19.

Toward noon the phone rang. Maxim picked up the receiver. It was the prosecutor.

"I would like to speak with Mr. Sim."

"Speaking," replied Maxim. "Hello." He sensed instantly that something had happened.

"He's back. Can you begin at once?"

"Yes," replied Mac in a low voice. "But you promised me something...."

"I didn't have time." There was a note of panic in his voice. "And there isn't time now. Begin at once. We can't delay another minute! Mac, do you hear me?"

"Yes. Fine. Is that all?"

"He's on his way to the institute now. He'll be there in thirty or forty minutes."

"I understand. Anything else?"

"That's all. Get going, Mac. Good luck!"

Maxim hung up the receiver and sat there for several seconds, pondering his next move. "Massaraksh, what a mess. But I still have time to think." He grabbed the receiver again. "Professor Allu Zef, please."

"Speaking!"

"This is Mac."

"Massaraksh, I asked you not to disturb me today."

"Keep quiet and listen. Go down to the lobby immediately and wait for me."

"Massaraksh, I'm busy!"

Maxim ground his teeth and cast a glance at his assistant. He was diligently computing on the calculator.

"Zef, get down to the lobby right now! Do you understand? Now!" He hung up and dialed Vepr's number. He was in luck: Vepr was home. "This is Mac. Go outside and wait for me. It's urgent!"

"Fine," said Vepr. "I'm on my way."

Maxim hung up, thrust his hand into a desk drawer, and pulled out the first folder he could lay his hands on. While he leafed through it mechanically, he feverishly reviewed in his mind the preparations he had made. "The car is in the garage. The bomb is in the trunk. And we have a full gas tank. No weapons. The hell with it, we don't need them. The documents are in my pocket, and Vepr is waiting. It's a good thing I thought about taking Vepr. True, he might refuse to go along with this. No, I doubt that he will; I wouldn't. Well, that seems to be about everything." He gave instructions to his assistant. "If anyone calls, tell them I'm at the Construction Department. I'll return in an hour or two. See you later."

He tucked the folder under his arm, left the laboratory, and ran down the stairs. Zef was already pacing the lobby. When he spotted Maxim, he halted, placed his hands behind his back, and scowled.

"What the hell's going on? Massaraksh!"

Maxim grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the exit.

"What the hell is going on here?" muttered Zef. "Where are we going? Why?"

Maxim shoved him out the door, pulled him along the asphalt path and around the corner toward the garage. The area was deserted except for a lawn mower chugging in the distance.

"Where the hell are you taking me?" shouted Zef.

"Shut up and listen! Get all our people together at once. All of them. Whoever you can lay your hands on. To hell with their questions! Listen! Whoever you can get. And with weapons. There's a pavilion opposite the gate. You know where it is? Dig in and wait. In about thirty minutes. Are you listening to me, Zef?"

"Well?" said Zef impatiently.

"In about thirty minutes Strannik will arrive at the gate."

"He's back?"

"Don't interrupt me. Strannik will probably arrive at the gate in about thirty minutes. If he doesn't -- fine. Just sit tight and waitfor me. If he does come -- shoot him."

"Have you gone out of your mind?" asked Zef. Maxim kept walking, and Zef ran after him, cursing. "We'll all be killed, massaraksh! There are guards! Police spies all over the place!"

"Do your best. Strannik must be shot."

They walked up to the garage. Maxim leaned his weight against the bolt and rolled open the door.

"This is insane," said Zef. "Why Strannik? He's not that bad a guy; everyone likes him."

"Suit yourself!" said Maxim coldly. He opened the trunk, felt the fuse and timing device through the oiled paper, and slammed it shut again. "I can't tell you anything right now. But we have a chance. Our only chance." He sat behind the wheel and inserted the ignition key. "And keep this in mind: if you don't finish him off, he'll finish you off. You don't have time. Get going, Zef!"

He turned on the engine and backed out of the garage slowly.

Zef stood in the doorway. It was the first time Mac had ever seen Zef like this -- frightened, stunned, bewildered.

The car rolled toward the gate. A stony-faced legionnaire recorded the license number unhurriedly, opened the trunk, looked in, closed it, returned to Maxim.

"What do you have in the trunk?"

"A refractometer," said Maxim, extending his pass and a permit to transfer equipment.

"Refractometer RL-seven, inventory number...," muttered, the legionnaire. "I'll write it down in a minute."

He poked around in his pocket for a pad.

"Hurry, please. I'm in a rush," said Maxim.

"Who signed this permit?"

"I don't know. Probably Hed."

"You don't know? If I could make out his signature, everything would be OK."

Finally he opened the gate and Maxim drove onto the road. "If this doesn't work out," he thought, "and I manage to survive, I'll have to escape. Damn Strannik, he sensed that something was up and returned. Suppose we're successful -- then what? Nothing is ready, we don't have a plan of the palace. Smart didn't have time to get it, and he didn't get those photos of the Creators either. Our people aren't prepared; we don't have a plan. Damn Strannik! If it weren't for him. I'd still have three days left to work out a plan. And then there's the army and the staff, too, to worry about. Massaraksh! They're going to get moving fast. We'll have to take care of them. Well, that's Vepr's job. He'll be glad to do it. He knows how to handle it."

Maxim turned off the main thoroughfare into a narrow lane between two gigantic pink stone skyscrapers and drove along the cobblestones toward a ramshackle blackened cottage. Vepr was waiting for him, leaning against a lamp post and smoking a cigarette. When the car pulled up, he threw away the butt, squeezed through the small door, and sat down beside Maxim. As usual, he was calm.

"Hi, Mac. What's up?"

Maxim swung the car around and returned to the main thoroughfare.

"Do you know what a thermal bomb is?"

"I've heard about them," replied Vepr.

"Good. Have you ever handled synchronized fuses?"

"Only yesterday," said Vepr.

"Excellent."

They rode in silence for some time. The traffic was heavy. Tuning out everything, Maxim concentrated exclusively on breaking through, on squeezing between huge trucks and old buses without hitting anyone or being hit, on making green lights and maintaining his speed, as slow as it was. Finally, they broke through onto a familiar expressway lined with enormous trees.

"It's strange," thought Maxim suddenly. "I entered this world on this very same route -- or, I should say, Fank brought me into it. It's entirely possible that I shall leave this world, and all worlds, by the very same route, and take a good man with me." He cast a sidelong glance at Vepr's serene face: he sat there with his artificial arm hanging out the window, waiting patiently for an explanation from Mac. Perhaps he was surprised or excited, but his face remained impassive. Maxim felt proud that a man of his caliber trusted him and relied on him implicitly.

"I'm very grateful to you, Vepr," he said.

"How's that?" asked Vepr, turning to him.

"Do you remember how you called me aside once at a staff meeting and gave me some good advice?"

"I do."

"So, I'm grateful to you for it. I listened to you."

"Yes, I noticed. But you disappointed me a little, too."

"You were right then," said Maxim. "I took your advice. As a result, a very special opportunity has just presented itself: the opportunity to capture the Center."

Vepr started.

"Now?" he asked quickly.

"Yes, now. We must hurry. I didn't have time to prepare anything. It's possible that I'll be killed; then the whole thing will be a waste. That's why I brought you along."

"Keep talking."

"I'll enter the building, and you'll stay in the car. An alarm will go off after a while and shooting may begin. Don't let that bother you. Stay put in the car and wait. Wait twenty minutes. If you receive a radiation strike during that time, it means that everything went OK. You can pass out with a happy smile on your face. If there's no radiation strike, step out of the car. You'll find a bomb in the trunk. It has a synchronized fuse set for ten minutes. Unload the bomb on the roadway, turn on the fuse, and leave. Panic will break out. Play it for all it's worth."

Vepr pondered Mac's instructions.

"Can I make a call?"

"No."

"Listen, Mac, if you're still alive, you'll need people who are prepared to fight. If you're dead, I'll need them. That's why you brought me along. If I'm alone, all I can do is begin. And then there will be too little time. So people must be warned beforehand. I'd like to warn them."

"The underground staff?" asked Maxim hostilely.

"Certainly not. I have my own group."

Maxim said nothing. A familiar gray five-story building with a stone wall along its pediment loomed ahead of them. Somewhere along its corridors wandered Fishface, and enraged Hippo was shouting and sputtering. This was the Center. He had come full circle.

"OK," agreed Maxim. "There's a phone booth by the entrance. When I enter -- but no sooner -- you can leave the car and call."

"Good," said Vepr.

As they approached the exit ramp from the expressway, thoughts of Rada crossed Maxim's mind; he wondered what would become of her if he failed to return. She would have a bad time of it. Perhaps nothing would happen, and they would release her. "Still, she'll be all alone. With Guy gone. And myself, too. Poor girl."

"Do you have a family?" he asked Vepr.

"Yes, a wife."

Maxim bit his lip.

"I'm sorry that things turned out so awkwardly."

"Forget it, Mac," said Vepr calmly. "I said my farewells. I always do when I leave the house. So this is the Center. Whoever would have thought?"

Maxim parked the car, maneuvering it between a shabby compact and a luxurious state limousine.

"Well, I guess that's it," he said. "Wish me luck, Vepr."

"With all my heart." Vepr's voice broke. "Still, I've lived to see this day."

Maxim rested his cheek on the wheel.

"If only we live through this day," he said. "To see the evening."

Vepr looked at him anxiously.

"It's hard for me to go, Vepr," explained Maxim. "Damned hard. By the way, remember this and be sure to tell it to your friends: you people do not live on the inner surface of a sphere, but on the outer surface. The universe has many more such spheres. The inhabitants of some are far worse off than you, and the inhabitants of others live much better than you. But I can tell you this: nowhere else in the universe do people live more stupidly than you. You don't believe it? Then the hell with you. I'm going."

He opened the door and climbed out. He walked through the parking lot and ascended the stone steps. Step by step he went up, groping in his pocket for the entrance pass prepared for him by the prosecutor, for the building pass that the prosecutor had stolen, and for the plain pink piece of cardboard, representing another pass that the prosecutor could neither counterfeit nor steal for him. It was hot, and the inhabited island's impenetrable sky glistened like aluminum. The steps seemed to burn through his soles. What a senseless venture! "Why the hell go through with it if we didn't have the time to prepare properly? Suppose, instead of one officer in that little room, there are two, even three, waiting for me with their guns? Captain Chachu used a pistol, but there's going to be a lot more bullets this time. I was in much better condition then, and Chachu almost did me in. This time they won't let me slip away. I'm a fool. I was a fool then and I still am. The prosecutor sure hooked me. But how come he trusted me? I can't figure it out. Ah, how nice it would be to escape from all this and run off to the mountains, breathe the pure, fresh mountain air. I never did manage to get to them. Such a clever, distrustful man -- yet he trusted me with such a precious secret! His world's supreme treasure!"

He opened a glass door and handed a legionnaire his entrance pass. Crossing the lobby, he went past a bespectacled girl stamping passes and an administrator exchanging curses with someone on the telephone. He showed his building pass to another legionnaire at the corridor entrance. The legionnaire nodded amicably to the familiar figure: Mac had been coming here daily for the past three days.

He kept walking.

He passed through the long, doorless corridor and turned left.

This was his second visit here. Yesterday, he had been here "by mistake." ("What room are you looking for, sir?" "Sixteen, corporal." "You're in the wrong corridor, sir. It's in the next one." "Sorry, corporal. Thank you.")

He handed the corporal his building pass and cast a sidelong glance at two strapping legionnaires, armed with submachine guns and standing stiffly at either side of the door opposite him. Then he looked at the other door, through which he would be passing in a few seconds. "Department of Special Transportation." The corporal inspected his pass carefully and pressed a button on the wall. A bell rang behind the door. "Now the officer sitting beside the green drapes has been alerted. Maybe two officers. Or even three. They are waiting for me to enter. If I frighten them and jump back, I'll run into the corporal and those legionnaires guarding the other door. And that room is probably crawling with soldiers."

The corporal returned the pass and said: "Please have your documents ready."

Taking out the pink piece of cardboard, he opened the door and entered the room.

Massaraksh! Not one room. But three. A suite of rooms, green drapes at one end. A runner beneath his feet, leading directly to the green drape. Thirty meters, at least.

And not two officers, or three. Six!

In the first room, two in army gray. Guns already trained on him. In the second room, two in Legion black. Guns not aimed, but drawn. In the third room, two in civilian clothes, on either side of the drapes.

One turned his head.

"Go to it, Mac!"

He sprang forward with a tremendous leap and wondered in that split second if he would pull a tendon. Air rushed into his face.

"There it is: the green drapes.

"Civilian on the left is looking to one side. Give it to him -- a chop in the neck.

"Civilian on the right blinks. His eyes freeze.

"Now, clobber him, and then into the elevator.

"The elevator is dark. Where's the button? Massaraksh, where is it?"

Alone submachine gun clattered slowly, echoing through the corridors. Instantly, a second one joined in.

"But they're still firing at the door, where they saw me last. They haven't realized yet what happened. Purely a reflex.

"The button! Where is it? Massaraksh, here it is, in the most obvious place."

He pressed the button and the car descended. The car moved rapidly: it was an express elevator. His foot began to hurt. "Did I sprain my ankle? Forget it, that's unimportant now. Massaraksh, I got through!"

The car stopped, Maxim jumped out, and the shaft rumbled and rang as chips started to fly. Three guns kept firing from above at the roof of the car. "Fire away. You'll realize in a minute that you're wasting your time, that you have to get the elevator back upstairs so you can come down yourselves. You missed your chance."

He glanced around. "Massaraksh, wrong again. Not one entrance, but three. Three absolutely identical tunnels. Aha, two are only spare generators. While one's working, the others are being overhauled. Which one is working now? Looks like this one."

He dashed into the middle tunnel. The elevator growled behind his back. "You guys are too late. You'll never make it, even though the tunnel is long and my ankle hurts. Ah, here's a turn. You turds will never get me now." He reached the generators rumbling beneath a steel plate and rested for a few seconds. "Most of the job is finished; the rest is easy. In a few minutes they'll come down in the elevator and barge into the tunnel. But they don't know that the depression emitter will drive them back. What else could happen now? They might toss a tear-gas shell down the corridor. But I doubt it: they probably don't have any. They've probably sounded the alarm by now. Of course the Creators could turn off the depression barrier. But they won't bring themselves to do it. And they couldn't do it in time even if they wanted to. Five of them would have to assemble with five keys, and all agree on a decision; first, they would have to consider whether one of their number is playing a trick, or some sort of provocation is involved. After all, who in this world could breakthrough the radiation barrier? Possibly Strannik, if he has secretly invented a protective device. But those six armed guards up-stairs would have stopped him. And there's nobody else."

Submachine guns were chattering away around the comer in the dark tunnel. "Fire away, jerks. I don't mind." He bent over the power switchboard, removed the casing carefully, and tossed it into the corner. "Yes, a very primitive device. It's a good thing I read up on their electronics. Suppose I hadn't? And suppose Strannik had returned two days ago? Yes, my fine friends, here I am like a novice mechanic who must troubleshoot in a big hurry. I don't even know what to look for. Massaraksh, what kind of design is this -- no insulation! Aha, there you are. Well, good luck, as the state prosecutor would say!"

He sat down on the floor in front of the power switchboard and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He had done his job: the powerful blows of a depression field were overwhelming the entire country, from the Outlands to the Khonti frontier, from the ocean to the Alebastro Mountains.

The guns were quiet. The guards had been laid low by the depression field. "I'll have to see how they look when they're sunk in depression.

"For the first time in his life the prosecutor is welcoming a radiation strike. But I'm really not interested in seeing how he looks. The Creators never knew what hit them and are now writhing in pain, hoofs up, as Captain Chachu used to say. He's been laid low, too, with the rest of them. And I'm damn glad.

"Zef and the boys are lying there, too, hoofs up.

"Strannik! Great! That bastard Strannik is down, too, hoofs up, with those enormous ears of his spread out on the floor. The biggest ears in the whole country. Maybe they've shot him by now. That would be even better.

"Rada, my Rada, is lying somewhere in a fit of depression. Never mind, it probably isn't painful, and it will soon be over.

"Vepr."

He jumped up. How much time had passed? He dashed back through the tunnel. Vepr had probably been laid low, too. But if he had heard the shooting before the strike, he might not have stayed put.

He ran toward the elevator and paused briefly to glance at the officers laid out by the strike. It was a distressing scene: all three had flung down their guns and were crying; they were even too weak to wipe away their tears. "Fine, cry, it will do you some good. Cry over my buddy Guy; cry over Ordi; over Gel; over my friend Forester. From the looks of you, you haven't cried since you were kids; in any case, you've never cried over those you've killed. So cry, at least, before your own death."

The elevator carried him to the surface quickly. The suite of rooms was full of officers, noncoms, legionnaires, civilians -- all armed, all sitting or lying and grieving. Sobbing, mumbling, shaking their heads, and beating their breasts. "Massaraksh, what a sight. The black radiation... I can see why the Creators were saving it for a rainy day."

He ran into the lobby, leaping over bodies stirring feebly on the floor. After nearly toppling head over heels down the stone steps, he halted in front of his car and caught his breath. Vepr's nerve shad held out after all: he lay on the front seat with his eyes closed.

Maxim dragged the bomb from the trunk, removed it from the wrapping, and returned to the elevator unhurriedly. He examined the fuse thoroughly, set the timer, laid the bomb inside the elevator, and pressed the "down" button. The car vanished, carrying into the nether world a fiery spirit that would explode into freedom in ten minutes.

Returning to his car, he propped Vepr into an upright position and maneuvered the car from its parking space. The gray building rose above him, heavy, stupid, doomed, packed with doomed people who could neither walk nor understand what was happening.

"The place is a nest, a snake's nest, full of the most choice trash, trash collected with great care, gathered here for the ex-press purpose of converting into more trash all those within reach of the emitters' sorcery. All of them are enemies of the people, and not one of them would hesitate for a moment to shoot, betray, or crucify me, Vepr, Zef, Rada -- all my friends. Still, it's just as well that my thoughts didn't run this way before. If they had, they would have gotten in my way. I would have remembered Fishface. She's the only person in this doomed snake's nest who -- why am I so concerned about Fishface? What do I really know about her? That she taught me their language? And made my bed? Forget about her; you realize very well that there's much more at stake here than Fishface. The point is that from now on, you must fight in dead earnest, as everyone else does. And you will have to struggle against fools, vicious fools created by the radiation strikes; against clever, ignorant, greedy idiots who directed the radiation strikes; against well-meaning idiots who, using the same emitters, would be glad to transform vicious, diabolic puppets into ingratiating, quasidecent puppets. And every one of them will try to wipe out you, your friends, and your cause. The Wizard said: 'Don't let your conscience interfere with clear thinking, and let your reason learn to stifle your conscience when circumstances demand it.' He was right. A bitter truth. Yes, what I accomplished here today, my friends would call a feat! Vepr lived to see the day; and he believed in it as in a fairytale with a happy ending. So did Forester, Ordi, Green, and Gel Ketshef, and my buddy Guy, and dozens of others, and hundreds and thousands of people I've never laid eyes on. Yet, I feel bad. But if I want people to trust and follow me in the future, I must never tell anyone that the most courageous moment for me today was not when I leaped and ran through a hail of bullets, but now, right now, when there is still time to turn back and deactivate the bomb, and I'm speeding away from this accursed place."

He drove along the straight expressway, where Fank had driven him six months ago in a luxurious limousine and had passed an endless column of armored vehicles. Fank had driven at a furious speed to deliver him to Strannik. Now he understood why Strannik wanted him. "He knew then that I was immune to radiation, that I was very naive, that he could manipulate me as he pleased. Yes, Strannik knew all right. Damn him! He's the devil himself; the most terrifying man in the country, perhaps on the entire planet. 'He knows everything,' the prosecutor said. No, not everything. You've gained the upper hand, Mac. You've won around from the devil. Now you must kill him before it's too late, before he manages to recover his senses. Maybe they've killed him already -- right at the gates of his own den. No, I don't believe they got him; he's too much for them. Even with twenty-four relatives and a couple of machine guns, Voldyr couldn't get him. Massaraksh! Too bad I didn't have time to contact the General. He's serving time in the penal colony. I wanted him to be prepared to start an insurrection among the political prisoners and send them here by troop train. But whatever happens there, I must knock off Strannik. Yes, I must knock him off and hold out for several hours until the army and the Legion are overwhelmed by radiation deprivation. None of them know about radiation deprivation -- not even Strannik. How could he?"

The expressway was strewn with cars parked at every conceivable angle; some had toppled over the shoulder into the drainage ditch. Drivers and passengers were overwhelmed by the depression strike: some sat grieving on running boards; others were drooped over their seats or sprawled along the shoulders. It slowed Maxim down, forcing him to skirt vehicles and bodies, to brake, to detour. He failed to notice a bright yellow car speeding toward him from the city. It, too, skirted and detoured but rarely slowed down.

The two vehicles met on a relatively deserted section of the expressway and almost collided as they sped past each other. Maxim caught sight of a bare skull, round green eyes, and enormous protruding ears, and his heart sank. Everything was fouled up again. "Strannik! Massaraksh! The whole country is knocked out by the depression field, every degen is out cold, and this bastard, this devil, has managed to escape it. Which means that he's invented a protective device. And I don't have a gun on me." Maxim glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the long yellow car turn around. "Well, I'll have to manage without one. My conscience won't bother me in the least when I finish off that guy." Maxim pushed the accelerator to the floor. "Step on it, let's go. Come on, baby." The flat, yellow hood moved closer and closer until a pair of steely green eyes were visible behind the wheel." Come on, Mac!"

Shielding Vepr with one hand, Maxim braced himself and slammed on the brakes. Amid the squealing and screeching of brakes, the grinding and crunching of metal, the yellow hood smashed into his trunk, collapsed like an accordion, and stood on end. Glass scattered everywhere. Kicking out the door, Maxim tumbled out. Pain wracked his body, tearing through his heel, broken knee, and skinned arm, but it was quickly forgotten at the sight of Strannik standing before him. Strannik! Impossible! Butt here he was. Diabolical Strannik, cool and menacing, his arm raised to strike a blow.

Maxim rushed at him, swinging at him with every ounce of his remaining strength. Missed! A terrific blow at the back of his head sent him reeling. Regaining his balance, he saw Strannik looming before him again: the bare skull, the steely green eyes, and the arm raised to strike again. His face a frozen mask, Strannik stared over Maxim's head. Maxim lunged at him again, and this time he hit his mark. The dark, lanky figure folded up and sank to the pavement slowly. Maxim caught his breath and turned around.

The Center, a cube, was clearly visible. But then it flattened before his eyes, flowing downward and collapsing inward. Above it rose shimmering hot air, steam, and smoke; and something blindingly white, whose heat was felt even at this distance, showed through the long vertical girders and window frames. OK, everything was going according to plan. Maxim turned to Strannik triumphantly. The devil lay on his side, eyes closed, clasping his stomach with his long arms. Maxim approached him cautiously. Vepr stuck his head out of the twisted car. Wriggling and squirming, he tried to force his way out. Maxim halted next to Strannik and leaned over, debating how and where he should deliver the final blow. As he raised his arm over the sprawled figure, Strannik opened his eyes slightly and gasped hoarsely in Lingcos: "Idiot!" Maxim felt himself go limp.

"You goddamn idiot! You snotnose!" continued Strannik.

Out of the gray emptiness came Vepr's voice, loud and clear: "Step aside, Mac, I have a gun."

Maxim caught Vepr's hand.

Strannik sat up with difficulty, still clasping his stomach. "Damn it," he whispered painfully. "Don't just stand there. Find a car. Get a move on!"

Maxim looked around vacantly. The expressway had sprung to life again. The Center had vanished: it was now a puddle of molten metal, steam, and stench. The towers were not functioning, the puppets had ceased to be puppets. Stunned figures tramped around near their cars, trying to figure out what had happened to them, how and why they had come here, and what to do next.

"Who are you?" asked Vepr.

"None of your business," said Strannik in Lingcos. He was in obvious pain.

"I don't understand," said Vepr, raising his gun.

"Kammerer," called Strannik, "get your terrorist to shut up. And go find a car."

"A car?" said Maxim vacantly and helplessly.

"Massaraksh," groaned Strannik, still pressing his hand against his stomach. He managed to rise to his feet, then walked unsteadily to Maxim's car, and crawled inside. "Sit down!" he said from the driver's seat. He glanced over his shoulder at the flame-tinged column of smoke. "What the hell did you plant there?"

"A thermal bomb."

"In the basement or lobby?"

"In the basement."

Strannik groaned, rested briefly with his head thrown back, and then started the engine. The car shook and rattled.

"For God's sake, get in!" he yelled.

"Who is he?" asked Vepr. "A Khonti?"

Maxim shook his head, jerked open the jammed rear door, and ordered Vepr to get in.

Maxim walked around the car and sat down beside Strannik. The car lurched, then wobbled along the expressway.

"What are you planning to do now?" asked Strannik.

"Hold on," said Maxim. "At least tell me who you are."

"I'm an agent of the Galactic Security Council," replied Strannik bitterly. "I've been here five years. We've been laying the groundwork for an important operation; we're trying to save this planet. We've been planning thoroughly, taking into consideration all possible consequences. All! Do you understand? Then you came along. Who the hell are you to stick your nose into other people's affairs and mess up everything, set off explosions? Who do you think you are?"

"How was I supposed to know?" Maxim's voice fell.

"You knew damn well that independent intervention was forbidden. As a member of the Independent Reconnaissance Unit, you should have known. Back on Earth your mother is going out of her mind with worry, your girlfriends keep phoning, your father quit his job. What the hell were you going to do?"

"Shoot you," replied Maxim.

"What?"

The car swerved sharply.

"Yes," said Maxim submissively. "What else could I have done? I was told that you were responsible for all the evil I saw."

"And that wasn't so hard to believe, was it?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Well, all right. Then what were you planning to do?"

"A revolution was supposed to begin."

"For whose benefit?"

"Well, with the Center destroyed and no more radiation, I thought that..."

"You thought what?"

"That they would understand at once that they were being oppressed, that their lives were miserable, and that they would revolt."

"Why would they revolt?" said Strannik sadly. "Who would revolt? The Creators are alive and thriving; the Legion is intact and unharmed; the army is mobilized, and the country is at war. What were you counting on?"

Maxim bit his lip. Of course he could tell Strannik about his plans and goals, but it would be pointless since nothing was ready and everything had turned out this way...

"It's up to them to take care of the rest." Maxim pointed over his shoulder to Vepr. "This man, for example. Let him take over. My job was to give them the opportunity to do the planning themselves."

"Your job," muttered Strannik, "was to stay put until I caught you."

"I'll keep that in mind next time."

"You will return to Earth today!" commanded Strannik.

"I don't think I will," replied Maxim.

"You will return to Earth today!" Strannik raised his voice. "I've enough trouble on this planet without you. Pick up your Rada and clear out."

"Do you have Rada?"

"Yes. She's alive and well. Don't worry."

"Thank you for taking care of her," said Maxim. "I'm very grateful to you."

The car rolled into the city. The main street was jammed with weaving, honking cars, and reeked of exhaust fumes. Strannik turned into a side street and passed through the slums. Everything was dead here. On street corners military police in combat helmets, hands clasped behind their backs, stuck up like lamp posts. The reaction to events had been very rapid here: a general alarm had been sounded, and everyone was at his station as soon as he recovered from the depression strike. "Maybe I blew up the Center too soon. Maybe I should have stuck to the prosecutor's plan? No, massaraksh! It's just as well. Let them figure out for themselves what's what." Strannik turned onto the main thoroughfare again. Vepr tapped Strannik on the shoulder gently with his pistol. "Please drop me off. Over there. Where those people are standing."

Beside a newsstand five figures huddled, their hands thrust deep inside the pockets of their long gray raincoats. The sidewalks were deserted. Apparently, the depression strike had frightened people badly and sent them scurrying for cover.

"What are your plans?" asked Strannik, slowing down.

"To breathe the fresh air," replied Vepr. "The weather is exceptionally beautiful today."

"He's one of us," Maxim explained to Vepr. "Feel free to say anything you want."

The car stopped by the shoulder. The raincoated figures retreated cautiously behind the newsstand and peered out.

"One of us?" Vepr raised his eyebrows.

Maxim looked at Strannik awkwardly, but Strannik made no attempt to help him.

"I believe you, Mac," said Vepr. "We must get to work on the staff now. That's where we must begin. You know what I'm talking about. There are people on it who must be removed before they dominate the movement."

"Good thinking," muttered Strannik. "By the way, I think I know you. You are Tik Fesku, alias Vepr. Am I right?"

"Yes, you are. Mac, get to work on the Creators. It's a tough job, but right up your alley. Where can I get in touch with you?"

"Hold on, Vepr, I almost forgot," said Maxim. "In a few hours the entire country will be knocked out by radiation deprivation. Everyone will be completely helpless."

"Everyone?" Vepr was dubious.

"Everyone except the degens. You will have to take advantage of those few days."

Vepr thought about it.

"That's great if it's true. Then we'll get to the degens at once. Where can I reach you?"

Maxim didn't have time to reply.

"Same phone number as before," said Strannik. "Same place. Now, here's what you must do. Organize your committee. Revive the organization that existed under the Empire. Some of your people work for me at the institute. Massaraksh! We don't have enough time or people. Damn you, Maxim!"

"The main thing," said Vepr, placing a hand on Maxim's shoulder, "is that the Center is gone. You've done a great job, Mac. Thanks." He squeezed Mac's shoulder, and dangling his artificial arm, climbed from the car clumsily.

The car darted forward. Maxim glanced back. Vepr was standing in a cluster of men in gray raincoats, talking to them and waving his pistol with his good arm. The men remained impassive. They didn't understand yet. Or didn't believe.

The street was deserted. Armored trucks filled with legionnaires rolled toward them. Up ahead, where the road turned into the institute, vehicles had already straddled the road, and men in black were pouring from them. A revoltingly familiar bright yellow patrol car, equipped with a long telescopic antenna, appeared among the column of armored trucks.

"Massaraksh," muttered Maxim. "I completely forgot about them."

"You seem to have forgotten about a lot of things," said Strannik. "You forgot about the mobile emitters; you forgot about the Island Empire; you forgot about economics. Do you know that the country is about to collapse, economically? That it's threatened by famine? That the soil is not producing? Do you know that you failed to set aside grain reserves and medical supplies? Do you know that your radiation deprivation will lead to insanity in twenty percent of the cases?" He wiped his forehead with his palm. "We need doctors, twelve thousand of them. We need protein synthesizers. We must, for a beginning, decontaminate one hundred million acres of contaminated soil. We must halt the deterioration of the biosphere. Massaraksh, we need at least one Earthling on the Islands. Our own people can't hold out there; they can't even give us a clear picture of what's going on."

Maxim said nothing. They approached the roadblock. A strangely familiar stocky officer moved toward them, waving his hand, and demanded to see their documents. Strannik thrust a shiny badge under his nose. The officer saluted glumly and glanced at Maxim. It was Captain... no, not Captain, but Brigadier Chachu of the Fighting Legion!

"Is this man with you, your excellency?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm in a hurry. Order them to let me through at once."

"I beg your pardon, your excellency, but this man --"

"Let me through at once!" ordered Strannik.

Brigadier Chachu saluted again, swung around on his heels, and waved to his men. One of the trucks moved aside, and Strannik sped into the open corridor.

"You see how it is, Mac," he said. "One-two, you thought, and the whole thing would be over. Shoot Strannik, hang the Creators, drive the cowards and fascists out of the underground staff, and your revolution would be over."

"No, I never thought it would be that simple." Maxim felt defenseless and stupid.

Strannik glanced at him and smiled sadly. Maxim realized that he was neither devil nor monster, but a very kind and very vulnerable elderly man, burdened by enormous responsibilities, tormented by the loathsome disguise of a cold-blooded killer, and frustrated by another setback to a meticulously worked out plan. And he was particularly upset now because one of his own, an Earthling, had been the culprit.

"I didn't reach you in time," he said regretfully. "I underestimated you. Thought you were just a kid. Felt sorry for you." He smiled ironically. "You boys in the Independent Reconnaissance Unit are fast workers."

"I don't think you should be so hard on yourself," said Maxim. "I'm certainly not tormenting myself. By the way, what's your name?"

"Call me Ernst."

"No, I'm not tormenting myself, Ernst, and I don't intend to. I'm going to get down to work. We're going to make a revolution."

"I think you had better go home," Strannik advised him despairingly.

"But I amam home." Maxim was impatient. "Let's change the subject. I'm interested in the mobile emitters. What should we do about them?"

"Nothing," replied Strannik. "Think what you should do about famine."

"I'm asking you about the emitters."

Strannik sighed.

"They're powered by batteries. They can be charged up only in my department. They'll go dead in about three days. The invasion will begin in about a month. Usually we've managed to throw the subs off course, and only a few reached the coast. This time they're preparing an armada. I had counted on the depression emitter, but now we'll have to sink them." He paused briefly. "So you're home. Well, let's see. What exactly are you planning to do now?"

They drove up to the department. The heavy gates were tightly shut, and the stone wall enclosure was studded with the dark slots of newly installed gun embrasures. The department resembled a fortress, ready for battle. Three figures stood near the pavilion, and Zefs red beard burned through the foliage like an exotic flower.

"I don't know," replied Maxim. "I'll do anything that people who understand this world tell me. If necessary, I'll work on economics. If I have to, I'll sink submarines. But I'm damned sure about one thing: I'll never permit another Center to be built as long as I live. Even with the best of intentions."

Strannik remained silent. The gates were now close by. Zef shouldered his way through a hedge and came out onto the road. His gun hung from his shoulder, and even from afar it was clear that he was angry and bewildered. Now, amid a string of curses, he would demand an explanation. Why, massaraksh, had he been dragged away from his work, sold all that bull about Strannik, and forced to sit like a garden statue in a bed of petunias for two hours straight!