"But you've proved that the Air Force has an important mission to perform in space, by God! The only way we could tell they were cheating on the treaty was to look into their damned satellite. Bet the Congress will change our name to the Aerospace Force now!"

"I committed a murder."

For a long moment Murdock was silent. He drummed his fingers on his desktop. "It's one of those things," he said finally. "It had to be done."

"No, it didn't," Kinsman insisted quietly. "I could have gone back inside the Manta and de-orbited."

"You killed an enemy soldier. You protected your na- tion's frontier. Sure, you feel rotten now, but you'll get over it."

"You didn't see the face I saw inside that helmet."

Murdock shuffled papers on his desk. "Well . . . okay, it was rough. You're getting a medical furlough out of it when there's really nothing wrong with you. For Chrissakes, what more do you want?"

"I don't know. I've got to take some time to think it over,"

"What?" Murdock stared hard at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Read the debriefing report," Kinsman said tiredly.

"It ... eh, hasn't come down to my level. Too sensitive. But 1 don't understand what's got you so spooked. You killed an enemy soldier. You ought to be proud ..."

"Enemy," Kinsman echoed bleakly. "She couldn't have been more than twenty years old."

Murdock's face went slack. "She?"

"That's right," said Kinsman. "She. Your honest-to-God hero murdered a terrified girl. That's something to be proud of, isn't it?"

Age 31

LIEUTENANT COLONEL MARIAN CAMPBELL drummed her fin- gers lightly on her desktop. The psychological record of Captain Kinsman lay open before her. Across the desk sat the Captain himself.

She appraised him with a professional eye. Kinsman was lean, dark, rather good-looking in a brooding way- His gray-blue eyes were steady. His hands rested calmly in his lap; long, slim pianist's fingers. No tics, no twitches. He looked almost indifferent to his surroundings. Withdrawn, Colonel Campbell concluded.

"Do you know why you're here?" she asked him.

"I think so," he replied with no hesitation.

Marian leaned back in her chair. She was a big-boned woman who had to remind herself constantly to keep her voice down. She had a natural tendency to talk at people in a parade-ground shout. Not a good attribute for a psychiatrist.

"Tell me," she said, "what you think you're here for."

When she tried to keep her voice soft it came out gravelly, rough. The voice had the power for an opera stage or an ancient amphitheater, despite the fact that its owner was tone-deaf.

Kinsman took a deep breath, like an athlete about to exert himself to the utmost. Or like a man who is bored.

"I've been under psychiatric observation for five months now. Suspended from active duty. Your people have been trying to figure out the effect on me of killing that Russian girl."

Colonel Campbell nodded. "Go on."