"At what do you suppose, Natalya? At the data we obtained yesterday in the brain."
Boranova felt her anger seep away. After all, it was Konev whose dream this had been. The success of survival was sweet for everyone but Konev. Only he felt the failure.
She said, "Sit down, Yuri. Try to face it. The thought analysis didn't work - and it couldn't. Shapirov was too far gone. Even as we went in, he was on the point of death."
Konev looked at Boranova blankly, as though totally disregarding her words. "Where is Albert Morrison?"
"There's no use in hounding him, Yuri. He did what he could, but Shapirov's was a dying brain. - Listen to me. It was a dying brain."
Again that blank look. "What are you talking about, Natalya?"
"The data we got. The supposed data that you're struggling with. Let it go. The voyage has been a marvelous success even without it."
Konev shook his head. "A marvelous success without it? You don't know what you're saying. Where is Morrison?"
"He's gone, Yuri. It's finished. He's on his way back to the United States. As we promised."
Konev's eyes opened wide. "But that's impossible. He can't go. He mustn't go."
"Well, now," said Boranova calmly. "What are you talking about?"
Konev rose to his feet. "I went over the data, you stupid woman, and it's all plain. We must keep Morrison. At all costs, we must keep him."
Boranova's face reddened. "How dare you insult me, Yuri? Explain yourself at once or I will have you suspended from this project. What is this new mad fixation of yours on Albert?"
Konev lifted his hands halfway upward, as though impelled by an overwhelming desire to strike out at something, with nothing present to strike at.
He gasped, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I withdraw the adjective. But you must understand. All through our stay in the brain - all the time we were trying to tap Shapirov's thoughts - Albert Morrison was lying to us. He knew what was happening. He must have known and he carefully led us in the wrong direction. We must have him, Natalya, and we must have his device. We can never let him go."
Chapter 18. Return
The trouble with triumph is that you may be on the other side.
Morrison was doing his best to keep his feelings under control. There was a natural elation. He was going to go home. He was going to be free. He was going to be safe. Much more than that, he would -
But he dared not think of that climactic bit as yet. Yuri Konev was fearfully intelligent and already suspicious. Morrison's thoughts, if Konev concentrated on them, might give themselves away in his facial expressions somehow.
— Or were they just playing with him? That was the other side of the coin.
Were they planning to break his spirit and turn him to their own uses? It was an old trick, to raise hopes and then dash them - far worse than having no hope at all at any time.
Would Natalya Boranova do such a thing? She had not hesitated to take him forcibly when he would not come willingly. She had not hesitated to threaten to destroy his reputation forever to get him on the ship. How much farther would she go? Would she stop at nothing?
His heart bounded with a marked relief when Sophia Kaliinin appeared. Surely she would not be party to such a deception.
He believed that even more firmly when she smiled at him, looking happier than he had ever seen her. She took his hand and tucked it under her arm.
"You'll be going home now. I'm so glad for you," she said and Morrison could not make himself believe that those words - their intonation, her expression - were all part of a careful lie.
Nevertheless, he said cautiously, "I hope I'm going home."
And she said, "You are. - Have you ever been on a skimmer?"
For a moment, Morrison stumbled on the Russian word, then used a translated English phrase. "Do you mean an SPF - a solar-powered flyer?"
"This is a Soviet design. Much better. It has light engines. You can't always trust the sun."
"But why a skimmer, then?" They were moving briskly toward the passageway that would lead them out of the Grotto.
"Why not? We'll be at Malenkigrad in fifteen minutes and since you've never been in a Soviet skimmer, you'll love it. It will be one more way of celebrating your return."
"I'm a little nervous of heights. Will it be safe?"
"Absolutely. Besides, I couldn't resist. We're in a wonderful situation now and I don't know how much longer it will last. Whatever we want we getfor the moment. I said, 'A skimmer is what we will want,' and they smiled all over their faces and said, 'Why, certainly, Dr. Kaliinin. It will be waiting for you.' Day before yesterday, I would have had to fill out a proof-of-need form for a plate of borscht. Today I am a hero of the Soviet Union - unofficially, as yet. We all are. You, too, Albert."
"I hope I won't be expected to stay for the official ceremonies," said Morrison, still cautious.
"The official ceremonies will be confined to the Grotto, of course, and won't be elaborate at all. Your scroll will undoubtedly be forwarded to you. Perhaps our ambassador can give it to you in a quiet Washington ceremony."
"Not necessary," said Morrison. "I would appreciate the honor, but getting it in the mail is all I really want."
They had turned down a corridor that Morrison had not taken before and then walked long enough to make him wonder uneasily where they might be going. No need to have worried, Morrison thought as they emerged into a small airfield.
There was no mistaking the skimmer. It had long wings, glittering with a layer of photovoltaic cells along their entire upper surface, very much as American SPFs had. The American planes, however, relied on the solar panels entirely. The skimmer he saw had small rotors - gasoline-powered, no doubt - as assists. Kaliinin might present that as a Soviet improvement but Morrison suspected that the Soviet photovoltaic cells were not as efficient as the American ones.
A mechanic was standing near the skimmer and Kaliinin approached him with long, confident strides. "How does it test out?"
"Sweet as a dream," said the mechanic.
She smiled and nodded, but as he stepped away she muttered to Morrison, "I'll check it out anyway, of course. I've seen dreams that turned into nightmares."
Morrison studied the skimmer with a mixture of interest and apprehension. It looked like the skeleton of a plane, with everything somehow thinner and longer than it should be. The cockpit was tiny, like a soap bubble under the huge flap of wings and the long backward extension of a thin skeletal structure.
Kaliinin had to bend herself nearly double to climb in. Morrison watched her as she fiddled with the controls. Then, after what seemed a considerable lapse of time, she taxied it down the field, turned it, and came back. She raised the rotos and let them turn slowly and eventually everything was shut down and she got out.
"It's working nicely," she said. "The fuel supply is adequate and the sun is shining brilliantly. One couldn't ask for more."
Morrison nodded and looked around. "One could ask for the pilot. Where is he?"
Kaliinin froze at once. "Where is he? Is there some sexual requirement for the task? I pilot my own skimmer."
"You?" exclaimed Morrison quite automatically.
"Yes, I! Why not? I have my license and I qualify as a master pilot. Get in!"
"I'm sorry," stammered Morrison. "I - I rarely fly and piloting anything through the air is almost a mystical thing to me. I just assumed that a pilot didn't do anything but piloting and that if someone did anything else, he couldn't be a pilot. Do you know what I mean?"
"I'm not even going to try to figure it out, Albert. Get in."