"They can rupture our suits, then?"

"Right. And then start chewing on the organic molecules of your bodies."

Munasinghe shuddered involuntarily.

TOUCHDOWN PLUS 51 MINUTES

"They're not coming in!" said Jinny Anson, almost exultant.

"They'll come in," Gordette assured her. "Soon's they work up the nerve."

Doug agreed with him. Sooner or later they would try to get past the garage. He pulled up a wheeled chair and sat beside the chief tech.

"Have you figured out their suit frequency?"

"Yep. Wanna listen to 'em?"

"No. I want to talk to them. Patch me in."

Munasinghe was in an agony of indecision. To come all this way, nearly half a million kilometers, and be stopped by what may be a clever trick—it was intolerable. Worse still, his superiors back at headquarters would never stand for it. Munasinghe saw himself broken, perhaps even cashiered from the Peacekeepers altogether and sent home to rot in shame the rest of his life.

On the other hand, nanomachines could kill. Wasn't that why the U.N. banned them? Wasn't that why they had been sent here to Moonbase in the first place, to stop these renegades from developing deadly nanomachines? How could he order his troopers into such danger?

Munasinghe had been in firefights. He had been shelled by rocket artillery and bombed by smart missiles. He was not a coward. But nanomachines! The thought made him shudder. Invisible, insidious. If they got inside his suit and started eating his flesh…

"What are your orders, sir?" the Norwegian lieutenant asked, his voice low and earnest. "We can't stand out here forever," he added, needlessly.

Suppressing a reflex to snap at his arrogant criticism, Munasinghe made up his mind. After all, he had sent men into battle before. Soldiers took risks, deadly risks. It was part of the profession.

"Take your squad through the open area to those airlock hatches on the far wall. Get those hatches open as quickly as you can. Don't waste time; use the grenades."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you.' A strange voice sounded in Munasinghe's earphones. From the way the lieutenant's spacesuited form twitched, he must have heard it too.

"Who said that?" Munasinghe demanded.

"This is Douglas Stavenger, of Moonbase. The floor of our garage is covered with nanomachines that will devour the materials of your spacesuits. The airlock hatches are coated with them, too."

"You are bluffing," Munasinghe snapped.

"No, I'm not. We use the nanobugs routinely to clean up grease and oil stains that accumulate on the garage floor. You happened to pick a time when our semiannual cleanup is just starting."

"I don't believe you!" Munasinghe snapped.

"Don't send your troops to their deaths. The nanomachines will destroy them before you can get our airlock hatches open."

Hot boiling anger replaced Munasinghe's indecision. Hatred welled up inside him. This smug upstart is trying to bluff me into ruining my career!

"Surrender your base!" he raged. "Now! You have fifteen seconds to surrender!"