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."

Morrison climbed in, following her directions and doing his best not to damage his head on any portion of the skimmer - or, perhaps, damaging the skimmer.

He sat in his seat, staring in horror at the skimmer's open side to his right. "Isn't there a door to close?"

"Why do you want a closed door? It would spoil the wonderful feeling of flight. Strap yourself in and you'll be perfectly safe. - Here, I'll show you how. - Are you ready now?" She was in the seat beside him, looking quite confident and pleased with herself. They were crowded into contact and that much at least Morrison found rather soothing.

"I'm resigned," he said. "That's as close as I can get to ready."

"Don't be silly. You're going to love this. We'll use the motors to rise."

There was a high-pitched throb of the small engine and a rhythmic slap as the rotors began to spin. Slowly the skimmer rose and - as slowly - it turned. It canted to one side while turning and Morrison found himself leaning out over the open side and straining precariously against the strap that held him. He barely managed to fight off the strong impulse to throw his arms around Kaliinin for nothing more than utterly nonerotic security.

The skimmer straightened and Kaliinin said, "Now, listen," as she turned off the engine and threw in a switch labeled, in Cyrillic, SOLAR. The throb ceased and the rotors slackened as the forward propeller began to turn. The skimmer moved slowly and almost silently forward.

"Listen to the quiet," whispered Kaliinin. "It's like drifting on nothing."

Morrison looked down uneasily.

Kaliinin said, "We won't fall. Even if a cloud passed over the sun or if a circuit failure put the photovoltaic cells out of action, there is enough power in the storage components to bring us across kilometers, if necessary, to a safe landing. And if we ran out of power, the skimmer is more than half a glider and it would still settle down to a safe landing. I don't think I could force the craft into a crash even if I tried. The only real danger is a strong wind and there's none of that now."