by Isaac Asimov
"Considering what is at stake, Natalya, we must surely risk it. The world crisis will not explode. There will be loud talk and much posturing for a month or two and then if we have what we want, we might let him go if absolutely necessary - or we might arrange an accident -"
Boranova rose to her feet angrily. "No! What you are suggesting is unthinkable. This is the twenty-first century, not the twentieth."
"Natalya, whatever century this is, we face the question of whether the Universe is to be ours - or theirs."
"You know you're not going to convince Moscow that that is what is at stake. The government has what it wants, a safe voyage into and out of a body. At the moment it's all they want. They never understood that we wanted to read Shapirov's mind. We never explained that."
"That was a mistake."
"Come, Yuri. Do you know how long it would have taken to persuade them that Albert would have to be taken forcibly if he did not come voluntarily? They would not have wanted to risk a crisis - even as much a crisis as they now face, which is a minor one indeed. You will now be asking them to face a much larger one. Not only will you fail but you will encourage them to look into the matter of the arrival of Albert here and I don't think we can afford that."
"The government is not all one piece. There are many high officials who are convinced that we are too eager to give in to the Americans, that we pay too high a price for the occasional pat on the head we receive. I have people to whom I have entry -"
"I have long known that you have. That's a dangerous game you play, Yuri. Better men than you have been caught up in that sort of intrigue and have come to deplorable ends."
"It's the chance I must take. In a case like this, I can turn the government around. But we must have Albert Morrison in our own hands if we're to do it. Once he's gone, it will be all over. - When is he supposed to be leaving?"
"Nightfall. Sophia and I agreed that, for the sake of avoiding obtrusiveness and of needlessly provoking those who tend to be against accommodation with the Americans, night is better than day."
He stared at her, eyes opening widely enough so that they almost seemed protuberant. "Sophia?" he said harshly. "What's she got to do with it?"
"She's in charge of the details of returning Albert. She requested it."
"She requested it?"
"Yes. I imagine she wished to be with him for an additional while." With a touch of spite, she added, "Perhaps you didn't notice it, but she rather likes the American."
Konev sneered in disgust. "Not a bit of it. I know that devil. I know her if I know anything at all - every thought in her head. She's getting him away from me. Sitting right next to him in the ship, watching his every move, she must have guessed his importance and she means to deprive me of him. She won't wait for nightfall. She'll hurry him off at once."
He rose and left the room at a run.
"Yuri," Boranova called after him. "Yuri, what do you intend to do?"
"Stop her," floated back the answer.
She gazed after him thoughtfully. She could stop him. She had the authority. She had the means. And yet - What if he was right? What if what was at stake was indeed nothing less than the Universe? If she stopped him, everything - everything - might be handed over to the Americans. If she let him go, there might be a crisis of an intensity that hadn't been dreamed of in generations.
She had to come to a decision at once.
She began again.
If she stopped him, she would have done something. If he then turned out to have been right, the blame for having stopped him and having lost the Universe would rest squarely on her. If he turned out to be wrong after being stopped - her action would be forgotten. There is nothing dramatic about a mistake that is not made.
If she did nothing to stop him, however, then all was on Konev's head. If he somehow prevented Morrison's return to the United States and if the government were then humiliatingly forced to release him, it would be Konev who would be blamed. Boranova would lose nothing, for he had dashed off without telling her what he was going to do and she could reasonably claim she had not dreamed he would try to subvert the known intention of the government. She would be in the clear. If, on the other hand, he prevented Morrison's return and proved to be right and the government won the battle of wills that followed, she could claim the credit of having done nothing to stop him. She could say that it had been with her permission that he had worked.
Well, then, if she stopped him, the worst was blame, the best was neutral. If she did nothing, the best was credit, the worst was neutral.
So Boranova did nothing.
83.
Morrison decided that Kaliinin was right. As the minutes passed, he grew less uncomfortable in the skimmer and even began to experience a feeble pleasure.
He could see the ground clearly through the open latticework that made up the chassis of the craft. It was about thirty meters below (he judged) and moving smoothly backward.
Kaliinin sat at the controls, completely absorbed, though it didn't seem to Morrison that she had much to do. Presumably, it was skill and patient observation that made it possible for her to keep the skimmer on track without minute-by-minute adjustment.
He said, "What happens if you find yourself moving into a headwind, Sophia?"
She said without taking her eyes from the controls, "Then I would have to use the engine and waste fuel. If it were a fresh wind, it wouldn't pay to use a skimmer at all. Fortunately, today is ideal skimmer weather."
Morrison began to feel something that was almost well-being for the first time since having left the United States - no, since a considerable length of time before that. He began to picture himself back in the United States; it was the first time he had dared to do so.
He asked, "What happens after we reach the hotel in Malenkigrad?"
"Car to an airport," said Kaliinin crisply, "and then you'll board a plane to America."
"When?"
"Tonight, according to schedule. I'll try to get it done more quickly."
Morrison said with what was almost joviality, "Anxious to get rid of me?"
And to his surprise, the answer came back at once. "Yes. Exactly."
He studied her face in profile. The look of studied hatred had long since vanished, but there was a settled anxiety about her expression that caused Morrison to quiver. The picture of himself back in the United States began to fade around the edges.
He said, "Is anything wrong, Sophia?"
"No, nothing wrong now. It's just that I expect that - he will come after us. The wolf is in pursuit, so I must get you away quickly if I can."
84.
The city of Malenkigrad lay below them, although it was not exactly a city. Small in name, it was small in fact and it raveled off in all directions into the flat countryside.
It was the bedroom community for the people working on the miniaturization project and during the day - now - it seemed all but deserted. There was a moving vehicle here and there, occasionally a pedestrian, and, of course, children playing in the dusty streets.
It occurred to Morrison that he had no way of knowing where, in the mighty stretch of land that made up the Soviet Union, Malenkigrad and the Grotto might be. It wasn't in the birch forest or in the tundra. The early summer was warm and the ground looked semiarid. He might be in central Asia or in the steppes near the European side of the Caspian. He could not say.
The skimmer was dropping now, more gently than an elevator. Morrison would not have believed that so soothing a descent could be possible. Then the wheels touched the ground and they braked to a nearly instant halt. They were in the rear of the hotel, a hotel the small size of which he could appreciate when it was seen from the air.
Kaliinin left the skimmer with a lively jump and motioned to Morrison, who emerged more sedately.
He said, "What happens to the skimmer now?"
She answered carelessly, "I'll pick it up on my return and take it back to the Grotto field if the weather holds. C
ome, let's go around to the front and I'll get you into your room, where you can rest a little and where we can plan the next step."
"The room with the soldiers watching me, you mean."
She said impatiently, "There'll be no soldiers watching you. We're not afraid of your trying to escape now." Then, with a quick glance around, she added, "Though I'd rather have the soldiers, actually."
Morrison looked about, too, a bit anxiously and decided he'd rather not have the soldiers. It occurred to him that if Konev came to reclaim him, as Kaliinin clearly feared he might do, he might easily come with soldiers at his back.
And then Morrison thought: Or is this really something to fear? She has a thing about Yuri. She'll believe anything of him.
The thought did not quiet him, however.
Morrison had not seen the hotel in broad daylight from outside; he had not had the leisure to study it in any case. It occurred to him that it was probably used only by visiting officials and special guests - such as he himself, if he could lay claim to the category. He wondered if, small as it was, it was ever full. Certainly, the two nights he had spent here had been quiet indeed. He recalled no noise in the corridors and the dining room, when he had eaten there, had been all but empty, too.
It was at the moment he thought of the dining room that they approached the front entrance and there, to one side, sitting in the sun and poring over a book, was a stoutish woman with reddish-brown hair. She was wearing half-spectacles, perched low on her nose. (Morrison was surprised at that bit of archaism. It was rare to see glasses in these days when eye-molding was routine and normal vision had truly become normal.)
It was the glasses and the studious look on her face that changed her appearance so that Morrison might easily not have recognized her. He would not have, perhaps, if he had not just thought of the dining room. The woman was the waitress to whom he had appealed for help three evenings before and who had failed him - Valeri Paleron.
He said austerely, "Good morning, Comrade Paleron." His voice was stiff and his expression unfriendly.
She did not seem discomfited by this. She looked up, removed her glasses, and said, "Ah, Comrade American. You are back safe and sound. Congratulations."
"For what?"
"It is the talk of the town. There has been an experiment that was a great success."
Kaliinin, her face like thunder, said sharply, "That should not be the talk of the town. We need no wagging tongues."
"What wagging tongues?" said the waitress with spirit. "Who here does not work at the Grotto or have a relative there? Why should we not know of it and why should we not speak of it? And can I fail to hear? Must I stop my ears? I cannot carry a tray and put my fingers in my ears, too."
She turned to Morrison. "I hear that you did very well and are greatly praised for it."
Morrison shrugged.
"And this man," the waitress said, turning to the frowning and increasingly impatient Kaliinin, "wished to leave before he had the chance to participate in the great deed. He turned to me for help in his scheme to leave - to me, a waitress. I reported him at once, of course, and that made him unhappy. Even now, see how he glares at me." She wagged her finger at him. "But consider the favor I did you. Had I not prevented you from doing whatever it was they were trying to have you do, you would not now be the great success you are, the toast of Malenkigrad and perhaps even of Moscow. And the little Tsaritsa here surely loves you for it."
Kaliinin said, "If you do not stop this impudence immediately, I shall report you to the authorities."
"Go ahead," said Paleron, her hands on her hips and her eyebrows lifting. "I do my work, I am a good citizen, and I have done nothing wrong. What can you report? - And there is a fancy car here for you, too."
"I saw no fancy car," said Kaliinin.
"It is not in the parking lot, but on the other side of the hotel."
"What makes you think it is for me?"
"You are the only important persons to approach the hotel. For whom, then, should it be? For the porter? For the desk clerk?"
"Come, Albert," said Kaliinin. "We are wasting our time." She brushed past the waitress, doing this so closely that she stepped on her foot - perhaps not by accident. Morrison followed meekly.
"I hate that woman," muttered Kaffinin as they walked up the flight of stairs to Morrison's second-floor room.
"Do you think that she is an observer of this place on behalf of the Central Coordinating Committee?" asked Morrison.
"Who knows? But there is something wrong with her. She is possessed by a devil of impudence. She does not know her place."
"Her place? Are there class distinctions, then, in the Soviet Union?"
"Don't be sarcastic, Albert. There are supposedly none in the United States, either, but you have them surely. And so do we. I know what the theory is, but no person can live by theory alone. If Arkady's father didn't say that, he should have."
They walked up one flight of stairs to what had been Morrison's room earlier in the week and apparently still was. Morrison viewed it with mild distaste. It was a room without charm, though the sunlight made it seem less gloomy than he remembered it to be and, of course, the prospect of returning home was enough to add glitter to anything.
Kaliinin sat in the better of the two armchairs in the room, her legs crossed, the upper leg swinging in short arcs. Morrison sat down on the side of the bed and watched her legs thoughtfully. He had never had good occasion to admire his own calmness under pressure and it seemed to him rather unusual to watch someone be more nervous than he himself was.
He said, "You seem greatly troubled, Sophia. What is wrong?"
She said, "I told you. That woman Paleron troubles me."
"She can't upset you that much. What's wrong?"
"I don't like waiting. The days are long now. It will be nine hours until sunset."
"It's amazing that it's only a matter of hours. The diplomatic maneuvering could have continued for months." He said so lightly enough, but the thought gave him a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Not in a case like this. I've seen it work before, Albert. The Swedes are involved. It's not an American plane that's coming. Having an American plane land deep in Soviet territory is still something our government shies away from. But the Swedes - Well, they serve as an intermediary between the two nations by common consent and they tend to work hard to defuse any possibility of friction."
"In the United States, we consider Sweden lukewarm toward us at the best. I think we'd prefer to have Great Britain -"
"Oh come, you might as well say Texas. As it is, Sweden may be lukewarm toward you, but she is considerably less than that toward us. In any case, it's Sweden and their principle always is that if it is necessary to defuse a situation, it is best to defuse it swiftly."
"It seems quite swift to me. Certainly, I'm the one who should be in the greater hurry, since it is I who am most anxious to leave. Why should a few hours matter to you?"
"I've told you. He is after us." She ground out the pronoun.
"Yuri? What can he do? If your government is giving me up -"
"There are elements in the government who might easily not wish to give you up and our - friend - knows some of these well."
Morrison raised a finger to his lips and looked around.
Kaliinin said, "Are you worried about being bugged? That's another American spy novel myth. Bugs are so easily detected these days and so easily scrambled - I carry a small detector myself and I've never spotted one."
Morrison shrugged. "Then say what you wish."
"Our friend is not a political extremist himself, but he finds he can use those in high office who are. There are extremists in America, too, I suppose. "
"Those who think our policy toward the Soviet Union is too mild?" Morrison nodded. "I've met a few."
"Well, then, there you are. His ambition consumes him and if extremism will advance his plans, then he is prepared to be an extremist."
&nb
sp; "Surely you don't think he can arrange some sort of coup in Moscow and put the diehards in control and do it all in time to stop me from leaving for home this evening?"
"You've got it the wrong way around, Albert. If he could somehow prevent you from leaving and precipitate a crisis, he may be able to persuade some in the government to stand firm and delay your leaving for a long time. He can be very persuasive, our friend, when he is in the full grip of his mania. He can sway even Natalya."
Kaliinin fell into a silence and bit at her lower lip. Finally she looked up and said, "He hasn't given up on you and he won't. I'm sure of it. I've got to get you away."
She rose suddenly and paced up and down the room with short, quick steps, looking as though she were trying to force the Universe into turning her way. She stopped in front of the door, listened, then jerked it open suddenly.
Valeri Paleron, her bland expression shifting rapidly into surprise, had one fist raised, as though she were about to knock.
"What do you want?" said Kaliinin tightly.
"I?" said the waitress. "I want nothing. It is a question of whether you do. I have come to ask if you would like some tea."
"We have not asked for any."
"I did not say you have. I come out of courtesy."
"Then go out of courtesy. And do not return."
Paleron, reddening, looked from Kaliinin to Morrison and said between her teeth, "Perhaps I interrupt a tender moment."
"Leave!" said Kaliinin. She closed the door, waited long enough to count to ten in a deliberate manner (her lips moving soundlessly), and then flung it open again. No one was there.
She closed the door and locked it, walked to the opposite end of the room, and said in a low voice, "She had been out there, probably, for quite some time. I heard feet shuffling."
Morrison said, "If high-tech bugging is pass‚, then I suppose there is a premium on old-fashion eavesdropping."
"Ah, but for whom?"
"Do you suppose she does it for Yuri? It doesn't seem likely that he would have the money to hire spies - or does he?"
