Vielgorsky had difficulty keeping his calm. He sweated profusely and smelled bad. His voice was hoarse. Mirsky almost felt sorry for him.
The black entrance way to the third chamber library opened impressively, and Pogodin and Pritikin urged the captive through with a few well-placed jabs of their AKVs. Mirsky followed at a more leisurely pace.
“This is where you’ve been wasting your time,” Vielgorsky cried over his shoulder.
“You’ve never been here?” Mirsky asked, pretending surprise. ”At the very least I would have thought you’d be curious.”
“It’s useless,” Vielgorsky said. ”It’s filled with American propaganda. Why waste my time?”
Mirsky laughed out loud, more in anger than humor. ”You poor son of a bitch,” he said. ”The people who built this starship were no more American than you or I.” They halted before the ranks of chairs and chromium teardrops.
“If you kill me, Belozersky and Yazykov are fully capable of carrying on,” Vielgorsky said.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Mirsky said. ”We need each other. I want you to sit down.”
Vielgorsky stood his ground, shivering like a cold dog.
“The chairs won’t eat you,” Pogodin said, prodding him again.
“You cannot brainwash me,” Vielgorsky blustered.
“No, but maybe I can educate you. Sit.”
Vielgorsky slowly lowered himself into the nearest chair, facing the teardrop apprehensively. ”You will force me to read books? That will be very silly.”
Mirsky came around behind the chair and reached over to flip the control cover. ”Would you like to learn how to speak English, French, German?”
Vielgorsky didn’t answer.
“No? Then perhaps you’d like to learn a little about history. Not from an American point of view from the viewpoint of our descendants. The Russians who survived the Death.”
“I don’t care,” Vielgorsky said, his pale moist face almost all nose in the teardrop reflection.
“This is what the Americans were hiding from us,” Mirsky said. “Isn’t it your duty to inspect the treasure we were fighting for? Your superiors cannot. They are dead, or soon will be. The entire Earth will be covered with smoke for years to come. Millions will starve to death or freeze. By the end of this decade, there will be less than ten million of our countrymen left alive.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” Vielgorsky said, wiping his face with his sleeve.
“Our descendants built this starship,” Mirsky said. ”That’s not propaganda, it sounds like fantasy, but it’s truth, Vielgorsky, and all our squabbling with each other cannot conceal the truth. We trained and came here and fought and died to find the truth. You would be a traitor to turn away from it.”
“Are you proposing we share power?” Vielgorsky asked, glancing up at him. Mirsky swore under his breath and turned on the machine.
“It will speak to you in Russian,” he said. ”It will answer your questions and it will teach you how to use it. Now ask.”
Vielgorsky stared at the floating library symbol, eyes wide.
“Ask.”
“Where do you want me to start?”
“Start with our past. What they taught us in school.”
The symbol changed to a question mark.
“Teach me about ...” Vielgorsky looked up at Mirsky.
“Go on. It isn’t painful. But it is addictive.”
“Teach me about Nicholas I.”
“That’s pretty safe,” Mirsky said. ”Too far back. Ask it to teach you about the grand strategic plan of the Soviet Army from 1960 to 2005.” Mirsky smiled. ”Weren’t you ever curious?”
“Teach me ... about that, then,” Vielgorsky said.
The library silently searched and organized its presentation, numerous colorful utility symbols flickering around Vielgorsky’s field of view.
It began.
After a half hour, Mirsy turned to Pogodin and Pritikin and told them to go back to the fourth chamber. He nodded at the entranced Vielgorsky. ”He’ll be no trouble. I’ll watch him.”
“When will we get our chance?” Pritikin asked.
“Anytime you’re free, Comrade,” Mirsky said. ”It’s open to all.”
Belozersky jerked the muscular Pletnev up from his chair and swung him around with surprising strength. ”I know fantasies when I hear them,” he growled.
“It’s easily proven,” Pletnev said, his head turned to one side to avoid Belozersky’s fist on his collar. ”We must go there—comrades Pritikin and Sinoviev have told us as much as they know. The seventh chamber does not stop. It goes on forever.”
Belozersky let him go and backed away slowly, fists clenched.
“Deviationist crap. Pritikin and Sinoviev are intellectuals. Why should I believe them?”
Yazykov motioned for the three soldiers to take Pletnev by the arms.
“You sold us into defeat for your own miserable skin,” he said. “It was your duty to die out there, not come sniveling to the Americans.”
“It was finished,” Pletnev said. ”We had no other choice.”
“This rock can be ours!” Yazykov shouted. ”Now, where is Mirsky?”
“I’ve told you. He’s in the fourth chamber.”
“Shit. He’s in his beloved library,” Belozersky said.
“Then that’s where we’ll arrest him,” Yazykov said. ”Now we should find Garabedian and Annenkovsky—they’re Mirsky’s men as well. Comrade Pletnev, I will personally execute you against the far wall of the seventh chamber. I will spread your blood and counterrevolutionary brains on solid proof of your gullibility.” He threw his hands up in the air in disgust. “Keep him here until we find the others.”
Rimskaya walked across the compound with the message from Belozersky in his hand. He climbed the steps to what had once been Lanier’s office, and was now Hoffman’s, and knocked on the door. Beryl Wallace answered.
“Message from the Soviets,” he said tersely. His face was pale and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.
“Something important?” Beryl asked.
“Beryl, don’t play the protective underling with me. Where is Judith?”
“She’s downstairs in conference with the medical supervisor. I’m not being officious, Joseph, but she’s very busy.”
“Yes, well, the Soviets are busy being Soviets, and I think there’s going to be trouble.” He wiped his eyes and blinked owlishly.
“I’ll get her. She’ll meet you downstairs by the secretary’s desk.”
Rimskaya grunted and clumped back down the stairs.
Hoffman emerged from the executive conference room and took the slate from Rimskaya’s hand, reading it over quickly.
She also looked exhausted, though less so than Rimskaya. Her eyes were rimmed with purple and her cheeks were puffy from lack of sleep.
“What is Belozersky ... position, rank?”
“A Zampolit—political officer,” Rimskaya said. His hands were shaking. ”Major. I’ve talked with him once or twice.”
“What did you think of him?”
Rimskaya shook his head grimly. ”Hard-liner, ignorant and unimaginative. These other two, Yazykov and Vielgorsky, they worry me. They’re smarter, more dangerous. If they say they’ve deposed Mirsky and we have to deal with them directly, they’ve probably done it.”
“Then arrange a meeting. We can’t just stop talking because of their internal squabbles. And find out from—what’s his name?—Sinoviev or Pritikin. Find out from one or the other what’s going on and how this affects the Russian civilians.”
“They aren’t around. They may be in detention or dead.”
“You think it’s gone that far?” Hoffman asked.
“They’re acting very Russian,” Rimskaya said, spreading his hands.
“I’ll be in this conference for another hour or so. Get them to meet with us in an hour and a half.”
“Better to let them suggest the time, and then make them wait a while,” Rimskaya suggested.
“You take care of it.”
She watched the tall, dour mathematician walk out the door and then stared at a blank space on the wall over arm’s empty desk. The secretary was in the cafeteria on lunch break.
“Just thirty seconds,” Hoffman said, focusing on nothing.
She stood alone, breathing steadily, one finger tapping lightly on the corner of the desk, beating time to some internal meditative clock.
When half a minute had passed, she closed her eyes tightly, opened them wide, took a deep breath and turned back to the hallway and the conference room door.