Doug was sitting in one of the oversized, overpadded armchairs facing the sofa. Built by nanomachines that Zimmerman himself had programmed, the furniture looked ludicrously out of place in this vast, echoing electronics studio carved out of the lunar rock. No one else was in the studio. The lights had been turned off, except for the lamps on the end tables that flanked the sofa: slender graceful stalks of lunar aluminum; the tables were built of lightweight but sturdy honeycomb'sandwich' metal, also produced by nanomachines.

Zimmerman nodded as if Doug's answer satisfied him. "And you have notified the U.N. that we are now an independent nation?"

Nodding, Doug replied, "The U.N., and as much of the news media as we could reach."

"Still the troopship has not turned around?" Zimmerman's accent seemed to get thicker each year.

"Not yet."

"And there is no reaction from the U.N. to your declaration of independence?"

"Not yet," Doug repeated.

"So," the professor stretched out his short arms, "now we have nothing to do except wait, yah?"

"And prepare."

Zimmerman's shaggy brows shot up. "Prepare for what? Either they accept our independence or the Peacekeepers come in here and close everything."

"I don't intend to allow them to close Moonbase," Doug said evenly.

Zimmerman snorted. "And how do you intend to stop them? With prayer, maybe?"

"That's why I've come here to you, Professor," said Doug. "We need your help."

"To do what? Make a magic wand for you out of nanomachines? A death ray, maybe you want?"

Doug was accustomed to the old man's blustering. "I was thinking more along the lines of medical help," he said. "We may need-"

"I thought I'd find you here, Willi."

Kris Cardenas came striding out of the shadows. Despite her years on the Moon she still kept a deep tan, thanks to ultraviolet lamps. To Doug she looked like a California surfer: broad shoulders, trim build, sparkling blue eyes. She kept her sandy hair clipped short and wore a loose, comfortable jumpsuit of pastel yellow. No jewelry, no decorations of any kind. From the easy-going, no-fuss look of her, you would never suspect she was a Nobel laureate nanotech researcher.

"Our young friend here wants me to make everyone bulletproof," Zimmerman said, grudgingly dragging his bulk to one side of the sofa so Cardenas could sit beside him. Even on the Moon, Zimmerman did not move fast.

"No," Doug protested. "All I'm asking-"

"You think perhaps that the nanomachines you carry inside you will protect you against machine guns? They saved your life twice before, but they don't make you a superman."

"Willi," said Cardenas, with a charmer's smile, "why don't you let Doug tell you what he wants?"

"Medical supplies," Doug blurted before Zimmerman could say another word. "If we're cut off from Earth for more than a couple of months we're going to run short of medical supplies. I was wondering if nanomachines could be developed to replace or augment some of the pharmaceuticals we use."