Excerpt from an interview at the WXPI-TV studios in Richmond, Virginia, with "Colonel" Steve Gallagher, Commander, Thomas Jefferson Legion. Singer: Colonel, why does Virginia need a militia? Gallagher: We all know the answer to that question, Molly. Some of us don't want to face up to the truth, and some of us are in bed with the traitors at the top. But we all know. Singer: Why don't you tell us? Gallagher: The Legion is all that stands between oppressive government and the people. If the federals are ever successful in putting us down, you and the other people out there might just as well put on your leg irons. Singer: So you really think there's a wide-ranging plot to enslave the American people? Gallagher: You can joke about it all you want, you and the rest of the liberal media, you've always been up front, egging these traitors on and hiding the truth. But when you turn the country over to them, they'll swallow you whole too. Just like the rest of us. Singer: Who precisely are we talking about? Gallagher: Start with Kolladner. Singer: What's he done? Gallagher: Government without representation, Molly. Open your eyes. It's the same reason we fought the first revolution. Look, it's not really about individuals. It's about the machinery of government. It's about a system that allows people like Kolladner to get their hands on the levers, that tries to hold down the rest of us. Singer: We have the vote. Gallagher: Who do you get to vote for? Usually you can choose between two puppets. Molly, Molly, most men and women are born to be slaves. We both know that. At any given time on the planet, there are only a few who can truly be said to be free. The others, the great mass of your audience for example, are enslaved because they believe what they're told by their schools and their churches. By society, and particularly by shows like this. These are all corrupt institutions with a stake in ensuring correct behavior. Maintain order, that's what you want, isn't it? So you can keep your two-hundred-thousand-dollar-a-year job. You were born to be a slave, Molly. You've got some ability and you've sold out. Your job is to see that anyone who thinks for himself gets isolated, banished to the fringes, and rendered impotent. Richmond, WXPI Studios. 8:36 P.M.

Tad Wickett and the colonel's younger brother Jack were waiting for him in the lobby. "How'd it look?" Steve asked.

"You were damned good, Steve," said Jack. "Maybe we can wake some of these people up."

Tad nodded. "You put the bitch down real good, Colonel."

Steve stood for a moment, not moving, looking back the way he'd come as if they might call him for an encore. "She deserves to be put down a lot harder," he said. "It's people like that who are the problem. They cover for the sons of bitches who are draining this country dry. I can't believe she doesn't know she's being used."

"Whether she does or not," said Tad, "she's in the way. Why don't we just put her out of business? Teach the rest of them a lesson."

Jack felt a chill. He didn't like Wickett. Twice in Jack's experience he'd almost gone off the road trying to run down dogs. He was an ex-Marine who talked a lot about eliminating people. You couldn't tell whether he meant it or not. The colonel laughed whenever Jack voiced his fears. Don't worry about Tad. He only does what I tell him to. And we need people like him. Day's going to come…

"What did you have in mind?" asked Steve, who was far too smart to use violence except as a last resort. Still, he knew that dismissing suggestions peremptorily was poor leadership technique.

"Take out the station," said Tad. Jack could see he relished the prospect. "You know how at the end of the show she always says, This is Molly saying goodnight and good fortune? Let her get the line in and then blow her and the station to hell. Right on cue."

The colonel grinned. Tad claimed to have killed several people in military service, and everybody knew he'd finished Scratchy Ellsworth in a fight last year. Police screwed up the investigation or Tad would be in jail now.

"I don't think we need to do that yet," Steve said. "But in time, Tad, we'll get around to Molly Singer."

"This is Governor Adcock, speaking to you from the state capital at Harrisburg. I want to urge you to stay in your homes. I understand your concern about the Tomiko Comet, but I remind you that the Moon is a quarter-million miles away, and everything else is speculation.

"Traffic on the streets and highways of eastern Pennsylvania has all but ground to a halt, despite the best efforts of state and local police.

The safest place for you is at home. We have fully mobilized the resources of the Commonwealth to deal with any problem that might arise. I will add that I do not expect any, other than the ones caused by frightened citizens. Bear in mind that emergency vehicles cannot get through if private vehicles crowd the streets and roads. I would also ask that you refrain from tying up telephone lines unless absolutely necessary.

"I'll be leaving here within the hour to join Mayor Hanson in Philadelphia. I plan to stay at City Hall there tomorrow and through the weekend, to be with you until we can put this behind us.

"Please do not misunderstand me. I recognize the uncertainty of the situation. But be aware that this is a problem for all of us. The best thing we can do right now to help one another is to keep calm. I will continue to inform you of developments. Thank you and good evening." Micro Flight Deck. 10:18 P.M.

They were chasing Berlin. It was a long run this time, almost an hour and a half, and Tony took advantage of it to try to sleep. But the incident with the leaky valve haunted him.

Unlike Bigfoot Caparatti, he wasn't given to guilt, and he in no way blamed himself that they were now perhaps fatally behind schedule. He knew what he might have done differently, knew he could have blown out of the cloud, or climbed outside and shut down the leaky valve, and finished the mission. But he couldn't have been expected to make those guesses. It would have been reckless, for example, to risk colliding with the plane. A small voice somewhere told him he should have realized the other pilot would draw away. But he couldn't be certain the other pilot wouldn't have thought he was in deep trouble, and would have expected the Micro to keep still while the plane approached.

Anyway, that was all past now. A waste of time to think about it. The question was, how to repair the damage?

There was a way.

"You okay, Tony?" Saber was looking at him, worried. Berlin was around the curve of the Moon. They were running over Farside, beneath the baleful glow of the comet, which now looked like a second sun. Not a real sun, but a cool, wispy apparition. Something seen at night in a forest.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"What are you thinking?"

"You know," he said, "we can deliver our last pickup tomorrow night and still get back down before the comet hits."

Their last launch from the Spaceport would take place at about seven-thirty P.M., Saturday. They'd rendezvous with Arlington, which by then would be the only remaining plane in Luna's skies, at about ten after nine.

"We could get back down to the Spaceport by a quarter after."

"Ten?"

"Yeah."

"Tony, that's only twenty minutes before the comet hits. Not even time to get off the pad. Anyhow, Arlington would be long gone."

"So we'd have to stay with the Micro, wouldn't we?"