“Chet. Why do you want to have a Moonbase built?”

“Why? Because . . . I was just telling you—”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t mean the official reasons, I mean why do you dig the idea?”

“We need it. The space program needs it.”

“No,” she said patiently. “You. Why are you for it? What’s in it for you?”

“What do you mean?” Kinsman asked.

“What makes you tick, man? What turns you on? Is it a Moonbase? What moves you, Chet?”

They were all watching him, the whole crowd, their faces blank or smirking or inquisitive. Floating weightless, standing on nothing and looking at the overpowering beauty of Earth—rich, brilliant, full, shining against the black emptiness. Knowing that people down there are killing each other, teaching their children to kill, your eyes filling with tears at the beauty and sadness of it. How could they see it? How could they understand?

“What moves you, Chet?” Diane asked again.

He made himself grin. “Well, for one thing, the Pentagon cafeteria coffee.”

Everybody laughed. But she wouldn’t let him off the hook.

“No—get serious. This is important. What turns you on?”

Wouldn’t understand anyway. “You mean aside from the obvious things, like sex?”

She nodded gravely.

“Hmmm. I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to answer. Flying, I guess. Getting out on your own responsibility, away from committees and chains of command.”

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Diane insisted.

“Well . . . have you ever been out on the desert at an Israeli outpost, dancing all night by firelight because at dawn there’s going to be an attack and you don’t want to waste a minute of life?”

There was a heartbeat’s span of silence. Then one of the women asked in a near-whisper, “When . . . were you . . . ?”

Kinsman said, “Oh, I’ve never been there. But isn’t it a romantic picture?”

They all broke into laughter. That burst the bubble. The crowd began to dissolve, breaking up into smaller groups, dozens of private conversations filling the silence that had briefly held them.

“You cheated,” Diane said.

“Maybe I did.”

“Don’t you have anything except icewater in your veins?”

He shrugged. “If you prick us, do we not bleed?”

“Don’t talk dirty.”

He took her by the arm and headed for the big glass doors at the far end of the room. “Come on, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I’ve bought all your tapes.”

“And I’ve been watching your name on the news.”

“Don’t believe most of it.”

He pushed the door open and they stepped out onto the balcony. Shatterproof plastic enclosed the balcony and shielded them from the humid, hazy Washington air—and anything that might be thrown or shot from the street far below. The air conditioning kept the balcony pleasantly cool.

“Sunset,” Diane said, looking out toward the slice of sky that was visible between the two apartment buildings across the avenue. “Loveliest time of the day.”

“Loneliest time, too.”

She turned to him, her eyes showing genuine surprise. “Lonely? You? I didn’t know you had any weaknesses like that.”

“I’ve got a few, hidden away here and there.”

“Why do you hide them?”

“Because nobody gives a damn about them, one way or the other.” Before Diane could reply, he said, “I sound sorry for myself, don’t 1?”

“Well..

“Who’s this Larry character?”

“He’s a very nice guy,” she said firmly. “And a good musician. And he doesn’t go whizzing off into the wild blue yonder . . . or, space is black, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “I don’t go whizzing any more, either. I’ve been grounded.”

She blinked at him. “What does that mean?”

“Grounded,” Kinsman repeated. “Deballed. No longer qualified for flight duty. No orbital missions. No lunar missions. They won’t even let me fly a plane any more. Got some shavetail to jockey me around. I work at a desk.”

“But. . . why?”

“It’s a long dirty story. Officially, I’m too valuable to risk or something like that.”

“Ghet, I’m so sorry . . . flying meant so much to you, I know.” She stepped into his arms and he kissed her.

“Let’s get out of here, Diane. Let’s go someplace safe and watch the Moon come up and I’ll tell you all the legends about your namesake.”

“Same old smooth talker.”

“No, not any more. I haven’t even touched a woman since . . . well, not for a long time.”

“I can’t leave the party, Chet. They’re expecting me to sing.”

“Screw them.”

“All of them?”