"She's married, I take it."
Dezhnev shook his head more violently than the occasion seemed to require. "No."
"She said she had had a baby."
"Yes, a little girl, but it isn't the signing of the marriage book that makes one pregnant. It's the game of bed - married or not."
"Does the puritanical Soviet Government approve of this?"
"No, but its approval was never asked, I think." He burst into laughter.
"Besides, as a scientist at Malenkigrad, she has her special dispen-pensations. The government looks the other way."
"It strikes me," said Morrison, "that Sophia is much interested in Yuri Konev."
"You see that, do you? It takes little shrewdness. She is so interested that she has made it quite clear that her child was the result of Yuri's collaboration in that little game I spoke of."
"Oh?"
"But he denies it. And very vigorously, too. I think it is rather humorous, in a bitter way, that he remains compelled to work with her. Neither one can be spared from the project and all he can do is pretend she doesn't exist."
"I noticed that he never looks at her, but they must have been friendly once."
"Very friendly - if she is to be believed. If so, they were very discreet about it. But what's the difference? She doesn't need him to support the child. Her salary is a large one and the day-care center takes loving care of her daughter when she is at work. It is just a matter of emotion with her."
"What split them up, I wonder?"
"Who knows? Lovers take their disputes so seriously. I myself have never let myself fall in love - not poetically. If I like a girl, I play with her. If I get tired, I move on. It is my good fortune that the women I engage are as prag-pragmatic - isn't that a good word? - as I am and make little fuss. As my father used to say, 'A woman who doesn't fuss has no faults.' Sometimes, to be truthful, they grow tired before I do, but even then, so what? A girl who is tired of me is not much good to me and, after all, there are others."
"I suppose Yuri is much like that, too, isn't he?"
Dezhnev had emptied his glass again and he held out his hand when Morrison made a move to refill it. "Enough! Enough!"
"Never enough," said Morrison calmly. "You were telling me about Yuri."
"What is there to tell? Yuri is not a man to fly from woman to woman, but I have heard -" He stared blearily at Morrison. "You know how one hears - one tells another who tells another and who is to know whether what comes out of the funnel is anything like what went in. But I have heard that when Yuri was in the United States, being educated Western-style, he met an American girl. In went La Belle Americaine, they say, and out went poor little Soviet Sophia. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he came back different and perhaps he still dreams of his lost love across the sea."
"And is that why Sophia is so ill-disposed to Americans?"
Dezhnev stared at the glass of vodka and sipped a little of it. "Our Sophia," he said, "has never liked Americans. This is not surprising." He leaned toward Morrison, his breath heavy with food and drink. "Americans are not a lovable people - if I may say so without offense."
"I'm not offended," said Morrison evenly, as he watched Dezhnev's head sink slowly and come to rest on his bent right arm. His breathing grew stertorous.
Morrison watched him for half a minute or so, then raised his hand to beckon the serving woman.
She came at once, her ample hips swinging. She stared at the unconscious Dezhnev with rather more than half a sneer. "Well, do you wish me to get a large pair of tongs and use them to carry our prince here to his bed?"
"Not just yet, Miss Paleron. As you know, I'm an American."
"As everyone knows. You have but to say three words and the tables and chairs in this room nod to each other and say, 'An American.'"
Morrison winced. He had always been proud of the purity of his Russian and this was the second time the woman had sneered at it.
"Nevertheless," he said, "I have been brought here by force, against my will. I believe it was done without the knowledge of the Soviet Government, which would have disapproved of and prevented the action if they had known. The people here - Dr. Boranova, whom you have referred to as the Tsarina - have acted on their own. The Soviet Government should be told of this and they will then act speedily to return me to the United States and prevent an international incident that nobody would want. Don't you agree?"
The waitress put her fists on her hips and said, "And of what matter is it to anyone either here or in the United States as to whether I agree or not? Am I a diplomat? Am I the reincarnated spirit of Tsar Peter the Great Drinker?"
"You can see to it," said Morrison, suddenly uncertain, "that the government learns of it. Quickly."
"What is it you think, American? That I have but to tell my lover, who is on the Presidium, and all will be well for you? What have I to do with the government? What's more - and in all seriousness, Comrade Foreigner - I do not wish you to talk to me in this fashion again. Many a fine, loyal citizen has been hopelessly compromised by foreign blabbermouths. I will, of course, report this to Comrade Boranova at once and she will see to it that you do not insult me in this fashion again."
She left in a flounce and with a scowl and Morrison stared after her in dismay. And then his head whirled in surprise and astonishment when he heard Dezhnev's voice saying, "Albert, Albert, are you satisfied, my child?"
Dezhnev's head was raised from his pillowing arm and, though his eyes were a little bloodshot, his voice seemed to have lost its fuzziness. He said, "I wondered why you were so anxious to fill my glass, so I gobbled a little and let myself collapse. It was all very interesting."
"You are not drunk?" said Morrison, goggling at the other in wonder.
"I have been more sober in my life, certainly," said Dezhnev, "but I am not unconscious, nor have I been. You non-drinkers have an exaggerated idea of the speed with which all accomplished Soviet citizen will fall unconscious with drink - which shows the dangers of being a nondrinker."
Morrison still found himself in a state of disbelief over the failure of the waitress to cooperate. "You said she was an intelligence operator."
"Did I?" Dezhnev shrugged. "I think I said I suspected she was, but suspicions are often wrong. Besides, she knows me better than you do, my little Albert, and was probably under no illusion that I was drunk. I'll bet you ten rubles to a kopeck that she knew I was listening with both ears. What would you have her say in such circumstances?"
"In that case," said Morrison, taking heart, "she will have heard what I said and will nevertheless inform your government of the state of affairs. Your government, to avoid an international incident, will then order me set free, probably with an apology, and you people here will have some tall explaining to do. You had better free me and send me back to the United States of your own accord."
Dezhnev laughed. "Your waste your time, my clever intriguer. You have too romantic a notion of our government. Conceivably, they may be willing to let you go someday but, regardless of possible embarrassment, not before you have been miniaturized and -"
"I don't believe anyone in authority knows you kidnapped me. They cannot approve once they find out."
"Maybe they don't know and maybe they will grind their teeth when they find out - but what can they do? The government has invested too much money in the project to let you go before you have had your chance to make it practical, so that it will repay all that has been spent - and more in addition. Well? Doesn't that seem logical to you?"