"How serious is this radiation?"

"To a person already protected by a spacesuit it is not dangerous. In Tokyo the radiation from space averages about four-tenths of a rad per year. On the Moon's surface it is closer to twenty-five rads per year. The initial burst from a solar flare will increase this dose by a factor of ten."

"H'mmm," said the chief. Miyoko thought he was trying to hide the fact that he did not know what a rad was, nor how dangerous it could be.

"When the flare's plasma cloud arrives, however," she went on, "the radiation will increase to more than a thousand rads in a few hours. Worse than the radiation dose at Hiroshima."

That startled the chief. "Worse than Hiroshima?"

"Yes."

"But the first pulse is not so bad?"

"The surface crews can be brought inside after the first pulse hits," Miyoko said again.

"We have a full hour before the heavy radiation builds up?"

"At least an hour, sir." She hesitated a moment, struggling with her own conscience, then added, "In truth, sir, we have no way of knowing whether the heavy radiation will strike us at all, even after the flare bursts forth. The plasma cloud that carries the radiation may miss us entirely."

"Miss us entirely? Is that possible?"

"Yes, sir. But we have no way of predicting that quickly enough to save men working on the surface. That is why we must get them all inside once the flare erupts."

The chief sat muttering to himself for several moments. Then a slow smile of understanding spread across his normally-scowling features.

"This is like predicting the path of a typhoon, isn't it? You know the storm is approaching, but you cannot tell exactly where it will strike."

"Yes, sir." Miyoko jumped at his analogy, feeling a rush of relief. "Very much like a, typhoon. An invisible typhoon that cannot be felt, but can kill a person just as swiftly."

MT. WASSER.

"What's the latest word on this flare?" Brennart asked.

Killifer pushed his little wheeled chair away slightly from the comm console. "No word. The flare hasn't appeared yet"

The two men were alone in the comm cubicle. Brennart was on, his feet, towering over the seated Killifer. Every other member of the expedition was out digging, even the ostensible communications technician. Brennart knew the mission schedule was in a shambles but he would sort that out and get things going properly again as soon as this flare threat was over.

"What does Moonbase say about it?" he asked Killifer.

His aide made a sour face. "They say the flare ought to have popped by now. Could pop any minute. They just don't know."

"With that and five dollars I could buy a cup of coffee."

"They also say," Killifer added caustically, "that their regular astronomer is here in the boondocks with us, instead of at her instruments at the base."

Brennart glowered. "That was Stavenger's idea, bringing her along with us."

Killifer said nothing, but his sardonic smile spoke volumes.

"We can't just sit here and wait for a flare that might not even happen," Brennart muttered.

Nodding, Killifer said, "Oh, by the way, Moonbase reported that Yamagata sent up a recce satellite six hours ago. It's in a very eccentric polar orbit"

"With its longest dwell time right over us," Brennart guessed.

"Right."

"Damn! They'll be sending a team down here to make a claim on the mountain before we can."

"I don't see how-"

"They could drop a kamikaze crew on the other side of the mountain and use hoppers to get up to the top," Brennart growled angrily. "Stick a sheet of solar panels up there and claim first use. Then we're screwed."

"But aren't they just as worried about the flare as we are?"

Brennart looked down at his aide with a withering expression. "You don't know what kamikaze means, do you?"

"Something from history, isn't it? Last century?"

"Right. History."

Killifer sat on the uncomfortable little chair and craned his neck to look up at his boss. Brennart liked to be known for making decisions, but now he seemed hesitant, caught on the horns of a dilemma, hung up with uncertainty.

"If only we knew when the flare will erupt," he muttered, kneading his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

"Or if it will erupt at all," Killifer suggested.

Brennart whirled on him. "If? You think the whole thing might be a false alarm?"

"I don't know. I'm not an astronomer."

"The goddamned astronomer's out here digging ditches instead of at her post with her instruments!"

Killifer shrugged. "Douggie wanted her along."

"The flare should have erupted by now, if there's going to be one," Brennart thought out loud.

"Even if the flare does come, isn't there a couple of hours before the radiation really gets serious?" Killifer knew the answer to his question.

"Yes, that's right," Brennart said.

"Enough time to get down off the mountain, using our hoppers?"

Brennart stopped his frustrated kneading and sat on the chair next to his aide. "We could jump up to the summit of Mt. Wasser, plant the flag and start the nanobugs working on the power tower, and get down again .before the radiation buildup even begins.'"

"Christ, that's brilliant," Killifer said.

I'm going to suit up," Brennart said.

"You?"

"I can't ask my people to do something that I'm not prepared to do myself. I take the same risks they do."

"Yeah, but-"

"How many people will we need for a dash to the summit?"

Killifer swivelled his chair to the screen and tapped on the keyboard. "Mission plan calls for six."

"Strip it down. How many do we actually need?"

Studying the list on his screen, Killifer said. Two to handle the nanobugs, one to pilot the hopper."

"Martin and Greenberg are the nanotechs," Brennart said.

Thinking swiftly, Killifer said, "Maybe we oughtta leave one of them here. No sense taking both of them up to the summit."

"One person can't physically handle the task," Brennart objected.

"All you need is an extra pair of hands. A warm body will do. Either Greenberg or Martin can direct the warm body, and you haven't risked both your nanotechs."

Brennart pondered it for all of three seconds. "Right. I'll take Greenberg. He's the more experienced of the two. Who can we spare to help him?"

"The astronomer?" Killifer suggested.

"Put her to some useful work," Brennart muttered.

"You oughtta take Stavenger, too," Killifer pointed out 'Let him make a legal record of the claim."

"Perfect!"

Killifer stayed in the conun cubicle as Brennart inarched off to the airlock, where the spacesuits were stored. With a little luck, he said to himself, they'll all break their friggin' necks.

Doug felt excited when Brennart came out and told him they were making a dash to the summit of Mt. Wasser. He had been spraying plastic sealant along the tunnel walls just dug out by the others; the sealant made the tunnel airtight. It was dull and clumsy work, inside his spacesuit, with no light except from his helmet lamp. The sealant was doped with a weakly glowing phosphor, so that any gaps in its application would be easily seen.

It was the safest job Brennart could find for him. The more experienced expedition members were handling the flammable aluminum/oxygen propellant mixture out on the surface, desperately working to break up the rock-hard ground enough to allow the tractors to scoop it up and dump it on the shelters and tunnels.

Scrambling out of the tunnel at Brennart's command, Doug checked the equipment pouches on his belt while two of the other expedition members topped off his oxygen tank from the supply on the undamaged cargo ship. Yes, the miniature vidcam was there. Doug pulled it out and checked that its battery was fully charged. Not that he had used it, digging tunnels and sealing them.

He was surprised to see a short, stocky spacesuited figure join Brennart and Greenberg. Sure enough, the name stencilled on the chest of her suit was Rhee.

"We're making a dash to the summit," Brennart told them as they lifted the spindly-legged little hopper from its hold in the cargo ship. "Rhee, you assist Greenberg here. I'll pilot the hopper."

"What's my assignment?" Doug asked.

"Official record keeper," said Brennart. "Unless you know how to handle a hopper."

Why is he so hostile to me? Doug asked himself. Aloud, he replied, "I've never actually flown one, but I've put in a lot of hours in simulators."

"Fine," Brennart snapped. "You can be my co-pilot. Just don't touch anything."

Doug helped Greenberg and Bianca Rhee to wrestle the tall canister of nanomachines onto the platform of the little hopper. Then they began strapping it down. The rocket vehicle looked too frail to take the four of them, Doug thought, even in the Moon's light gravity. This hopper was little more than a platform with a podium for its controls and footloops to anchor a half-dozen riders. There was a fold-down railing, too, with attachments for tethers.

To Doug it looked like a great way to break your neck. Racing jetcycles seemed safer.

"Come on, come on," Brennart urged, pushing between Rhee and Greenberg to help finish the strapdown. "We don't have a moment to lose."

"Why the sudden rush?" Doug asked. "This isn't on the mission schedule."

"No, it's not," Brennart snapped. "But maybe Yamagata isn't waiting for our schedule."

"Yamagata? They've got a team here too?"

"On its way," Brennart said.

"You're certain?" Doug probed.

"Certain enough."

"Has it been confirmed by-"

"Who's in charge of this expedition, Stavenger? You or me?" Brennart bellowed.

His ears ringing, Doug said, "You are, of course."

"Then climb aboard and let's get going."

Doug dutifully stepped up the rickety little ladder and started to slide his boots into the foot loops alongside Brennart "Lift up the railings," Brennart ordered, "and see that everyone's safely tethered to them."

"Aye-aye, sir," said Doug snidery. Brennart paid no attention.

The tethers won't be much help if we crash, Doug thought as he snapped the flimsy railings into place. By the time he returned to Brennart's side and clicked his own tether to the rail, Brennart had powered up the hopper's systems. All the controls showed green, Doug saw.

"Ready for takeoff," Brennart said.

Doug heard Killifer's answer in his earphones. "You are cleared for takeoff."

Brennart nudged the T-yoke of the throttle forward a bit. The platform beneath Doug's boots quivered and leaped upward.

There was no sound, no wind, but the dark, rocky land fell away from them so rapidly Doug felt his breath gush out of him.

Their little base dwindled quickly: four humps of shelters surrounded by spacesuited figures and a pair of minitractors, all digging tunnels and pushing rubble over the shelters like busy, scurrying ants. The brief flare of propellants burning into the rock strobed like a miniature lightning stroke.

Looking upward he saw the bare flank of Mt. Wasser coming near, sliding past dizzyingly as the hopper continued to rise. The rock face of the mountain looked glassy smooth, sandpapered by dust-mote-sized micrometeoroids for billions of years.

Suddenly they were in sunlight, brilliant, almost overpowering sunlight. The mountainside glittered like glass, like crystal, as it rushed by. Doug heard his suit fans whir faster, and something in his backpack groaned under the sudden heat load. He gripped the railing with both gloved hands.

"This is flying!" he said appreciatively. "Like being on a magic carpet."