"Listen to me. Be quiet and listen!" he shouted into his helmet microphone. "It's all up to you, now. You've got to keep it all together. Don't let them shut down Moonbase because of this. This isn't an accident; we both know that. Don't let Greg or anybody else use this as an excuse to shut down Moonbase."

He waited for her response. "I understand," Joanna said at last. From the sound of her voice, she was fighting for self-control. I'll... take care of everything."

"Good," he said, feeling suddenly bone-weary, exhausted physically, emotionally.

"Paul, isn't there anything...?"

"I wish there was. I didn't want it to end like this."

That long wait again. Then, "I love you, Paul. I love you." Joanna broke into sobs.

"I love you too, Jo. I guess you're the only woman I've ever really loved."

Instead of waiting for more from her, Paul snapped off his radio. No sense dragging it out, he said to himself. We've said all we have to say. There's nothing left for either of us now but pain.

He got up from the tractor seat and clambered down to the ground. Walking to the edge of the narrow trail he looked down once again at the pitiful heaps of rubble that marked Moonbase.

Like Moses on the pissin' mountain, Paul thought. I can see the promised land but I'll never get to live in it.

He thought again of what Moonbase could become, someday. He saw a future that beckoned, with humankind spreading across this new frontier and heading outward for new worlds. A future that would never happen if Moonbase was destroyed.

Paul sighed. "If it is to be," he said softly, "it's up to me."

With a sudden, quick move he yanked open the visor of his helmet.

Moonrise SAVANNAH.

It had been two days since Joanna last slept. Most of that time she had spent on the videophone with Kris Cardenas in San Jose, making arrangements for a team to be sent to the Moon to deactivate the nanomachines that had killed her husband and the two other men.

And she made other arrangements, as well.

"I want to know who allowed those killer machines to be mixed in with the other nanobugs," Joanna said, as implacable as an ocean tide.

Cardenas' image in the phone screen nodded somberly. "I've already started an investigation. That kind of stupidity verges on the criminal."

"It is criminal," Joanna said. "But I don't intend to press charges or bring the law into this. I just want to know who those people are."

"You won't press charges?" Cardenas brightened.

"No. I want them transferred to Moonbase, once we find out who they are."

Cardenas blinked her cornflower blue eyes. "Why would you send mem to Moonbase?"

Grimly, Joanna replied, "So they can see the consequences of stupidity. So they can live in a place where one little mistake, one moment of stupidity, can kill you."

"How long will they have to stay?"

Joanna shook her head. "Until my husband comes back to life."

She still had not slept when she had her meeting with Greg.

Joanna had decided to meet her son at the house, rather than the office. She sent two hefty security guards to escort him to the meeting.

Greg looked subdued when he stepped into the living room, flanked by the two uniformed men. Joanna dismissed them and told her son to sit on the sofa, facing her.

"You killed Paul," she said, once she was certain that they were alone.

Greg evaded her eyes. "Suppose I did. What of it? It's over and done with. You can't bring him back and that's that."

Joanna studied her son. He seemed tense, but the fury that had exploded in him now was gone, spent, dissipated.

"What do you intend to do now?" Joanna asked calmly.

Greg cocked an eyebrow. "Take my rightful place as president and CEO."

"Really?"

He leaned forward intently, suddenly flushed with prospects for the future. "Don't you see, Mom? Now it's just you and me, the way it ought to be. We can run everything together, just the two of us. It'll all work out, you'll see." He even smiled that same old boyish smile at her.

"But there's not just the two of us," Joanna said.

Greg pulled back from her slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I'm carrying Paul's baby. Paul's son."

"Oh, that." Greg flapped one hand in the air dismissively.

"You don't care anymore?" Joanna asked, caught unprepared for his casual attitude. "A few days ago you wanted me to abort it."

"I was foolish," Greg said. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"Really?"

"By the time he grows up enough to join the corporation I'll be ready to retire," Greg said.

Be careful, Joanna told herself. He knows how to play on your feelings.

"Greg, you're a murderer."

For an instant she saw fear in his eyes. But then his smile returned. "Are you going to turn me over to the police?"

"I'm getting the names of the people who allowed those killer machines to be sent off to'the Moon. They'll implicate you to save themselves."

"So you are going to hand me to the police, after all."

Joanna shook her head. "I should," she said. "But I can't. I can't hurt you more than you've already been hurt."

"I knew it!" he said triumphantly. "It's going to be just the two of us! I knew it would work out this way!"

"Greg...' Joanna took in a deep breath. This is going to be painful, she knew. "Greg, I'm sending you to a place where they can help you."

His brows knit. "Sending me? Where?"

"It's like a hospital. Very private. Very discreet. They'll be able to help you there."

"I don't need anyone's help! I'm not sick!"

"I'm not asking for your opinion," Joanna said firmly. "I'm telling you. You're going there and that's all there is to it"

"I want to be with you!"

Joanna felt her heart clutch within her. "I know, Greg. I know. I'll come and visit you. Often."

"I want to be with you all the time!"

"Later," Joanna said. "When you're better."

He sat there, looking perplexed, for several moments. Then, sullenly, "You want to play with your new baby and forget about me."

"No!" Joanna blurted. "I could never forget you. You're my baby boy and I'll love you forever, no matter what."

"Then don't send me away." Greg fell to his knees in front of his mother and buried his face in her lap. "Please, Mom, don't send me away."

A wild thought raced through Joanna's mind. "What if...' She hesitated, searching for an answer. "Greg, what if you stayed here at the house, with me?"

"Yes!" he said fervently.

"And I can bring the doctors and their assistants here to stay with us."

"Yes! Yes!"

"And we'll be together while they help to make you well again."

"Anything," Greg sobbed, "as long as we can be together."

Joanna stroked her son's midnight dark hair, thinking, That will be the best way. Keep him here, where I can watch him. Bring the medical help to him.

She realized that Greg had fallen asleep with his head cradled in her lap. He probably hasn't slept for the past couple of days, either, Joanna thought.

I can't turn him over to the police. What good would that do? It won't bring Paul back and it will destroy Greg completely. Not the police. No scandal. No one must know what he did.

She sighed. It'll be difficult, especially when the new baby comes. Douglas. She already had his name picked out. Greg will be insanely jealous of the baby. But I can protect him. I can do it. I can take care of both my sons. I can. I will.

PART II: Hero Time

FILE: GREGORY MASTERSON III.

The subject is a twenty-eight-year-old male in good physical health. He is deeply disturbed and potentially violent, although like many schizophrenics he can cloak his misapprehensions and delusions with extremely logical and plausible-sounding rationalizations. He is in private care at the home of his mother. Deep hypnotherapy is recommended, together with chemosuppressants to regulate his mood swings.

After two years of hypnotherapy the inescapable conclusion is that the primary focus for the subject's neurosis is the morbid fear of losing his mother. Although the Freudian concept of an Oedipus Complex has long been discredited, the subject sees his mother as a symbol of safety and well-being, hence an object of intense desire. While this desire is primarily connected to his fear of loss of maternal protection, there is also decidedly a sexual component involved.

The subject is now thirty-five years old and freely able to admit that he has harbored murderous rages against the men with whom he was forced to share his mother's affection: i.e., his father and his step-father, both of whom are now deceased. Even in deep hypnotherapy sessions he evades any mention of his seven-year-old half-brother who, quite obviously, has also taken a share of his mother's attention and affection.

SAN JOSE.

"I don't like the looks of this," said Kris Cardenas.

She was standing on the roof of the two-story nano-technology building, her chief of security beside her, watching the stream of picketers being whipped up into an angry mob.

At the security chiefs earnest suggestion, she had sent most of the working staff home when the mob began to gather outside the main gate. She hadn't really believed him when he warned her there was going to be trouble; now, hours later, she realized that she hadn't wanted to believe.

From up on the roof, with the warm wind at her back, she couldn't hear what the woman with the bullhorn was telling the picketers, but by the way they surged around her and roared incoherently every few minutes Cardenas knew she was working them up into a frenzy.

And more demonstrators were arriving, cars and minivans and even busloads of them.

"This is organized as all hell," Cardenas muttered.

Her security chief scanned the growing crowd with electronically-boosted binoculars, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Take a look," he said, looping the strap of the binoculars around Cardenas' neck. Then he fished a palm-sized phone out of his shirt pocket.

"Got those fire hoses ready?" he asked into the phone.

Cardenas searched through the placards that bobbed drunk-enly in the sea of bodies. Professionally printed, she saw.

NANOTECH IS THE DEVIL'S WORK.

NANOBUGS TAKE JOBS FROM REAL PEOPLE.

NANOTECH KILLS!.

Jesus, she thought, this isn't just one gang of nut cases. They've got organized labor, religious zealots-it's a coalition of pressure groups.

"Look!" the security chief shouted.

Cardenas lowered the binoculars to see where he was pointing. A black pickup truck was speeding across the nearly empty parking lot, straight for the crowd. The people parted like the Red Sea, on cue she thought, and the truck raced straight up to the main gate of the wire security fence and crashed through. One of the uniformed guards was knocked down as the truck roared by without slowing, jounced over the circular plot of flowers in front of the building's front entrance and smashed into the glass doors of the building's lobby.

The crowd poured through the open fence, roaring like a white-water river.

"Get the fire hoses on 'em!" the security chief screamed into his phone.