“My God,” said Petit. “If you were a man, Admiral, I’d say this was turning into a testosterone fest. Nukes to the Moon? We signed the Outer Space Treaty in 1967. If I remember my history, we undertook not to place in orbit, or emplace on the Moon or any other body or station in space, nuclear or other weapons of mass destruction. We pledged to limit the use of the Moon and other celestial bodies exclusively to peaceful purposes. We prohibited their use for establishing military bases or testing weapons—”

Monica said bluntly, “We signed that treaty primarily with the Soviet Union. A country which doesn’t exist any more. We shouldn’t let that stand in our way.”

“I’ll dissent from the recommendation,” Petit said.

“That’s your privilege, sir.”

“You space buffs make me sick. History can be torn up, just so you have your Buck Rogers dreams back again. The Russians—”

Bromwich smiled comfortably. “Who cares about the Russians? What can they do? Think about it. We’re now the only superpower on the planet. The Russians can’t stop us. So fuck them.”

Monica noticed that, as Henry let this dispute run on, he wasn’t volunteering what he wanted his weapons for.

Alfred Synge was smiling at Henry. “To return to the Moon. You know, I envy you…”

The Admiral looked around the table. “Dissenting voices or not, I think we have our recommendation for the President. We back Dr Meacher’s proposal for a Moon mission, if it can be mounted. But in parallel we set up programs to mitigate the effects of the Moonseed, here on Earth.”

Henry was nodding.

“And,” said the Admiral, “we should continue to study the basic science of the thing, see if we can come up with an antidote. Whatever.”

Nods around the table.

Monica was content to let the Admiral take over. She’d expected it anyhow, and she didn’t disagree with any of her conclusions.

The Moon mission, though, was going to be the key, she sensed. That was what Henry Meacher had wanted when he walked in here, and it was what he was walking out with: a manned lunar flight, with a weapon.

Maybe he is smarter than he looks.

As the meeting relaxed into break-up informality, the Admiral drummed her fingers on the table. “Tell me this, gentlemen. Just what in hell are we dealing with here? Underneath all the science. Is the Moonseed here to destroy the world? Like some kind of Berserker?”

“I have a theory,” Henry said quietly. “Off the record.”

“Off the record,” said Bromwich.

“Think about a starship,” Henry said.

Petit laughed, sat back in his chair, and folded his arms.