Picture and sound chopped off.

Might as well tell now what we at Little David's Sling learned later: Second cruiser, by coming in low and fast, tightest orbit Luna's field permits, was able to start its bombing at ejection end of old catapult, a hundred kilometers from catapult head and Brody's gunners, and knock many rings out in minute it took him to come into sight-and-range of drill guns, all clustered around radars at catapult head. Guess he felt safe. Wasn't. Brody's boys burned eyes out and ears off. He made one orbit after that and crashed near Torricelli, apparently in attempt to land, for his jets fired just before crash.

But our next news at new site was from Earthside: that brassy F.N. frequency claimed that our catapult had been destroyed (true) and that Lunar menace was ended (false) and called on all Loonies to take prisoner their false leaders and surrender themselves to mercy of Federated Nations (nonexistent--"mercy," that is).

Listened to it and checked programming again, and went inside dark radar room. If everything went as planned, we were about to lay another egg in Hudson River, then targets in succession for three hours across that continent--"in succession" because Junior could not handle simultaneous hits; Mike had planned accordingly.

Hudson River was hit on schedule. Wondered how many New Yorkers were listening to F.N. newscast while looking at spot that gave it lie.

Two hours later F.N. station was saying that Lunar rebels had had missiles in orbit when catapult was destroyed--but that after those few had impacted would be no more. When third bombing of North America was complete I shut down radar. Had not been running steadily; Junior was programmed to sneak looks only as necessary, a few seconds at a time.

I then had nine hours before next bombing of Great China.

But not nine hours for most urgent decision, whether to hit Great China again. Without information. Except from Terra's news channels. Which might be false. Bloody. Without knowing whether or not warrens had been bombed. Or Prof was dead or alive. Double bloody. Was I now acting prime minister? Needed Prof: "head of state" wasn't my glass of chai. Above all, needed Mike--to calculate facts, estimate uncertainties, project probabilities of this course or that.

My word, didn't even know whether ships were headed toward us and, worse yet, was afraid to look. If turned radar on and used Junior for sky search, any warship he brushed with beams would see him quicker than he saw them; warships were built to spot radar surveillance. So had heard. Hell, was no military man; was computer technician who had bumbled into wrong field.

Somebody buzzed door; I got up and unlocked. Was Wyoh, with coffee. Didn't say a word, just handed it to me and went away.

Sipped it. There it is, boy--they're leaving you alone, waiting for you to pull miracles out of pouch. Didn't feel up to it.

From somewhere, back in my youth, heard Prof say, "Manuel, when faced with a problem you do not understand, do any part of it you do understand, then look at it again." He had been teaching me something he himself did not understand very well--something in maths--but had taught me something far more important, a basic principle.

Knew at once what to do first.

Went over to Junior and had him print out predicted impacts of all loads in orbit--easy, was a pre-program he could run anytime against real time running. While he was doing it, I looked for certain alternate programs in that long roll Mike had prepared.

Then set up some of those alternate programs--no trouble, simply had to be careful to read them correctly and punch them in without error. Made Junior print back for check before I gave him signal to execute.

When finished--forty minutes--every load in trajectory intended for an inland target had been retargeted for a seacoast city--with hedge to my bet that execution was delayed for rocks farther back. But, unless I canceled, Junior would reposition them as soon as need be.

Now horrible pressure of time was off me, now could abort any load into ocean right up to last few minutes before impact. Now could think. So did.

Then called in my 'War Cabinet"--Wyoh, Stu, and Greg my "Commander of Armed Forces," using Greg's office. Lenore was allowed to go in and out, fetching coffee and food, or sitting and saying nothing. Lenore is a sensible fem and knows when to keep quiet.

Stu started it. "Mr. Prime Minister, I do not think that Great China should be hit this time."

"Never mind fancy titles, Stu. Maybe I'm acting, maybe not. But haven't time for formality."

"Very well. May I explain my proposal?"

"Later." I explained what I had done to give us more time; he nodded and kept quiet. "Our tightest squeeze is that we are out of communication, both Luna City and Earthside. Greg, how about that repair crew?"

"Not back yet."

"If break is near Luna City, they may be gone a long time. If can repair at all. So must assume we'll have to act on our own. Greg, do you have an electronics tech who can jury-rig a radio that will let us talk to Earthside? To their satellites, I mean-- that doesn't take much with right antenna. I may be able to help and that computer tech I sent you isn't too clumsy, either." (Quite good, in fact, for ordinary electronics--a poor bloke I had once falsely accused of allowing a fly to get into Mike's guts. I had placed him in this job.)

"Harry Biggs, my power plant boss, can do anything of that sort," Greg said thoughtfully, "if he has the gear."

"Get him on it. You can vandalize anything but radar and computer once we get all loads out of catapult. How many lined up?"

"Twenty-three, and no more steel."

"So twenty-three it is, win or lose. I want them ready for loading; might lob them off today."

"They're ready. We can load as fast as the cat can throw them."

"Good. One more thing-- Don't know whether there's an F.N. cruiser--maybe more than one--in our sky or not. And afraid to look. By radar, I mean; radar for skywatch could give away our position. But must have skywatch. Can you get volunteers for an eyeball skywatch and can you spare them?"

Lenore spoke up. "I volunteer!"

"Thanks, honey; you're accepted."

"We'll find them," said Greg. "Won't need fems."

"Let her do it, Greg; this is everybody's show." Explained what I wanted: Mare Undarum was now in dark semi-lunar; Sun had set. Invisible boundary between sunlight and Luna's shadow stretched over us, a precise locus. Ships passing through our sky would wink suddenly into view going west, blink out going east. Visible part of orbit would stretch from horizon to some point in sky. If eyeball team could spot both points, mark one by bearing, other by stars, and approximate time by counting seconds, Junior could start guessing orbit--two passes and Junior would know its period and something about shape of orbit. Then I would have some notion of when would be safe to use radar and radio, and catapult--did not want to loose a load with F.N. ship above horizon, could be radar-looking our way.

Perhaps too cautious--but had to assume that this catapult, this one radar, these two dozen missiles, were all that stood between Luna and total defeat--and our bluff hinged on them never knowing what we had or where it was. We had to appear endlessly able to pound Terra with missiles, from source they had not suspected and could never find.

Then as now, most Loonies knew nothing about astronomy--we're cave dwellers, we go up to surface only when necessary. But we were lucky; was amateur astronomer in Greg's crew, cobber who had worked at Richardson. I explained, put him in charge, let him worry about teaching eyeball crew how to tell stars apart. I got these things started before we went back to talk-talk. "Well, Stu? Why shouldn't we hit Great China?"