"But the newscasters didn't say—" started Pete, simultaneously with Beth's halting, "Conelrad isn't on the air...."
"Conelrad!" spat young Fenelly. "They don't dare use it. If they did, the panics would grow. Right now, there's still a chance of keeping some order. One warning to the populace, and the country becomes a mob, two hundred million strong!"
"Pete—!" Beth turned to stare up into his face. "What should we do?"
Pete licked dry lips, then looked shrewdly at Fenelly. "What's at the base? Shelters?"
"A ship," said Martin. "A spaceship. Never been tried, or fully tested, but it's about the only real chance anyone has. I'm going, so's Dorothea, and three of my crewmen. The others are swiping jets to fly to their homes. They want to be with their families when hell breaks loose."
"But where's it flying to? Where can you go?"
"Moonbase," said Martin. "There's plenty of room, all the synthetic foods a person needs, oxygen-generators, water-recapturing systems. It's the nearest safe spot, as of that blowup at the UN today."
Beth turned a hopeful gaze to Pete. "Should we, darling? It's not like a shelter, like you were worried about. We don't have to come out and look for food in the rubble. We can live indefinitely on Moonbase. Please, darling! Please?"
"I've got to think," said Pete, blinking. "It never occurred to me I'd have a third choice. I was resigned to sitting and waiting for the blast. Now—I'm all mixed up."