Zorin was staring at him. "Maybe you of the West can help," he muttered.- "Perhaps its our only chance.
Perhaps we can enlarge upon your idea. Bring a new spark of life to…" He let his sentence fade off unhappily.
Kirichenko came to his feet, reached over and poured the three of them still another drink. The bottle was getting low. He said, "Let's get down to the essentials. If we're going to discuss this with a representative of the West, we might as well put our cards on the table." He added sourly, "They aren't very high cards."
This just didn't make sense. Mike Edwards had come to Moscow with the feeling that the West was up against the wall and his job was to make a feeble attempt to escape the situation the Soviet Complex had them in. But the way these two were talking, you'd think the positions were reversed.
Zorin said, "To sum it up, Mr. Edwards, you of the United States and the rest of the Western countries have been stymied in your economies."
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Mike rasped, "Because of forty million Russian tourists spilling over your borders each year, and with every chance of the number growing."
"Forty million," Kirichenko grunted bitterly. "Nothing!"
"Nothing?" Mike said indignantly.
The Soviet Complex's number one bureaucrat sighed. "Mr. Edwards," he said, "have you noticed the rather large number of Chinese about Moscow?"
"Why yes. You mean the students, the trade delegations, the cultural exchange artists?"
"Ha," Kirichenko said bitterly, reaching for his drink.
"I mean the tourists," Zorin said. "They're just beginning." He ran a hand over his face wearily. "There were fifty million of them this year. Chinese-finally successful in their Great Leaps Forward-keen to begin seeing the world. And where do they most" want to go? To Russia! The fatherland of communism. Every good communist in China wants to see Moscow, Leningrad, the Crimea and so forth. Their aircraft factories are working under forced draft to provide air liners for the traffic. It is estimated that the number will be one hundred million next year, two hundred the year following. Mr. Edwards, do you realize that the present population of China exceeds a billion?"
Mike was taken aback.
He said slowly, "You mean that you too would like to figure out some way of keeping the tourists out of your country. But…" he thought about it. "… you haven't the same problem we have. You don't need foreign trade. Why not just let them come?"
Zorin spelled it out for him, his face desperate. "Mr. Edwards, the Chinese have had one famed attribute down through history. Their ability to swallow up the invader. China would be overrun and conquered by an enemy. A few decades later the enemy would have interbred with the hundreds of millions of Chinese; a century later there would be no signs of the enemy left."
Mike said, "What's this got to do with tourism?"
"Isn't it obvious? Here, have another drink. Kirichenko get out another bottle. Mr. Edwards, as you've undoubtedly noticed, Russian morals have loosened considerably in the past generation. In the early days of Bolshevik power we were actually quite puritanical, absolutely Victorian in our sexual code. But, as you've undoubtedly seen, as our people become more hedonistic, the moral code slips."
Mike was gaping at him, comprehension beginning to dawn.
"Two hundred or three hundred million Chinese," Zorin shuddered, "crossing our borders on pleasure bent, each year. Estimate, Mr. Edwards. With our present loose sexual code, how long do you think it would be before there wasn't a full-blooded Russian left in the country?" His voice dropped to an anguished whisper. "How long before there weren't any Russians left at all? It was a sad day when we patched up the difficulties we had with China back during Brezhnev's times."
Kirichenko was pouring another round, his hand shaking.
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Mike said, "Holy smokes, and then when they'd all seen Russia thoroughly, they'd start in seeing the rest of the world."
"Exactly," Zorin said emphatically. He came to his feet, weaving only a trifle.
"Mr. Edwards," he said incisively, "to use an old Americanism, let's face it. The cold war is over between us. Not in an Armageddon, not in a Gottefdammerung of guided missiles and H-Bombs, but in the face of a problem common to both."
Mike and Kirichenko came to their own feet, their faces set firmly, their glasses upraised.
Mike bit out courageously, slurring only slightly, "The common enemy of all," he toasted. "Tourists! They must and shall be stopped!"
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