“All frequencies from the L-1 commsat have been cut off,” said the chief communications technician. “Communications directly from Earth have also been stopped.”

Doug’s heart began hammering inside him. He looked at Brudnoy, but all he could see was the reflection of his own faceless helmet in the gold tint of the Russian’s visor.

Swallowing hard, Doug said, “Okay. Message received. Thank you.”

He waited a beat, then added, “Please find Jinny Anson for me.”

“Will do.”

An instant later the former base director’s voice chirped in his earphones, “Anson here.”

“Jinny, it’s Doug. I need to talk with you, right away.”

“I know,” she said, her voice sobering.

“Where are you?”

“In the university office.”

“Please meet me in my place in fifteen minutes.”

“Right.”

Doug turned and started along the edge of the construction pit, heading for the airlock in swift, gliding strides. Brudnoy kept pace beside him.

“It’s started,” he said.

I’ll inform your mother,” said the Russian.

With a bitter smile, Doug replied, “She already knows, I’m sure. They couldn’t declare war on us without her knowing about it.”

TOUCHDOWN MINUS 115 HOURS 55 MINUTES

“So they’ve done it,” said Jinny Anson, with a challenging grin. “Damn flatheads.”

Anson, Brudnoy and Doug’s mother Joanna were sitting before Doug’s desk. Anson was leaning back in her webbed chair almost casually. Wearing comfortable faded denim jeans and an open-collar velour blouse, she looked vigorous and feisty, her short-cropped hair still golden blonde, her steel-gray eyes snapping with barely suppressed anger.