"We're taking over all three of your stations," Kinsman said slowly, walking up to within two feet of him, "as part of creating the independent nation of Selene. It's a funny name, I guess, but the best one we've got. The Russians are doing the same with their space stations,"
Stahl's face went white. "You . . . you and the ... the Russians?" He seemed dazed.
"Moonbase and Lunagrad together, that's right."
"You can't—"
"We have."
The two men stood facing each other, neither one moving, neither one speaking. The loudspeaker broke their stalemate: "Colonel Kinsman, please call the power station."
The kids at the power station were jubilant. No casualties on either side, everything under control. Kinsman congratu- lated them and told them to stand by for further orders,
He scanned his own men, then nodded to the oldest- looking one. "You men escort these officers back to their quarters, then seal the emergency hatches on both ends of officers' country and station a guard at each end." That'll keep them in their own cabins, where they can't make waves, Kinsman thought. "I'm going down to the comm center."
The communications center was down in the next wheel, Level Three, spinning fast enough to produce nearly half an Earth gee. For the first time in nearly five years Kinsman felt a pull stronger than the Moon's gentle gravity. It was like wading through hip-deep surf.
He sank gratefully into the chair Major Cahill had recently occupied and looked over the display screens that were now showing mostly the various interior sections of the big space station. His chest felt heavy; he was puffing like an overweight jogger.
The mop-up operations took several hours. There were 446 almost a hundred civilians aboard the station, almost all of them in the outermost wheel. Level One, at a full Earth gravity. Kinsman left them alone for the time being. He concentrated his meager forces on the military areas, hoping he had enough men to do the job. And it began to look as if his gamble had worked. There were only a few other officers who were not in their quarters or at the comm center, loading dock, or power station. There were many more noncoms and technicians spread around the station, but Kinsman's gun- brandishing Luniks rounded them up quickly and efficiently.
Kinsman watched it all from the communications center, slumped heavily in his seat, perspiring with the effort of lifting his chest to breathe. Reports came in from Stations Beta and Gamma; all secure. Those stations were much smaller, with only a squad or two in each. Some of the crewmen on Gamma had recovered from their initial surprise and tried to rush the Luniks with their bare hands. They were all gunned down after a brief scuffle.
"I can't believe it's going so well," said one of the young officers after Captain Perry reported success at Beta. "Weren't these stations on yellow alert, same as Moonbase?"
Kinsman nodded. Even that was an effort. Slowly he said, "Yes, but yellow alert here means stand by to shoot down unfriendly boosters—not repel boarders. Good old S.O.P. Screws you every time."
The kid laughed.
Civilians were starting to phone the comm center, aware that something strange was happening elsewhere on the station. Some of them tried to climb up from their wheel to the inner levels, but they were turned back by Kinsman's guards, stationed at the connecting tubes.
"They're getting kind of panicky," said one of the men at a communications console. "They don't know what's happen- ing, and it's getting to them."
Kinsman said, "Pipe me through the P.A. system."
The kid studied the rows of buttons on the console before him, puckered his face into a frown, then carefully touched two of them in sequence. Turning back to Kinsman, he said, "You're on, sir—1 think."
Watching the display screens that showed the central corridor of Level One, Kinsman said calmly, "Attention, 447 please. May I have your attention, please."
