rmanent station on the Moon. What a grind it had been, bringing in
the supplies.

A year later the Moon station had "blown up." No warning. No survivors.
Just a brand-new medium-sized crater. And six months later, the new
station, almost completed, went up again. The diplomats had buzzed like
hornets, with accusations and threats, but nothing could be
proven--there _were_ bombs stored at the station. The implication was
clear enough. There wasn't going to be any Moon station until one
government ruled Earth. Or until the United States and Russia figured
out a way to get along with each other. And so far, getting along with
Russia was like trying to get along with an octopus.

Of course there were rumors that the psych warfare boys had some gimmick
cooked up, to turn the U. S. S. R. upside down in a revolution, the next
time power changed hands, but he'd been hearing that one for years.
Still, with four new dictators over there in the last eleven years,
there was always a chance.

Anyway, he was just a space jockey, doing his job in this screwball
fight out here in the empty reaches. Back on Earth, there was no war.
The statesmen talked, held conferences, played international chess as
ever. Neither side bothered the other's satellites, though naturally
they were on permanent alert. There just wasn't going to be any Moon
station for a while. Nobody knew what there might be on the Moon, but if
one side couldn't have it, then the other side wasn't going to have it
either.

And meanwhile, the struggle was growing deadlier, month by month, each
side groping for the stranglehold, looking for the edge that would give
domination of space, or make all-out war a good risk. They hadn't found
it yet, but it was getting bloodier out here all the time. For a while,
it had been a supreme achievement just to get a ship out and back, but
gradually, as the ships improved, there was a little margin left over
for weapons. Back a year ago, the average patrol was nothing but a
sightseeing tour. Not that there was much to see, when you'd been out a
few times. Now, there were Reds around practically every mission.

_Thirteen missions to go, after today._ He wondered if he'd quit at
seventy-five. Deep inside him, the old pride and excitement were still
strong. He still got a kick out of the way the girls looked at the
silver rocket on his chest. But he didn't feel as lucky as he used to.
Twenty-nine years old, and he was starting to feel li