"Besides, I can pilot the hopper if I have to," Doug said, actually enjoying the excitement.

"This is getting weird," Rhee said. "Now we've got two macho flangeheads."

"I'm not going to let you take the risk," Brennart repeated firmly.

I'm not going to let you kill yourself," Doug answered.

Brennart got to his feet and loomed over Doug. "Now listen-"

"A dead body doesn't constitute a legal claim," Doug said.

"What?"

"If you die up on the mountaintop before you get the instruments set up the corporation won't be able to make a legal claim to the area," Doug said.

Tapping the numbers on the screen, Doug added, "And if you try to do this all by yourself you're going to die."

For a moment there was silence in the bare little shelter. Doug heard nothing but his own breathing and the faint whir of the air fans in his suit.

Then Brennart broke into a low chuckle. "All right, you're dead-set on risking your neck. We'll do it your way."

Rhee repeated, "Two macho flangeheads."

Greenberg said nothing.

"I don't know about you," said Jinny Anson, "but I could use a few hours' sleep."

Greg realized he had been awake more than twenty-four hours straight. The last six hours he had spent in Anson's office, anxiously watching, waiting for some word from Brennart's group. Nothing had come through, and the radiation from the solar flare was still lethally intense up on the surface.

I'll go down to the control center, I guess," he said.

Anson got up from her desk chair. "Don't you want to catch a few winks?"

Shaking his head, Greg replied, "I'm too keyed up to sleep."

"Go back to the party, then."

"Is it still going on?"

With a grin, she leaned across her desk and stabbed at the keyboard. The display screen showed The Cave still jammed with dancing, drinking, chatting, laughing party-goers.

"They'll stay at it till the radiation level starts to decay."

Greg felt his brows knitting into a frown. "They'll be in some shape for working, won't they?"

Anson stiffened slightly. "The party breaks up when the radiation starts going down. It takes several hours, at least, before the radiation's low enough to go out on the surface. They'll be ready for work by then."

Greg almost admired her. She could be a tigress when it came to defending her people.

"Okay, maybe I'll drop in at the party. I'll stick my head in at the control center first, though."

"Whatever," said Anson. She headed for the door, thinking, What this guy needs is to get laid.

Greg followed her out into the tunnel. Anson walked off toward her quarters; Greg went the other way, toward the control center.

He was surprised to see Lev Brudnoy there, hovering morosely in his faded, stained coveralls over the three technicians working the comm consoles. There were two men and one woman sitting at the consoles, none of them the same as the crew he had seen several hours earlier. Nearly half the screens were still blank or so streaked with interference that they were useless.

"What are you doing here?" Greg asked, realizing how tactless it was as he spoke the words.

Brudnoy made an elaborate shrug. "I worry."

"Me too," Greg admitted."

"I understand that a Yamagata Vehicle has landed near Brennart's team."

"Yes," said Greg, feeling slightly annoyed that this guest, this... farmer, knew as much about the situation as he did. Probably a lot more.

Brudnoy read his face. "There are very few secrets hi Moonbase, my friend."

"Really?"

"We are too small, too crowded to keep secrets," Brudnoy said. "It's a good thing, I think. Governments back on Earth, they thrive on secrecy. Not here. Here we are like a mir, a village; everyone knows everyone."

"And everyone knows everybody else's business," Greg added.

Brudnoy smiled charmingly. "Within limits."

"Such as?"

Brudnoy placed a hand on the shoulder of the technician sitting nearest him. For example, even if I knew who this lout of an electronics man was sleeping with these days, I would not broadcast the news. It would be impolite."

"And damned dangerous," said the tech, glaring up at Brudnoy with mock ferocity.

"Like a village," Greg muttered.

"Yes, like a village," said Brudnoy. "You probably think of Moonbase as a subdivision of your corporation, with its organization chart and its lines of authority. Please throw that image out of your head. Think instead of a village. People come and go, it is true, but the social structure remains the same. In your country you call it a small town, I think."

"Winesburg, Ohio," Greg said, almost sneering.

"Oh no!" Brudnoy answered immediately. "I read that decadent work when I was first studying your language. No, not like Winesburg. More like Fort Apache-without the Native Americans."

Greg blinked with surprise. "Fort Apache? Who's our John Wayne, then?"

"Why, Brennart, of course. And you will be the stiff-necked commandant of the fort, if you pardon a personal reference."

Greg automatically glanced down at the three technicians, to see how much of this they were taking in. All three of them were bent intently over their screens, which made Greg think they were listening to Brudnoy for all they were worth, despite the headsets clamped to their ears.

"You think I'm stiff-necked?" Greg asked coldly.

"Of course. Everyone is when they first come to Moonbase. It takes time to adjust to our village mentality, our small town social structure."

Greg relaxed only slightly. "Fort Apache," he repeated.

"An outpost on a vast and dangerous frontier. That's what we are." Brudnoy seemed to relish the concept.

"Message coming in from Tucson," interrupted the chief technician. "Voice only. Radiation levels beginning to decrease slightly around Venus''sorbit. We can expect the storm to end in five to ten hours."

"Great!" Greg almost wanted to grab Brudnoy and hug him. Instead he said to the chief tech, "How can we get the word to Brennart?"

The technician shook his head. "There's nothing working in polar orbit right now."

"What about the armored satellite they sent up?"

"Crapped out in the radiation. We don't know if it even got its message down to Brennart."

"Can't you reactivate it?"

"It's dead."

"Then we've got to send up another one."

Another head shake. "By the time we could get the last satellite hardened and launched the radiation levels'll be getting low enough for Brennart's people to figure it out for themselves."

"Dammit," Greg snarled, "I want a commsat put up!"

Unperturbed, the technician said, "Only the base director can authorize that." Then he added sardonically, "Sir."

Greg turned to Brudnoy. I'll have to wake Anson up."

Now Brudnoy shook his head. "I wouldn't do that, my friend. She would not appreciate it."

Greg wanted to push past him and storm down the tunnel to kick Anson's door down. He wanted to tell Brudnoy in no uncertain terms that he was the next director of this base, not some snivelling technician or fanner afraid of incurring Jinny Anson's wrath. I'm Joanna Masterson's son, goddammit, he wanted to shout. I'll run this whole corporation one of these days.

But he said nothing. He fought it down and remained quiet. It was a struggle; he felt certain that Brudnoy could see the inner battle raging in his eyes.

Brudnoy reached out and grasped his arm lightly. "I understand your impatience and your desire to inform your brother of the good news. But the technician is right. Even if we started this instant, by the time we got a commsat over the pole the radiation would already be dying and they would know it for themselves."

"Yeah," Greg said, not trusting himself with more than one syllable at a time. "Right."

"But it's crazy," Killifer said.

Brennart's voice came over the comm console's speaker. "Sure it's crazy, Jack," he said lightly. "But it's vital to the success of this mission. We've got to go."

"You and Stavenger," said Killifer. Deems and two of the women were crowded behind him as he sat in the tiny comm cubicle. He could feel their breaths on the back of his neck. And smell them.

"We'll need your help. Greenberg and Rhee are coming to your shelter to pick up the astronomical equipment and load it onto the hopper."

"Okay."

"Jack, I need you to check out the hopper, make certain it's ready for flight."

"You want me to suit up and go outside?" Killifer asked. "With a zillion rads out there?"

"Doug's done some rough calculations on the exposure levels. You should be all right"

"Yeah, sure."

"I can't order you to do it," Brennart said. "I'm asking you to."

Killifer grimaced. Yeah, sure, he can't order me. But if I don't I'll be broken down to tractor maintenance or cleaning toilets.

"Okay," he said. I'll suit up."

"Thanks, Jack!" Brennart's voice sounded sincerely grateful.

Killifer turned in the little chair and got slowly to his feet. "Rog," he said to Deems, "you take over here."

"You're going outside?" Deems' normally startled expression had graduated to outright fear.

"That's right," Killifer said sourly. "You're gonna see the fastest friggin' checkout of a hopper in the history of the solar system."

The women made room for him to pass and head up the shelter's central aisle toward the airlock and the spacesuits. Brennart wants to be a big-ass hero and I've gotta risk my butt for him. Will I get any of the credit? Shit no. He's the superstar; I'm down in the noise. Nobody'll even know I was here.

Him and the Stavenger kid, Killifer fumed as he began to pull on the leggings to his spacesuit. The two of 'em. He tugged on his boots and sealed them closed. Then a new thought struck him.

The two of them. Going up to the mountaintop in the hopper, in all this radiation. What if they don't make it back?

For an instant he felt a pang of remorse about Brennart, but then he thought, friggin' butthead wants to be a hero, what better way is there than to die up there on top of the mountain?

As Doug lifted the uncrated spectrometer onto the platform of the hopper that stood outside Shelter One, he noticed that the radiation patch on his sleeve had already turned bright yellow.

This is going to be hairy, he thought We'll both get enough radiation to put us in the hospital.

The telescope was already on the hopper's metal platform, a man-tall tube supported on three Spindly legs.

A stocky spacesuited figure toted a telemetry transmitter with its solar power panels folded up like the wings of a bird and shoved it onto the hopper's platform. Doug jumped up onto the metal mesh decking and started lashing down the instruments securely.

"Is that you, Bianca?" he asked the spacesuited figure.

"No, it's not Bianca." Killifer's voice.

Surprised, Doug asked, "What're you doing out here?"

Clambering up onto the hopper to help with the tie-downs, Killifer's voice rasped, "I'm out here getting my cojones fried because you talked Brennart into being the big hero, that's why I'm here."

"I didn't talk-"

"Fuck you didn't," Killifer snapped.