Strangely, Kinsman felt no surprise, no shock. You knew all along that it wouldn't go without fighting. They'd never give up so easily. There had to be blood.
His voice as bleak as his soul, he said into the phone grille, "Seal all the hatches leading into Level Four. Nobody in or out."
"But sir," the kid on the other end of the phone objected, "a couple of our men are still in there."
"Seal off Level Four," Kinsman repeated, with more iron in his voice. "Airtight. Get a couple of men EVA at once and dog down all the outside hatches, too. I don't want a molecule getting out of that level. Understood?" The barest of pauses. "Understood, sir." He punched the phone off. Turning to the officer with the papers in his hand, "How many men does Stahl have down there?"
The youngster pawed through the sheets. "Duty roster, personnel assignments . . . here we are!" He pulled a flimsy sheet from the stack. "According to this checkoff list there are thirty-five men down there—no, make it thirty-three. Two are in sick bay."
"How many of 'em are women?" asked the kid with the coffee cup.
"Looks like ten."
"They won't fight," the kid said smugly. 452
"The hell they won't!" snapped Kinsman. "Give them guns and they'll shoot you just as dead as any man." They fight, Kinsman knew. They die, too.
The officer who was standing seemed to pull himself together. "The small arms supply is down on Level Four. They'll have submachine guns."
They were starting to look scared. The seriousness of the situation was sinking in.
"If Stahl has Level Four, then we're cut off from the comm center, and ..."
"And they're cut off from us and the loading bay."
Kinsman nodded. "Which means that half our force can't get through to our escape route back to Selene."
"Jesus!"
Half turning on the bench. Kinsman touched the phone button. "Comm center," he called.
Swiftly he outlined the situation to the men at the communications center.
"Yessir, we can see them on the monitor screens here," answered the officer in charge. "They've got guns, all right. And they're starting to break out some of the emergency pressure suits."
"That's what I thought," Kinsman said. "Turn off their air."
"Sir?"
