But Claire found she had no appetite. "I can't eat anything," she said, sliding her plate away from her.

O'Malley pushed it back. "Hey, you're eating for two, you know. Got to keep up your strength."

She looked up at the wall screen, with the missile hanging there like the ringer of death pointed at them.

"They're going to kill us all, aren't they?" she said, her voice choking in her throat.

O'Malley clutched her hand. "Nobody's going to get killed. We're safe and snug in here."

"Don't try to kid me, Nick. Without electrical power we're done."

"If they nuke the solar farms—and that's an if, mind you -Doug will surrender and the Peacekeepers will come in without firing a shot. Nobody's going to die in defense of Moonbase, don't you worry."

"You're certain?"

O'Malley's florid face turned solemn. "Listen, Claire darling. I'm stationed in the control center, running the dust. I'll be right beside Stavenger. If he doesn't surrender I'll clout him on the head and take over. I'll surrender for him, if I have to."

Claire tried to smile for him, but she wondered if her husband really had the strength to do what he promised.

"We've got a second-stage burn!" the comm tech yelped.

Wicksen jerked with surprise. "What?"

"Second-stage burn," she repeated. "They held off on it until they made their midcourse correction. Accelerated by a factor of two, at least. Computer's chewing on the numbers."

"How much time do we have?" Wicksen asked, feeling frightened for the first time.

"Looks like… forty-two minutes."

"By all the saints in heaven," Wicksen muttered. "All right, thanks for the bad news."

Banging the suit-to-suit key on his wrist pad, Wix called out, "New data. We've got forty minutes, max."

The four spacesuited figures all turned toward him.

"I know it's not enough time," Wicksen said. "Power up the magnets. Check out all the connections. I'll slave the pointing system to the control center's radar plot."

"Better warn the base they're gonna get browned out," one of his assistants said.

"Right," said Wicksen, running as fast as he could in the cumbersome spacesuit to the jury-rigged set of pointing magnets.

This has got to work the first time, he said to himself. It's got to! If there's a saint in heaven who can cancel Murphy's Law for a few minutes, now's the time to do it.

It was as close to prayer as Wicksen had ever come.

eVersion 1.1 — see revision notes at end of text

Jack Killifer fidgeted nervously in the kitchen of Joanna Brudnoy's house. The closer he got to his goal, the more jittery he felt.

Stop it! he commanded himself. Calm yourself down.