Walking stiffly, shakily, toward him, Colt answered, "I'm on my side, Chet. That's the only side there is. Numero uno."

"Bullshit. You can't live with that and we both know it. So they make you a general. It's still a dying world out there, Frank. It's dying'. Unless we do something to change it."

"By selling out the United States." 555

"By rising above it!" Kinsman shouted, and his chest flared with pain.

Colt was standing in front of his chair now, looming over him. "We know what you and De Paolo are doing—all those visitors you've had in the past couple days. It won't work, Chet. They're not gonna let it work."

Kinsman took a long shuddering breath and forced the pain down. "I don't care about that. I don't care about anything except Selene's independence. Because without our independence you'll be part of a nuclear strike that will kill all the people of the United States. There's no way around it, Frank. Either we control those satellites or there's going to be nuclear war. Which do you want?"

"I don't want either, dammit!"

His voice as hard as the braces he wore, Kinsman snapped, "It's got to be one or the other, Frank. And you have to decide which. The choice is yours. Choose."

Colt glared at him.

"Choose?"

Colt hesitated a moment, then turned to the desk and punched savagely at the phone keyboard. "JFK central switchboard," he said into the speaker grille.

The tiny phone screen glowed pearl gray but no picture came on. A man's voice said, "JFK Aerospaceport," in a bored, flat voice.

"This is Colonel Colt. Put me through to Major Stodt, in communications."

The voice suddenly became more alert. "Sir? Would you please repeat the order so that our audio verification equip- ment can check your voiceprint?"

Colt did it, and with a single flicker of the screen a pinch-faced man with a high domed forehead appeared. His blue tunic bore the gold oak leaves of an Air Force major.

"Stodt here."

Colt gave Kinsman a sidelong glance. Then, "I want a tight laser link with Alpha. Full scramble and no tapes. At once. Pipe it into this phone line."

The Major's narrow face seemed to tighten even more. "Sir, that is not in our operational plan."

"Did I ask if it was?" Colt snapped. "Do it!"

"But . . . but, sir, there's no way for us to monitor a laser link unless we have time to—" 556

"Stodt, you've got ten minutes to get that fucking link set up. In the eleventh minute you can start writing me a report explaining why an asshole of a communications tech has been promoted beyond his talents. Now move, Captain. Or do you want to try for lieutenant?"

The Major visibly trembled. "Right away, sir," he mut- tered. The screen went blank.

Colt turned back to Kinsman. "I don't know how long it'll take 'em to catch on to what you're doing and cut the link. Better talk fast—if you get the chance to talk at all."

The pain was a dull, sullen throb, like a cinder: charred black on the outside but red and glowering deep within. Kinsman said merely, "Thanks, Frank."

Colt shook his head but said nothing. He walked back to the couch near the silent wall screen and plopped down. The screen was showing the Guy Lombardo simulacrum smiling and waving its baton in perfect three-four time in front of an orchestra of robots. Real people were dancing on the floor of the Starlight Roof.