"Sure."

"Okay. And make sure we mention Evelyn Hampton. Get the names of some of the other women here, too. Brave women. Credit to their sex. Their ability to meet even this kind of emergency shows us, and so on."

"Charlie, that's a trifle sexist."

The vice president laughed. "That's why I need you, Rick. We're going to salvage what we can. So we'll want to point out that we still have the means to go on. Mustn't quit. The Dream. Invoke the Challenger accident. And Rick-"

"Yes, sir?"

"For God's sake, give me some poetry." Georgetown, Washington, D.C. 12:03 P.M.

George Culver wasn't particularly unhappy that the flight had been canceled. He took advantage of the unexpected day off to have lunch with friends at Hurst's Turn of the Century on Wisconsin Avenue. Hurst's had opened just after Christmas, 2000, and its murals incorporated scenes from those closing years of the Clinton era. Here was a gaudily outfitted band and there an antique Toyota Corolla. A bearded father and his son sat in a crowd, waving pennants for the old Washington Redskins. The grand opening itself had been captured in oil, with people dressed in the quaint fashions of the time, standing in line for the first day's fare.

Culver's friends were also pilots. Mel Bancroft flew for Continental; Rich Albert was an air force colonel. Usually they talked about their profession, or about women, but tonight the topic was the incoming comet, and the heavy outbound traffic they'd seen on the highways around the capital. People were afraid that pieces of the moon might fall into the ocean and that Chesapeake Bay would spill over. Mel was not unsympathetic with those who'd chosen to head inland for the duration. He admitted he'd probably clear out too if he lived here. But he didn't, and he had a flight in the morning. Saturday night, he'd be in Indianapolis. "So if a piece of the Moon really does fell into the ocean," he said, "I plan to read about it in the paper."

Rich worked a desk job at the Pentagon. He didn't like the assignment or the bureaucracy, but he was getting his ticket punched for a star. He looked older than he was, and George thought part of that might have been the result of the peacekeeping operations he'd been involved in. A lot of people got killed during the African missions, and Rich had been captured and held for four months by Tibaki rebels. It was an event he would not talk about, but he walked more slowly than he used to, and sometimes winced when he got in and out of cars. He sipped his drink and admitted that he'd put his wife and kids on a plane as soon as he heard. "Nothing to lose by going to Vermont to stay with her folks for a few days."

"What about you, Rich?" George asked.

"I'm on duty over the weekend." He was thickset, short, with a sand-colored mustache. Rich was a poker player and a golfer, and he was quite capable of being the meanest son of a bitch in the world. He was designed by nature to fight wars. "But if anything happens," he grinned, "we'll call in the choppers and get the hell out."

The waiter took their orders, chicken fingers for Mel, a tuna sandwich for Rich, a Caesar salad for George.

"I saw a tidal wave once," said Mel. "We were flying medical and food supplies into Ahmadabad. There'd been some sort of outbreak, and I was in Saudi Arabia between flights. They were scrounging pilots who were certified for the 328s. So we took one on, and we were coming in out of the Arabian Sea just as a wave went ashore. Most terrifying goddam thing I've ever seen. Apparently, there'd been warnings, but nobody had gotten them to the general population. I read later that fifteen thousand people drowned or disappeared." Mel's eyes turned bleak. "They were just standing around when the wave hit."

George had been fortunate. "I've led a quiet life," he said. "Never seen anything like that. Never hope to."

The subject turned to the infant baseball season, and they were still arguing over predictions when lunch arrived. George took one bite of his salad and his cell phone beeped. He excused himself, slid the instrument out of his jacket pocket, and spoke into it. "Culver."

"George?"

"Yes, this is Culver."

"We need you, George. Right away."

He recognized the voice. "Pete, is that you?" He could hear control tower sounds in the background.

"It's me."

"I'm in the middle of lunch. I'm supposed to be off today."

"Life and death, buddy. For real. Get down here. Pack for a couple of days."

"What? What's going on?"

"Tell you when you get here."

"Pete, where am I going?"

Pause. Then: "The Moon."

• • •

(click for details.)

Russian Scores First Human Victory Ever Against MIT Program

Graham: The Role Of Genetic Has Been Vastly Exaggerated

Thousand-Mile Charge To Be Available By '27

But New Units Are Expensive

Creator Of "Pat and Mary" May Have Been Pushed

Cartoonist Had Received Threats From Angry Readers

Accused Of Blasphemy, Racism, Anti-Elderly Attitudes

"It's Only A Reprieve," Says Michaelson

Collision With Earth Would Have "Killed Us All"

Moonbase To Be Evacuated

Cop Shows Distant Second

Preyed On Handicapped

Moonbase Spaceport. 12:33 P.M.

They were just beginning to admit passengers onto the boarding ramp when Tony Casaway arrived. He had originally been scheduled to carry the vice presidential party on the Micro to L1. But the schedules were in chaos today. He understood that management was trying to move as many people as possible to L1. The comet was coming, and people were excited, the way they got on roller coaster rides when they knew they were in for a deliciously scary time but one that ultimately would be safe.

Tony wasn't so sure. He'd caught a sense of worry when Bigfoot had brought him in to tell him about his shuffled assignments. Not desperation, by any means. But there had been a tightness in the air. He'd assigned it to the simple fact that Moonbase was going to get blitzed. But it might have been more than that.

Tony Casaway was an old test pilot, which is the best kind. He was different from the other pilots, who'd come to the Moon for reasons he could never understand. They talked a lot about frontiers and going to Mars. Tony came because Gina had gone shopping one day at a supermarket and walked into a hail of gunfire when a couple of goons tried to knock the place over. She was buried in a green hillside outside her native Kansas City, and Tony had gotten as far from that hillside as he could.