She had to come to a decision at once.

She began again.

If she stopped him, she would have done something. If he then turned out to have been right, the blame for having stopped him and having lost the Universe would rest squarely on her. If he turned out to be wrong after being stopped - her action would be forgotten. There is nothing dramatic about a mistake that is not made.

If she did nothing to stop him, however, then all was on Konev's head. If he somehow prevented Morrison's return to the United States and if the government were then humiliatingly forced to release him, it would be Konev who would be blamed. Boranova would lose nothing, for he had dashed off without telling her what he was going to do and she could reasonably claim she had not dreamed he would try to subvert the known intention of the government. She would be in the clear. If, on the other hand, he prevented Morrison's return and proved to be right and the government won the battle of wills that followed, she could claim the credit of having done nothing to stop him. She could say that it had been with her permission that he had worked.

Well, then, if she stopped him, the worst was blame, the best was neutral. If she did nothing, the best was credit, the worst was neutral.

So Boranova did nothing.

Morrison decided that Kaliinin was right. As the minutes passed, he grew less uncomfortable in the skimmer and even began to experience a feeble pleasure.

He could see the ground clearly through the open latticework that made up the chassis of the craft. It was about thirty meters below (he judged) and moving smoothly backward.

Kaliinin sat at the controls, completely absorbed, though it didn't seem to Morrison that she had much to do. Presumably, it was skill and patient observation that made it possible for her to keep the skimmer on track without minute-by-minute adjustment.

He said, "What happens if you find yourself moving into a headwind, Sophia?"

She said without taking her eyes from the controls, "Then I would have to use the engine and waste fuel. If it were a fresh wind, it wouldn't pay to use a skimmer at all. Fortunately, today is ideal skimmer weather."

Morrison began to feel something that was almost well-being for the first time since having left the United States - no, since a considerable length of time before that. He began to picture himself back in the United States; it was the first time he had dared to do so.

He asked, "What happens after we reach the hotel in Malenkigrad?"

"Car to an airport," said Kaliinin crisply, "and then you'll board a plane to America."

"When?"

"Tonight, according to schedule. I'll try to get it done more quickly."

Morrison said with what was almost joviality, "Anxious to get rid of me?"

And to his surprise, the answer came back at once. "Yes. Exactly."

He studied her face in profile. The look of studied hatred had long since vanished, but there was a settled anxiety about her expression that caused Morrison to quiver. The picture of himself back in the United States began to fade around the edges.

He said, "Is anything wrong, Sophia?"

"No, nothing wrong now. It's just that I expect that - he will come after us. The wolf is in pursuit, so I must get you away quickly if I can."

The city of Malenkigrad lay below them, although it was not exactly a city. Small in name, it was small in fact and it raveled off in all directions into the flat countryside.

It was the bedroom community for the people working on the miniaturization project and during the day - now - it seemed all but deserted. There was a moving vehicle here and there, occasionally a pedestrian, and, of course, children playing in the dusty streets.

It occurred to Morrison that he had no way of knowing where, in the mighty stretch of land that made up the Soviet Union, Malenkigrad and the Grotto might be. It wasn't in the birch forest or in the tundra. The early summer was warm and the ground looked semiarid. He might be in central Asia or in the steppes near the European side of the Caspian. He could not say.

The skimmer was dropping now, more gently than an elevator. Morrison would not have believed that so soothing a descent could be possible. Then the wheels touched the ground and they braked to a nearly instant halt. They were in the rear of the hotel, a hotel the small size of which he could appreciate when it was seen from the air.

Kaliinin left the skimmer with a lively jump and motioned to Morrison, who emerged more sedately.

He said, "What happens to the skimmer now?"

She answered carelessly, "I'll pick it up on my return and take it back to the Grotto field if the weather holds. Come, let's go around to the front and I'll get you into your room, where you can rest a little and where we can plan the next step."

"The room with the soldiers watching me, you mean."

She said impatiently, "There'll be no soldiers watching you. We're not afraid of your trying to escape now." Then, with a quick glance around, she added, "Though I'd rather have the soldiers, actually."

Morrison looked about, too, a bit anxiously and decided he'd rather not have the soldiers. It occurred to him that if Konev came to reclaim him, as Kaliinin clearly feared he might do, he might easily come with soldiers at his back.

And then Morrison thought: Or is this really something to fear? She has a thing about Yuri. She'll believe anything of him.

The thought did not quiet him, however.

Morrison had not seen the hotel in broad daylight from outside; he had not had the leisure to study it in any case. It occurred to him that it was probably used only by visiting officials and special guests - such as he himself, if he could lay claim to the category. He wondered if, small as it was, it was ever full. Certainly, the two nights he had spent here had been quiet indeed. He recalled no noise in the corridors and the dining room, when he had eaten there, had been all but empty, too.

It was at the moment he thought of the dining room that they approached the front entrance and there, to one side, sitting in the sun and poring over a book, was a stoutish woman with reddish-brown hair. She was wearing half-spectacles, perched low on her nose. (Morrison was surprised at that bit of archaism. It was rare to see glasses in these days when eye-molding was routine and normal vision had truly become normal.)

It was the glasses and the studious look on her face that changed her appearance so that Morrison might easily not have recognized her. He would not have, perhaps, if he had not just thought of the dining room. The woman was the waitress to whom he had appealed for help three evenings before and who had failed him - Valeri Paleron.

He said austerely, "Good morning, Comrade Paleron." His voice was stiff and his expression unfriendly.

She did not seem discomfited by this. She looked up, removed her glasses, and said, "Ah, Comrade American. You are back safe and sound. Congratulations."

"For what?"

"It is the talk of the town. There has been an experiment that was a great success."

Kaliinin, her face like thunder, said sharply, "That should not be the talk of the town. We need no wagging tongues."

"What wagging tongues?" said the waitress with spirit. "Who here does not work at the Grotto or have a relative there? Why should we not know of it and why should we not speak of it? And can I fail to hear? Must I stop my ears? I cannot carry a tray and put my fingers in my ears, too."

She turned to Morrison. "I hear that you did very well and are greatly praised for it."