri Lanka."

"And the government of Israel in exile, surprise, sur- prise," said Harriman, buffing his fingernails against the chest of his coveralls. "Pm not without influence among certain of the more civilized people of the Earth, I'll have you know. Besides," he added, "Selene is the only nation that the Jews haven't been thrown out of."

"Maybe we could offer them a promised land up here," 489

Diane said. "They're desert people; the Moon's certainly bleak enough for them."

"Too much," Kinsman muttered. "It's all too much."

"You're entirely right," Jill Meyers said, fixing Kinsman with a professional medical gaze. "You look like you've been through several wringers. I want you in my office at oh-nine- hundred hours tomorrow morning."

"You mean this morning." Alexsei said softly. "It's already past three."

"To bed, all of you," Jill commanded. "Can't have our Chief Administrator collapsing from exhaustion his first day on the job."