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exceptions, Sam had been told when he tried to argue the point. Consequently, the agents carried only stun guns. They wouldn’t be worth much if someone else had gotten a revolver past the sensors.
    Backup was, of course, far away. Moonbase had no security force worthy of the name. The assumption was that its residents would abide by the policies and live by the rules. A person who drank too much and created a problem could be dealt with. But a couple of people with criminal intent, if they were able to smuggle weapons into the facility (which Sam thought would not be all that difficult), could pretty much have their own way. He wondered whether the lunar operation would suffer a minor disaster before they got smart and installed a tough, efficient police detail.
    Something else worried him. It took a while to get used to moving around at one-sixth g. If the agents had to respond to an emergency, he wasn’t sure how efficient they were going to be. Quick moves tended to cause people to bounce off walls.
    Sam was thirty-eight years old, twice divorced, had onechild by each marriage. He was a graduate of Ohio State, where he’d run the two-twenty better than anyone else in the school’s history. He’d majored in poli-sci, gotten a commission and served as a naval officer for four years. A fellow officer had convinced him of the many advantages and the glamor of the Secret Service. He’d joined, while the friend changed his mind at the last minute and went to law school, where he’d learned to make big bucks defending the indefensible.
    Sam’s first assignment had been to the Detroit office.
    There was, of course, no glamor to speak of, but the pay was decent and he enjoyed the work. A man couldn’t ask for more than that. He’d done well, shown a flair for the intelligence desk, and been twice promoted. Eventually he drew an assignment with the White House unit. This time next year, he expected to be Special Agent in Charge at one of the major stations.
    Sam was six-feet even and right out of central casting for agents: spare, chiseled features; alert brown eyes; and conservatively cut black hair. On duty, he fell easily into the polite cool monotone that was almost a parody of Hollywood agent-speak. But nobody seemed to mind, and at retirement parties and award luncheons, his colleagues never missed a chance to mimic him. It always got a laugh.
    He was good at his job: tough, dependable, smart. Both his wives had also understood he had a soul that he kept carefully hidden. That might have been the reason they’d eventually given up on him, that they saw only glimpses of the part of him they loved. Unlike the other members of the detail, Sam would have enjoyed being at Moonbase if he could have relaxed for a few hours.
    Because of the nature of the assignment, only three agents had been assigned to him for the detail. They all stayed with their charge constantly during the ceremonial functions. At other times Sam split the assignments so they could get somerest. (There was no question here of engaging in sight-seeing.) But four was just not enough to do the job right. They’d been hovering around Teddy since they left the White House and they were getting weary.
    Like most other high-level politicians, the vice president didn’t care much for all the security, but he was good-natured about it, and freely admitted he wouldn’t want to have to go looking for his agents when he needed them. His agents. Charlie Haskell was smart enough to let them know he understood what they had to do, and that he appreciated them. This alone ensured that, if Teddy got his party’s nomination, he’d also get the votes of his security detail.
    The Secret Service had been assigned a double suite to use as combination quarters and operations center. Sam knew that the evening’s festivities would run late, and that Teddy liked to party. So it was going to be a long night. Sam was getting one break, at least: Moonbase operated on