"Automatic sequencer on."
"Energize full track,"
"Beta acknowledges time and recovery angle."
"All systems green."
"Three . . . two . . . one . . . launch!"
The squat cylinder became a blur and disappeared in less than an eyeblink. The entire crew glanced up at the now- empty track.
"Radar?" the launch controller asked, cool and profes- sional.
From across the row of consoles came another woman's voice, "Through the keyhole."
The launch controller yanked the earpin out and stood up. "Okay, well done. But nobody moves until Beta Station picks her up and acknowledges the trajectory."
They leaned back in their chairs. A few pulled out cigarettes and lit up.
The spell broken, Kelly walked grimly toward Colt. "Frank, can I talk to . . ."
Colt spun around at the sound of his name. He looked surprised, then puzzled, then surprised again as Kelly came close enough to be recognized in the dim lighting. "Pat? What're you doing up here?"
"Looking for you."
"Yeah?" Colt's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What for?"
Kelly felt the glacial chill of Colt's distrust. He wanted to turn and run, but knew that he could not. "I've got to talk to you. Someplace where it's quiet."
Colt gave him a long look. "I'm here checking on the defensibility of the launch center. Be easy for the Reds to knock this place off—all they'd need's a couple bazookas."
Kelly fought down a surge of anger. The black man was right, he knew that. "But they'd have to trek over the surface to get here," he pointed out. "The tunnel can be defended pretty easily."
"Hey man," Colt grinned, "you're making noises like a soldier!"
"And anybody moving on the surface is damned vulnera- ble," Kelly finished, ignoring the thrust.
"They're vulnerable if you know they're coming and you realize their intentions," Colt said.
