Transcriber's Note:

 This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction February 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. 

 FREEDOM

 by MACK REYNOLDS

 Illustrated by Schoenherr

 _Freedom is a very dangerous thing indeed. It is so catching--like a plague--even the doctors get it. _

 * * * * *

Colonel Ilya Simonov tooled his Zil aircushion convertible along the edgeof Red Square, turned right immediately beyond St. Basil's Cathedral, crossed the Moscow River by the Moskvocetski Bridge and debouched into theheavy, and largely automated traffic of Pyarnikskaya. At DobryninskayaSquare he turned west to Gorki Park which he paralleled on Kaluga until hereached the old baroque palace which housed the Ministry. 

There were no flags, no signs, nothing to indicate the present nature ofthe aged Czarist building. 

He left the car at the curb, slamming its door behind him and walkingbriskly to the entrance. Hard, handsome in the Slavic tradition, dedicated, Ilya Simonov was young for his rank. A plainclothes man, idlinga hundred feet down the street, eyed him briefly then turned his attentionelsewhere. The two guards at the gate snapped to attention, their eyesstraight ahead. Colonel Simonov was in mufti and didn't answer the salute. 

The inside of the old building was well known to him. He went along marblehalls which contained antique statuary and other relics of the past which, for unknown reason, no one had ever bothered to remove. At the heavy doorwhich entered upon the office of his destination he came to a halt andspoke briefly to the lieutenant at the desk there. 

"The Minister is expecting me, " Simonov clipped. 

The lieutenant did the things receptionists do everywhere and looked up ina moment to say, "Go right in, Colonel Simonov. "

Minister Kliment Blagonravov looked up from his desk at Simonov'sentrance. He was a heavy-set man, heavy of face and he still affected theshaven head, now rapidly disappearing among upper-echelons of the Party. His jacket had been thrown over the back of a chair and his collarloosened; even so there was a sheen of sweat on his face. 

He looked up at his most trusted field man, said in the way of greeting, "Ilya, " and twisted in his swivel chair to a portable bar. He swung openthe door of the small refrigerator and emerged with a bottle ofStolichnaya vodka. He plucked two three-ounce glasses from a shelf andpulled the bottle's cork with his teeth. "Sit down, sit down, Ilya, " hegrunted as he filled the glasses. "How was Magnitogorsk?"

Ilya Simonov secured his glass before seating himself in one of the room'sheavy leathern chairs. He sighed, relaxed, and said, "Terrible, I loaththose ultra-industrialized cities. I wonder if the Americans do any betterwith Pittsburgh or the British with Birmingham. "

"I know what you mean, " the security head rumbled. "How did you make outwith you assignment, Ilya?"

Colonel Simonov frowned down into the colorlessness of the vodka beforedashing it back over his palate. "It's all in my report, Kliment. " He wasthe only man in the organization who called Blagonravov by his first name. 

His chief grunted again and reached forward to refill the glass. "I'm sureit is. Do you know how many reports go across this desk daily? And did youknow that Ilya Simonov is the most long-winded, as the Americans say, ofmy some two hundred first-line operatives?"

The colonel shifted in his chair. "Sorry, " he said. "I'll keep that inmind. "

His chief rumbled his sour version of a chuckle. "Nothing, nothing, Ilya. I was jesting. However, give me a brief of your mission. "

Ilya Simonov frowned again at his refilled vodka glass but didn't take itup for a moment. "A routine matter, " he said. "A dozen or so engineers andtechnicians, two or three fairly high-ranking scientists, and three orfour of the local intelligentsia had formed some sort of informal club. They were discussing national and international affairs. "

Kliment Blagonravov's thin eyebrows went up but he waited for the other togo on. 

Ilya said impatiently, "It was the ordinary. They featured completefreedom of opinion and expression in their weekly get-togethers. Theybegan by criticizing without extremism, local affairs, matters concernedwith their duties, that sort of thing. In the beginning, they even sent afew letters of protest to the local press, signing the name of the club. After their ideas went further out, they didn't dare do that, of course. "

He took up his second drink and belted it back, not wanting to give ittime to lose its chill. 

His chief filled in. "And they delved further and further into mattersthat should be discussed only within the party--if even there--until theyarrived at what point?"

Colonel Simonov shrugged. "Until they finally got to the point ofdiscussing how best to overthrow the Soviet State and what socio-economicsystem should follow it. The usual thing. I've run into possible two dozensuch outfits in the past five years. "

His chief grunted and tossed back his own drink. "My dear Ilya, " herumbled sourly, "I've _run into_, as you say, more than two hundred. "

Simonov was taken back by the figure but he only looked at the other. 

Blagonravov said, "What did you do about it?"

"Several of them were popular locally. In view of Comrade Zverev's recentpronouncements of increased freedom of press and speech, I thought it bestnot to make a public display. Instead, I took measures to chargeindividual members with inefficiency in their work, with corruption orgraft, or with other crimes having nothing to do with the reality of thesituation. Six or seven in all were imprisoned, others demoted. Ten ortwelve I had switched to other cities, principally into more backwardareas in the virgin lands. "

"And the ringleaders?" the security head asked. 

"There were two of them, one a research chemist of some prominence, theother a steel plane manager. They were both, ah, unfortunately killed inan automobile accident while under the influence of drink. "

"I see, " Blagonravov nodded. "So actually the whole rat's nest was stampedout without attention being brought to it so far as the Magnitogorskpublic is concerned. " He nodded heavily again. "You can almost always bedepended upon to do the right thing, Ilya. If you weren't so confoundedlygood a field man, I'd make you my deputy. "

Which was exactly what Simonov would have hated, but he said nothing. 

"One thing, " his chief said. "The origin of this, ah, _club_ which turnedinto a tiny underground all of its own. Did you detect the finger of theWest, stirring up trouble?"

"No. " Simonov shook his head. "If such was the case, the agents involvedwere more clever than I'd ordinarily give either America or Common Europecredit for. I could be wrong, of course. "

"Perhaps, " the police head growled. He eyed the bottle before him but madeno motion toward it. He wiped the palm of his right hand back over hisbald pate, in unconscious irritation. "But there is something at work thatwe are not getting at. " Blagonravov seemed to change subjects. "You canspeak Czech, so I understand. "

"That's right. My mother was from Bratislava. My father met her thereduring the Hitler war. "

"And you know Czechoslovakia?"

"I've spent several vacations in the Tatras at such resorts as TatranskiLomnica since the country's been made such a tourist center of thesatellites. " Ilya Simonov didn't understand this trend of theconversation. 

"You have some knowledge of automobiles, too?"

Simonov shrugged. "I've driven all my life. "

His chief rumbled thoughtfully, "Time isn't of essence. You can take aquick course at the Moskvich plant. A week or two would give you all thebackground you need. "

Ilya laughed easily. "I seem to have missed something. Have myshortcomings caught up with me? Am I to be demoted to automobilemechanic?"

Kliment Blagonravov became definite. "You are being given the mostimportant assignment of your career, Ilya. This rot, this ever growingferment against the Party, must be cut out, liquidated. It seems to festerworse among the middle echelons of . .. What did that Yugoslavian Djilascall us?. .. The _New Class_. Why? That's what we must know. "

He sat farther back in his chair and his heavy lips made a _mout_. "Why, Ilya?" he repeated. "After more than half a century the Party has attainedall its goals. Lenin's millennium is here; the end for which Stalin purgedten millions and more, is reached; the sacrifices demanded by Khrushchevin the Seven-Year Plans have finally paid off, as the Yankees say. Ourgross national product, our per capita production, our standard of living, is the highest in the world. Sacrifices are no longer necessary. "

There had been an almost whining note in his voice. But now he broke itoff. He poured them still another drink. "At any rate, Ilya, I was withFrol Zverev this morning. Number One is incensed. It seems that in theAzerbaijan Republic, for one example, that even the Komsomols werecirculating among themselves various proscribed books and pamphlets. Comrade Zverev instructed me to concentrate on discovering the reason forthis disease. "

Colonel Simonov scowled. "What's this got to do with Czechoslovakia--andautomobiles?"

The security head waggled a fat finger at him. "What we've been doing, thus far, is dashing forth upon hearing of a new conflagration andstamping it out. Obviously, that's no answer. We must find who is behindit. How it begins. Why it begins. That's your job?"

"Why Czechoslovakia?"

"You're unknown as a security agent there, for one thing. You will go toPrague and become manager of the Moskvich automobile distribution agency. No one, not even the Czech unit of our ministry will be aware of youridentity. You will play it by ear, as the Americans say. "

"To whom do I report?"

"Only to me, until the task is completed. When it is, you will return toMoscow and report fully. " A grimace twisted Blagonravov's face. "If I amstill here. Number One is truly incensed, Ilya. "

 * * * * *

There had been some more. Kliment Blagonravov had evidently chosen Prague, the capital of Czechoslovakia, as the seat of operations in a suspicionthat the wave of unrest spreading insidiously throughout the SovietComplex owed its origins to the West. Thus far, there had been no evidenceof this but the suspicion refused to die. If not the West, then who? TheCold War was long over but the battle for men's minds continued even inpeace. 

Ideally, Ilya Simonov was to infiltrate whatever Czech groups might beactive in the illicit movement and then, if he discovered there was ahigher organization, a center of the movement, he was to attempt to becomea part of it. If possible he was to rise in the organisation to as high apoint as he could. 

Blagonravov, Minister of the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_, theExtraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-Revolution and Sabotage, was of the opinion that if this virus of revolt was originating from theWest, then it would be stronger in the satellite countries than in Russiaitself. Simonov held no opinion as yet. He would wait and see. However, there was an uncomfortable feeling about the whole assignment. The groupin Magnitogorsk, he was all but sure, had no connections with Westernagents, nor anyone else, for that matter. Of course, it might have been anexception. 

He left the Ministry, his face thoughtful as he climbed into his waitingZil. This assignment was going to be a lengthy one. He'd have to wind upvarious affairs here in Moscow, personal as well as business. He might beaway for a year or more. 

There was a sheet of paper on the seat of his aircushion car. He frownedat it. It couldn't have been there before. He picked it up. 

It was a mimeographed throw-away. 

It was entitled, _FREEDOM_, and it began: _Comrades, more than a hundredyears ago the founders of scientific socialism, Karl Marx and FrederickEngels, explained that the State was incompatible with liberty, that theState was an instrument of repression of one class by another. Theyexplained that for true freedom ever to exist the State must wither away. _

_Under the leadership of Lenin, Stalin, Krushchev and now Zverev, theState has become ever stronger. Far from withering away, it continues tooppress us. Fellow Russians, it is time we take action! We must. .. . _

Colonel Simonov bounced from his car again, shot his eyes up and down thestreet. He barely refrained from drawing the 9 mm automatic which nestledunder his left shoulder and which he knew how to use so well. 

He curtly beckoned to the plainclothes man, still idling against thebuilding a hundred feet or so up the street. The other approached him, touched the brim of his hat in a half salute. 

Simonov snapped, "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, colonel. "

Ilya Simonov thrust the leaflet forward. "How did this get into my car?"

The other looked at it blankly. "I don't know, Colonel Simonov. "

"You've been here all this time?"

"Why, yes colonel. "

"With my car in plain sight?"

That didn't seem to call for an answer. The plainclothesman lookedapprehensive but blank. 

Simonov turned on his heel and approached the two guards at the gate. Theywere not more than thirty feet from where he was parked. They came to thesalute but he growled, "At ease. Look here, did anyone approach my vehiclewhile I was inside?"

One of the soldiers said, "Sir, twenty or thirty people have passed sincethe Comrade colonel entered the Ministry. "

The other one said, "Yes, sir. "

Ilya Simonov looked from the guards to the plainclothes man and back, infrustration. Finally he spun on his heel again and re-entered the car. Heslapped the elevation lever, twisted the wheel sharply, hit the jets pedalwith his foot and shot into the traffic. 

The plainclothes man looked after him and muttered to the guards, "Blagonravov's hatchetman. He's killed more men than the plague. A bad oneto have down on you. "

Simonov bowled down the Kaluga at excessive speed. "Driving like a young_stilyagi_, " he growled in irritation at himself. But, confound it, howfar had things gone when subversive leaflets were placed in cars parked infront of the ministry devoted to combating counter revolution. 

 * * * * *

He'd been away from Moscow for over a month and the amenities in the smog, smoke and coke fumes blanketing industrial complex of Magnitogorsk hadn'tbeen particularly of the best. Ilya Simonov headed now for Gorki Streetand the Baku Restaurant. He had an idea that it was going to be some timebefore the opportunity would be repeated for him to sit down to Zakouski, the salty, spicy Russian hors d'oeuvres, and to Siberian pilmeny and abottle of Tsinandali. 

The restaurant, as usual, was packed. In irritation, Ilya Simonov stoodfor a while waiting for a table, then, taking the head waiter's advice, agreed to share one with a stranger. 

The stranger, a bearded little man, who was dwaddling over his Gurievskayakasha dessert while reading _Izvestia_, glanced up at him, unseemingly, bobbed his head at Simonov's request to share his table, and returned tothe newspaper. 

The harried waiter took his time in turning up with a menu. Ilya Simonovattempted to relax. He had no particular reason to be upset by the leafletfound in his car. Obviously, whoever had thrown it there was distributinghaphazardly. The fact that it was mimeographed, rather than printed, wasan indication of lack of resources, an amateur affair. But what in theworld did these people want? What did they want?

The Soviet State was turning out consumer's goods, homes, cars as nonation in the world. Vacations were lengthy, working hours short. Afour-day week, even! What did they _want_? What motivates a man who isliving on a scale unknown to a Czarist boyar to risk his position, evenhis life! in a stupidly impossible revolt against the country'sgovernment?

The man across from him snorted in contempt. 

He looked over the top of his paper at Smirnov and said, "The election inItaly. Ridiculous!"

Ilya Simonov brought his mind back to the present. "How did they turn out?I understand the depression is terrible there. "

"So I understand, " the other said. "The vote turned out as was to beexpected. "

Simonov's eyebrows went up. "The Party has been voted into power?"

"Ha!" the other snorted. "The vote for the Party has fallen off by morethan a third. "

The security colonel scowled at him. "That doesn't sound reasonable, ifthe economic situation is as bad as has been reported. "

His table mate put down the paper. "Why not? Has there ever been a countrywhere the Party was _voted_ into power? Anywhere--at any time during themore than half a century since the Bolsheviks first took over here inRussia?"

Simonov looked at him. 

The other was talking out opinions he'd evidently formed while reading the_Izvestia_ account of the Italian elections, not paying particularattention to the stranger across from him. 

He said, his voice irritated, "Nor will there ever be. They know better. In the early days of the revolution the workers might have had illusionsabout the Party and it goals. Now they've lost them. Everywhere, they'velost them. "

Ilya Simonov said tightly, "How do you mean?"

"I mean the Party has been rejected. With the exception of China andYugoslavia, both of whom have their own varieties, the only countries thathave adopted our system have done it under pressure from outside--not bytheir own efforts. Not by the will of the majority. "

Colonel Simonov said flatly, "You seem to think that Marxism will neverdominate the world. "

"Marxism!" the other snorted. "If Marx were alive in Russia today, FrolZverev would have him in a Siberian labor camp within twenty-four hours. "

Ilya Simonov brought forth his wallet and opened it to his policecredentials. He said coldly, "Let me see your identification papers. Youare under arrest. "

The other stared at him for a moment, then snorted his contempt. Hebrought forth his own wallet and handed it across the table. 

Simonov flicked it open, his face hard. He looked at the man. "KonstantinKasatkin. "

"Candidate member of the Academy of Sciences, " the other snapped. "Andbearer of the Hero of the Soviet Union award. "

Simonov flung the wallet back to him in anger. "And as such, practicallyimmune. "

The other grinned nastily at him. "Scientists, my police friend, cannot bebothered with politics. Where would the Soviet Complex be if you took tothrowing biologists such as myself into prison for making unguardedstatements in an absent-minded moment?"

Simonov slapped a palm down on the table. "Confound it, Comrade, " hesnapped, "how is the Party to maintain discipline in the country if highranking persons such as yourself speak open subversion to strangers. "

The other sported his contempt. "Perhaps there's too much discipline inRussia, Comrade policeman. "

"Rather, far from enough, " Simonov snapped back. 

The waiter, at last, approached and extended a menu to the securityofficer. But Ilya Simonov had come to his feet. "Never mind, " he clippedin disgust. "There is an air of degenerate decay about here. "

The waiter stared at him. The biologist snorted and returned to his paper. Simonov turned and stormed out. He could find something to eat and drinkin his own apartment. 

 * * * * *

The old, old town of Prague, the _Golden City of a Hundred Spires_ was asalways the beautifully stolid medieval metropolis which even a quarter ofa century and more of Party rule could not change. The Old Town, nestledin a bend of the Vltava River, as no other city in Europe, breathed itscenturies, its air of yesteryear. 

Colonel Ilya Simonov, in spite of his profession, was not immune tobeauty. He deliberately failed to notify his new office of his arrival, flew in on a Ceskoslovenskč Aerolinie Tupolev rocket liner and spent hisfirst night at the Alcron Hotel just off Wenceslas Square. He knew that asthe new manager of the local Moskvich distribution agency he'd havefairly elaborate quarters, probably in a good section of town, but thisfirst night he wanted to himself. 

He spent it wandering quietly in the old quarter, dropping in to theage-old beer halls for a half liter of Pilsen Urquell here, a foamingstein of Smichov Lager there. Czech beer, he was reminded all over again, is the best in the world. No argument, no debate, the best in the world. 

He ate in the endless automated cafeterias that line the Viclavské Námesithe entertainment center of Prague. Ate an open sandwich here, somecrabmeat salad there, a sausage and another glass of Pilsen somewhere elseagain. He was getting the feel of the town and of its people. Of recentyears, some of the tension had gone out of the atmosphere in Moscow andthe other Soviet centers; with the coming of economic prosperity there hadalso come a relaxation. The _fear_, so heavy in the Stalin era, had fallenoff in that of Khrushchev and still more so in the present reign of FrolZverev. In fact, Ilya Simonov was not alone in Party circles in wonderingwhether or not discipline had been allowed to slip too far. It is easier, the old Russian proverb goes, to hang onto the reins than to regain themonce dropped. 

[Illustration]

But if Moscow had lost much of its pall of fear, Prague had certainly goneeven further. In fact, in the U Pinkasu beer hall Simonov had idly pickedup a magazine left by some earlier wassailer. It was a light literarypublication devoted almost exclusively to humor. There were variouscartoons, some of them touching political subjects. Ilya Simonov had beenshocked to see a caricature of Frol Zverev himself. Zverev, Number One!Ridiculed in a second-rate magazine in a satellite country!

Ilya Simonov made a note of the name and address of the magazine and theissue. 

Across the heavy wooden community table from him, a beer drinker grinned, in typically friendly Czech style. "A good magazine, " he said. "You shouldsubscribe. "

A waiter, bearing an even dozen liter-size steins of beer hurried along, spotted the fact that Simonov's mug was empty, slipped a full one into itsplace, gave the police agent's saucer a quick mark of a pencil, andhurried on again. In the U Pinkasu, it was supposed that you wantedanother beer so long as you remained sitting. When you finally staggeredto your feet, the nearest waiter counted the number of pencil marks onyour saucer and you paid up. 

Ilya Simonov said cautiously to his neighbor, "Seems to be quite, ah, brash. " He tapped the magazine with a finger. 

The other shrugged and grinned again. "Things loosen up as the years goby, " he said. "What a man wouldn't have dared say to his own wife fiveyears ago, they have on TV today. "

"I'm surprised the police don't take steps, " Simonov said, trying to keephis voice expressionless. 

The other took a deep swallow of his Pilsen Urquell. He pursed his lipsand thought about it. "You know, I wonder if they'd dare. Such a casebrought into the People's Courts might lead to all sort of public reactionthese days. "

It had been some years since Ilya Simonov had been in Prague and even thenhe'd only gone through on the way to the ski resorts in the mountains. Hewas shocked to find the Czech state's control had fallen off to thisextent. Why, here he was, a complete stranger, being openly talked to onpolitical subjects. 

His cross-the-table neighbor shook his head, obviously pleased. "If youthink Prague is good, you ought to see Warsaw. It's as free as Paris! Isaw a Tri-D cinema up there about two months ago. You know what it wasabout? The purges in Moscow back in the 1930s. "

"A rather unique subject, " Simonov said. 

"Um-m-m, made a very strong case for Bukharin, in particular. "

Simonov said, very slowly, "I don't understand. You mean this . .. Thisfilm supported the, ah, Old Bolsheviks?"

"Of course. Why not? Everybody knows they weren't guilty. " The Czechsnorted deprecation. "At least not guilty of what they were charged with. They were in Stalin's way and he liquidated them. " The Czech thought aboutit for a while. "I wonder if he was already insane, that far back. "

Had he taken up his mug of beer and dashed it into Simonov's face, hecouldn't have surprised the Russian more. 

Ilya Simonov had to take control of himself. His first instinct was toshow his credentials, arrest the man and have him hauled up before thelocal agency of Simonov's ministry. 

But obviously that was out of the question. He was in Czechoslovakia and, although Moscow still dominated the Soviet Complex, there was localautonomy and the Czech police just didn't enjoy their affairs beingmeddled with unless in extreme urgency. 

Besides, this man was obviously only one among many. A stranger in a beerhall. Ilya Simonov suspected that if he continued his wanderings about thetown, he'd meet in the process of only one evening a score of persons whowould talk the same way. 

Besides, still again, he was here in Prague incognito, his job to tracethe sources of this dry rot, not to run down individual Czechs. 

But the cinema, and TV! Surely anti-Party sentiment hadn't been allowed togo this far!

He got up from the table shakily, paid up for his beer and forced himselfto nod good-bye in friendly fashion to the subversive Czech he'd beentalking to. 

In the morning he strolled over to the offices of the Moskvich Agencywhich was located only a few blocks from his hotel on Celetna Hybernski. The Russian car agency, he knew, was having a fairly hard go of it inPrague and elsewhere in Czechoslovakia. The Czechs, long before the Partytook over in 1948, had been a highly industrialized, modern nation. Theyconsequently had their own automobile works, such as Skoda, and theirmodels were locally more popular than the Russian Moskvich, Zim andPobeda. 

Theoretically, the reason Ilya Simonov was the newly appointed agency headwas to push Moskvich sales among the Czechs. He thought, half humorously, half sourly, to himself, even under the Party we have competition andpressure for higher sales. What was it that some American economist hadcalled them? a system of State-Capitalism. 

At the Moskvich offices he found himself in command of a staff thatconsisted of three fellow Russians, and a dozen or so Czech assistants. His immediate subordinate was a Catherina Panova, whose dossier revealedher to be a party member, though evidently not a particularly active one, at least not since she'd been assigned here in Prague. 

She was somewhere in her mid-twenties, a graduate of the University ofMoscow, and although she'd been in the Czech capital only a matter of sixmonths or so, had already adapted to the more fashionable dress that thestyle-conscious women of this former Western capital went in for. Besidesthat, Catherina Panova managed to be one of the downright prettiest girlsIlya Simonov had ever seen. 

His career had largely kept him from serious involvement in the past. Certainly the dedicated women you usually found in Party ranks seldom wereof the type that inspired you to romance but he wondered now, looking atthis new assistant of his, if he hadn't let too much of his youth go bywithout more investigation into the usually favorite pastime of youth. 

He wondered also, but only briefly, if he should reveal his actualidentity to her. She was, after all, a party member. But then he checkedhimself. Kliment Blagonravov had stressed the necessity of completesecrecy. Not even the local offices of the ministry were to be acquaintedwith his presence. 

He let Catherina introduce him around, familiarize him with the localmethods of going about their business affairs and the problems they wererunning into. 

She ran a hand back over her forehead, placing a wisp of errant hair, andsaid, "I suppose, as an expert from Moscow, you'll be installing a wholeset of new methods. "

It was far from his intention to spend much time at office work. He said, "Not at all. There is no hurry. For a time, we'll continues your presentpolicies, just to get the feel of the situation. Then perhaps in a fewmonths, we'll come up with some ideas. "

She obviously liked his use of "we" rather than "I. " Evidently, the staffhad been a bit nervous upon his appointment as new manager. He alreadyfelt, vaguely, that the three Russians here had no desire to return totheir homeland. Evidently, there was something about Czechoslovakia thatappealed to them all. The fact irritated him but somehow didn't surprise. 

Catherina said, "As a matter of fact, I have some opinions on possiblechanges myself. Perhaps if you'll have dinner with me tonight, we candiscuss them informally. "

Ilya Simonov was only mildly surprised at her suggesting a rendezvous withhim. Party members were expected to ignore sex and be on an equal footing. She was as free to suggest a dinner date to him, as he was to her. Ofcourse, she wasn't speaking as a Party member now. In fact, he hadn't evenrevealed to her his own membership. 

As it worked out, they never got around to discussing distribution of thenew Moskvich aircushion jet car. They became far too busy enjoying food, drink, dancing--and each other. 

They ate at the Budapest, in the Prava Hotel, complete with Hungariandishes and Riesling, and they danced to the inevitable gypsy music. Itoccurred to Ilya Simonov that there was a certain pleasure to be derivedfrom the fact that your feminine companion was the most beautiful woman inthe establishment and one of the most attractively dressed. There was acertain lift to be enjoyed when you realized that the eyes of half theother males present were following you in envy. 

One thing led to another. He insisted on introducing her to barack, theHungarian national spirit, in the way of a digestive. The apricot brandy, distilled to the point of losing all sweetness and fruit flavor, requiredlearning. It must be tossed back just so. By the time Catherina had theknack, neither of them were feeling strain. In fact, it became obviouslynecessary for him to be given a guided tour of Prague's night spots. 

It turned out that Prague offered considerably more than Moscow, whicheven with the new relaxation was still one of the most staid cities in theSoviet Complex. 

They took in the vaudeville at the Alhambra, and the variety at thePrazské Varieté. 

They took in the show at the U Sv Tomíse, the age old tavern which hadbeen making its own smoked black beer since the fifteenth century. Andhere Catherina with the assistance of revelers from neighboring tablestaught him the correct pronunciation of _Na zdraví!_ the Czech toast. Itseemed required to go from heavy planked table to table practicing the newsalutation to the accompaniment of the pungent borovika gin. 

Somewhere in here they saw the Joseph Skupa puppets, and at this stage, Ilya Simonov found only great amusement at the political innuendoesinvolved in half the skits. It would never had one in Moscow orLeningrad, of course, but here it was very amusing indeed. There was evena caricature of a security police minister who could only have been hissuperior Kliment Blagonravov. 

They wound up finally at the U Kalicha, made famous by Hasek in "The GoodSoldier Schweik. " In fact various illustrations from the original classicwere framed on the walls. 

They had been laughing over their early morning snack, now Ilya Simonovlooked at her approvingly. "See here, " he said. "We must do this again. "

"Fine, " she laughed. 

"In fact, tomorrow, " he insisted. He looked at his watch. "I meantonight. "

She laughed at him. "Our great expert from Moscow. Far from improving ouroperations, there'll be less accomplished than ever if you make a nightlypractice of carrying on like we did this evening. "

He laughed too. "But tonight, " he said insistently. 

She shook her head. "Sorry, but I'm already booked up for this evening. "

He scowled for the first time in hours. He'd seemingly forgotten that hehardly knew this girl. What her personal life was, he had no idea. Forthat matter, she might be engaged or even married. The very idea irritatedhim. 

He said stiffly, "Ah, you have a date?"

Catherina laughed again. "My, what a dark face. If I didn't know you to bean automobile distributor expert, I would suspect you of being a securitypolice agent. " She shook her head. "Not a date. If by that you meananother man. There is a meeting that I would like to attend. "

"A meeting! It sounds dry as--"

She was shaking her head. "Oh, no. A group I belong to. Very interesting. We're to be addressed by an American journalist. "

Suddenly he was all but sober. 

He tried to smooth over the short space of silence his surprise hadprecipitated. "An American journalist? Under government auspices?"

"Hardly. " She smiled at him over her glass of Pilsen. "I forget, " shesaid. "If you're from Moscow, you probably aren't aware of how open thingsare here in Prague. A whiff of fresh air. "

"I don't understand. Is this group of yours, ah, illegal?"

She shrugged impatiently. "Oh, of course not. Don't be silly. We gather tohear various speakers, to discuss world affairs. That sort of thing. Oh, of course, _theoretically_ it's illegal, but for that matter even the headof the Skoda plant attended last week. It's only for the more advancedintellectuals, of course. Very advanced. But, for that matter, I know adozen or so Party members, both Czech and Russian, who attend. "

"But an American journalist? What's he doing in the country? Is heaccredited?"

"No, no. You misunderstand. He entered as a tourist, came across somePrague newspapermen and as an upshot he's to give a talk on freedom of thepress. "

"I see, " Simonov said. 

She was impatient with him. "You don't understand at all. See here, whydon't you come along tonight? I'm sure I can get you in. "

"It sounds like a good idea, " Ilya Simonov said. He was completely sobernow. 

 * * * * *

He made a written report to Kliment Blagonravov before turning in. Hementioned the rather free discussion of matters political in the Czechcapital, using the man he'd met in the beer hall as an example. Hereported--although, undoubtedly, Blagonravov would already have theinformation--hearing of a Polish Tri-D film which had defended the OldBolsheviks purged in the 1930s. He mentioned the literary magazine, withits caricature of Frol Zverev, and, last of all, and then afterhesitation, he reported party member Catherina Panova, who evidentlybelonged to a group of intellectuals who were not above listening to atalk given by a foreign journalist who was not speaking under the auspicesof the Czech Party nor the government. 

At the office, later, Catherina grinned at him and made a face. She tickedit off on her fingers. "Riesling, barack, smoked black beer, and borovikagin--we should have know better. "

He went along with her, putting one hand to his forehead. "We should havestuck to vodka. "

"Well, " she said, "tonight we can be virtuous. An intellectual evening, rather than a carouse. "

Actually, she didn't look at all the worse for wear. Evidently, CatherinaPanova was still young enough that she could pub crawl all night, andstill look fresh and alert in the morning. His own mouth felt lined withimproperly tanned suede. 

He was quickly fitting into the routine of the office. Actually, it workedsmoothly enough that little effort was demanded of him. The Czechemployees handled almost all the details. Evidently, the word of hisevening on the town had somehow spread, and the fact that he was prone toa good time had relieved their fears of a martinet sent down from thecentral offices. They were beginning to relax in his presence. 

In fact, they relaxed to the point where one of the girls didn't evenbother to hide the book she was reading during a period where there was alull in activity. It was Pasternak's "Doctor Zhivago. "

He frowned remembering vaguely the controversy over the book a couple ofdecades earlier. Ilya Simonov said, "Pasternak. Do they print his workshere in Czechoslovakia?"

The girl shrugged and looked at the back of the cover. "German publisher, "she said idly. "Printed in Frankfurt. "

He kept his voice from registering either surprise or disapproval. "Youmean such books are imported? By whom?"

"Oh, not imported by an official agency, but we Czechs are doing a gooddeal more travel than we used to. Business trips, tourist trips, vacations. And, of course, we bring back books you can't get here. " Sheshrugged again. "Very common. "

Simonov said blankly. "But the customs. The border police--"

She smiled in a manner that suggested he lacked sophistication. "Theynever bother any more. They're human, too. "

Ilya Simonov wandered off. He was astonished at the extent to whichcontrols were slipping in a satellite country. There seemed practically nodiscipline, in the old sense, at all. He began to see one reason why hissuperior had sent him here to Prague. For years, most of his work had beeneither in Moscow or in the newly opened industrial areas in Siberia. Hehad lost touch with developments in this part of the Soviet Complex. 

It came to him that this sort of thing could work like a geometricprogression. Give a man a bit of rope one day, and he expects, and takes, twice as much the next, and twice that the next. And as with individuals, so with whole populations. 

This was going to have to be stopped soon, or Party control woulddisappear. Ilya Simonov felt an edge of uncertainty. Nikita Khrushchevshould never have made those first motions of liberalization followingStalin's death. Not if they eventually culminated in this sort of thing. 

He and Catherina drove to her meeting place that evening after dinner. 

She explained as they went that the group was quite informal, usuallymeeting at the homes of group members who had fairly large places in thecountry. She didn't seem to know how it had originally begun. The meetingshad been going on for a year of more before she arrived in Prague. A Czechfriend had taken her along one night, and she'd been attending ever since. There were other, similar groups, in town. 

"But what's the purpose of the organization?" Simonov asked her. 

She was driving her little aircushion Moskvich. They crossed over theVltava River by the Cechuv Bridge and turned right. On the hill above themloomed the fantastically large statue of Stalin which had been raisedimmediately following the Second War. She grimaced at it, muttered, "Iwonder if he was insane from the first. "

He hadn't understood her change of subject. "How do you mean?" he said. 

"Stalin. I wonder how early it was in his career that he went insane. "

This was the second time in the past few days that Ilya Simonov had runinto this matter of the former dictator's mental condition. He said now, "I've heard the opinion before. Where did you pick it up?"

"Oh, it's quite commonly believed in the Western countries. "

"But, have you ever been, ah, West?"

[Illustration]

"Oh, from time to time! Berlin, Vienna, Geneva. Even Paris twice, onvacation, you know, and to various conferences. But that's not what Imean. In the western magazines and newspapers. You can get them here inPrague now. But to get back to your question. There is no particularpurpose of the organization. "

She turned the car left on Budenská and sped up into the Holesovicesection of town. 

 * * * * *

The nonchalance of it all was what stopped Ilya Simonov. Here was a Partymember calmly discussing whether or not the greatest Russian of them all, after Lenin, had been mad. The implications were, of course, that many ofthe purges, certainly the latter ones, were the result of the whims of amental case, that the Soviet Complex had for long years been ruled by aman as unbalanced as Czar Peter the Great. 

They pulled up before a rather large house that would have been called adacha back in Moscow. Evidently, Ilya Simonov decided, whoever wassponsoring this night's get together, was a man of prominence. He grimacedinwardly. A lot of high placed heads were going to roll before he wasthrough. 

It turned out that the host was Leos Dvorak, the internationally famedcinema director and quite an idol of Ilya Simonov in his earlier days whenhe'd found more time for entertainment. It was a shock to meet the manunder these circumstances. 

Catherina Panova was obviously quite popular among this gathering. Theirhost gave her an affectionate squeeze in way of greeting, then shook handswith Simonov when Catherina introduced him. 

"Newly from Moscow, eh?" the film director said, squinting at the securityagent. He had a sharp glance, almost, it seemed to Simonov, as though hedetected the real nature of the newcomer. "It's been several years sinceI've been to Moscow. Are things loosening up there?"

"Loosening up?" Simonov said. 

Leos Dvorak laughed and said to Catherina, "Probably not. I've always beenof the opinion that the Party's influence would shrivel away first at itsextremities. Membership would fall off abroad, in the neutral countriesand in Common Europe and the Americas. Then in the so-called satellitecountries. Last of all in Russia herself. But, very last, Moscow--thedullest, stodgiest, most backward intellectually, capital city in theworld. " The director laughed again and turned away to greet a new guest. 

This was open treason. Ilya Simonov had been lucky. Within the first fewdays of being in the Czech capital he'd contacted one of the groups whichhe'd been sent to unmask. 

Now he said mildly to Catherina Panova, "He seems rather outspoken. "

She chuckled. "Leos is quite strongly opinionated. His theory is that themore successful the Party is in attaining the goals it set half a centuryago, the less necessary it becomes. He's of the opinion that it willeventually atrophy, shrivel away to the point that all that will be neededwill be the slightest of pushes to end its domination. "

Ilya Simonov said, "And the rest of the group here, do they agree?"

Catherina shrugged. "Some do, some don't. Some of them are of the opinionthat it will take another blood bath. That the party will attempt to hangonto its power and will have to be destroyed. "

Simonov said evenly, "And you? What do you think?"

She frowned, prettily. "I'm not sure. I suppose I'm still in the processof forming an opinion. "

Their host was calling them together and leading the way to the gardenwhere chairs had been set up. There seemed to be about twenty-five personspresent in all. Ilya Simonov had been introduced to no more than half ofthem. His memory was good and already he was composing a report to KlimentBlagonravov, listing those names he recalled. Some were Czechs, somecitizens of other satellite countries, several, including Catherina, wereactually Russians. 

The American, a newspaperman named Dickson, had an open-faced freshness, hardly plausible in an agent from the West trying to subvert Partyleadership. Ilya Simonov couldn't quite figure him out. 

Dickson was introduced by Leos Dvorak who informed his guests that theAmerican had been reluctant but had finally agreed to give them hisopinion on the press on both sides of what had once been called the IronCurtain. 

Dickson grinned boyishly and said, "I'm not a public speaker, and, forthat matter, I haven't had time to put together a talk for you. I thinkwhat I'll do is read a little clipping I've got here--sort of a text--andthen, well, throw the meeting open to questions. I'll try to answeranything you have to ask. "

He brought forth a piece of paper. "This is from the British writer, Huxley. I think it's pretty good. " He cleared his voice and began to read. 

_Mass communication . .. Is simply a force and like any other force, it canbe used either well or ill. Used one way, the press, the radio and thecinema are indispensible to the survival of democracy. Used in anotherway, they are among the most powerful weapons in the dictator's armory. Inthe field of mass communications as in almost every other field ofenterprise, technological progress has hurt the Little Man and helped theBig Man. As lately as fifty years ago, every democratic country couldboast of a great number of small journals and local newspapers. Thousandsof country editors expressed thousands of independent opinions. Somewhereor other almost anybody could get almost anything printed. Today the pressis still legally free; but most of the little papers have disappeared. Thecost of wood pulp, of modern printing machinery and of syndicated news istoo high for the Little Man. In the totalitarian East there is politicalcensorship, and the media of mass communications are controlled by theState. In the democratic West there is economic censorship and the mediaof mass communication are controlled by members of the Power Elite. Censorship by rising costs and the concentration of communication-power inthe hands of a few big concerns is less objectionable than State Ownershipand government propaganda; but certainly it is not something to which aJeffersonian democrat could approve. _

Ilya Simonov looked blankly at Catherina and whispered, "Why, what he'sreading is as much an attack on the West as it is on us. "

She looked at him and whispered back, "Well, why not? This gathering is todiscuss freedom of the press. "

He said blankly, "But as an agent of the West--"

She frowned at him. "Mr. Dickson isn't an agent of the West. He's anAmerican journalist. "

"Surely you can't believe he has no connections with the imperialistgovernments. "

"Certainly, he hasn't. What sort of meeting do you think this is? We'renot interested in Western propaganda. We're a group of intellectualssearching for freedom of ideas. "

Ilya Simonov was taken back once again. 

 * * * * *

Colonel Ilya Simonov dismissed his cab in front of the Ministry and walkedtoward the gate. Down the street the same plainclothes man, who had beenlounging there the last time he'd reported, once again took him in, thenlooked away. The two guards snapped to attention, and the security agentstrode by them unnoticing. 

At the lieutenant's desk, before the offices of Kliment Blagonravov, hestopped and said, "Colonel Simonov. I have no appointment but I think theMinister will see me. "

"Yes, Comrade Colonel, " the lieutenant said. He spoke into an inter-officecommunicator, then looked up. "Minister Blagonravov will be able to seeyou in a few minutes, sir. "

Ilya Simonov stared nervously and unseeingly out a window while he waited. Gorki Park lay across the way. It, like Moscow in general, had changed agood deal in Simonov's memory. Everything in Russia had changed a gooddeal, he realized. And was changing. And what was the end to be? Or wasthere ever an end? Of course not. There is no end, ever. Only new changesto come. 

The lieutenant said, "The Minister is free now, Comrade Colonel. "

Ilya Simonov muttered something to him and pushed his way through theheavy door. 

Blagonravov looked up from his desk and rumbled affectionately, "Ilya!It's good to see you. Have a drink! You've lost weight, Ilya!"

His top field man sank into the same chair he'd occupied nine monthsbefore, and accepted the ice-cold vodka. 

Blagonravov poured another drink for himself, then scowled at the other. "Where have you been? When you first went off to Prague, I got reportsfrom you almost every day. These last few months I've hardly heard fromyou. " He rumbled his version of a chuckle. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think there was a woman. "

Ilya Simonov looked at him wanly. "That too, Kliment. "

"You are jesting!"

"No. Not really. I had hoped to become engaged--soon. "

"A party member? I never thought of you as the marrying type, Ilya. "

Simonov said slowly, "Yes, a Party member. Catherina Panova, my assistantin the automobile agency in Prague. "

Blagonravov scowled heavily at him, put forth his fat lips in a thoughtfulpout. He came to his feet, approached a file cabinet, fishing from hispocket a key ring. He unlocked the cabinet, brought forth a sheaf ofpapers with which he returned to his desk. He fumbled though them for amoment, found the paper he wanted and read it. He scowled again and lookedup at his agent. 

"Your first report, " he said. "Catherina Panova. From what you say here, adangerous reactionary. Certainly she has no place in Party ranks. "

Ilya Simonov said, "Is that the complete file of my assignment?"

"Yes. I've kept it here in my own office. I've wanted this to beultra-undercover. No one except you and me. I had hopes of you workingyour way up into the enemy's organization, and I wanted no possible chanceof you being betrayed. You don't seem to have been too successful. "

"I was as successful as it's possible to be. "

The security minister leaned forward. "Ah ha! I knew I could trust you tobring back results, Ilya. This will take Frol Zverev's pressure off me. Number One has been riding me hard. " Blagonravov poured them both anotherdrink. "You were able to insert yourself into their higher circles?"

Simonov said, "Kliment, there are no higher circles. "

His chief glared at him. "Nonsense!" He tapped the file with a pudgyfinger. "In your early reports you described several groups, smallorganizations, illegal meetings. There must be an upper organization, somemovement supported from the West most likely. "

Ilya Simonov was shaking his head. "No. They're all spontaneous. "

His chief growled, "I tell you there are literally thousands of theselittle groups. That hardly sounds like a spontaneous phenomenon. "

"Nevertheless, that is what my investigations have led me to believe. "

Blagonravov glowered at him, uncertainly. Finally, he said, "Well, confound it, you've spent the better part of a year among them. What's itall about? What do they want?"

Ilya Simonov said flatly, "They want freedom, Kliment. "

"Freedom! What do you mean, freedom? The Soviet Complex is the most highlyindustrialized area of the world. Our people have the highest standard ofliving anywhere. Don't they understand? We've met all the promises we evermade. We've reached far and beyond the point ever dreamed of by Utopians. The people, all of the people, have it made as the Americans say. "

"Except for freedom, " Simonov said doggedly. "These groups are springingup everywhere, spontaneously. Thus far, perhaps, our ministry has beenable to suppress some of them. But the pace is accelerating. They aren'tinter-organized now. But how soon they'll start to be, I don't know. Sooner or later, someone is going to come up with a unifying idea. A newsocio-political system to advocate a way of guaranteeing the basicliberties. Then, of course, the fat will be in the fire. "

"Ilya! You've been working too hard. I've pushed you too much, relied onyou too much. You need a good lengthy vacation. "

Simonov shrugged. "Perhaps. But what I've just said is the truth. "

His chief snorted heavily. "You half sound as though you agree with them. "

"I do, Kliment. "

"I am in no mood for gags, as the Yankees say. "

Ilya Simonov looked at him wearily. He said slowly, "You sent me toinvestigate an epidemic, a spreading disease. Very well, I report thatit's highly contagious. "

 * * * * *

Blagonravov poured himself more vodka angrily. "Explain yourself. What'sthis all about?"

His former best field man said, "Kliment--"

"I want no familiarities from you, colonel!"

"Yes, sir. " Ilya Simonov went on doggedly. "Man never achieves completefreedom. It's a goal never reached, but one continually striven for. Themoment as small a group as two or three gather together, all of them mustgive up some of the individual's freedom. When man associates withmillions of his fellow men, he gives up a good many freedoms for the sakeof the community. But always he works to retain as much liberty aspossible, and to gain more. It's the nature of our species, I suppose. "

"You sound as though you've become corrupted by Western ideas, " thesecurity head muttered dangerously. 

Simonov shook his head. "No. The same thing applies over there. Even incountries such as Sweden and Switzerland, where institutions are as freeas anywhere in the world, the people are continually striving for more. Governments and socio-economic systems seem continually to whittle away atindividual liberty. But always man fights back and tries to achieve newheights for himself. 

"In the name of developing our country, the Party all but eliminatedfreedom in the Soviet Complex, but now the goals have been reached and thepeople will no longer put up with us, sir. "

"_Us!_" Kliment Blagonravov growled bitterly. "You are hardly to beconsidered in the Party's ranks any longer, Simonov. Why in the world didyou ever return here?" He sneered fatly. "Your best bet would have beento escape over the border into the West. "

Simonov looked at the file on the other's desk. "I wanted to regain thosereports I made in the early days of my assignment. I've listed in themsome fifty names, names of men and women who are now my friends. "

The fat lips worked in and out. "It must be that woman. You've become softin the head, Simonov. " Blagonravov tapped the file beneath his heavyfingers. "Never fear, before the week is out these fifty persons will beeither in prison or in their graves. "

With a fluid motion, Ilya Simonov produced a small caliber gun, a specialmodel designed for security agents. An unusual snout proclaimed its quietvirtues as guns go. 

"No, Kliment, " Ilya Simonov said. 

"Are you mad!"

"No, Kliment, but I must have those reports. " Ilya Simonov came to hisfeet and reached for them. 

With a roar of rage, Kliment Blagonravov slammed open a drawer and dove abeefy paw into it. With shocking speed for so heavy a man, he scooped up aheavy military revolver. 

And Colonel Ilya Simonov shot him neatly and accurately in the head. Thesilenced gun made no more sound than a pop. 

Blagonravov, his dying eyes registering unbelieving shock, fell back intohis heavy swivel chair. 

 * * * * *

Simonov worked quickly. He gathered up his reports, checked quickly tosee they were all there. Struck a match, lit one of the reports anddropped it into the large ashtray on the desk. One by one he lit them alland when all were consumed, stirred the ashes until they were completelypulverized. 

He poured himself another vodka, downed it, stiff wristed, then withoutturning to look at the dead man again, made his way to the door. 

He slipped out and said to the lieutenant, "The Minister says that he isunder no circumstances to be disturbed for the next hour. "

The lieutenant frowned at him. "But he has an appointment. "

Colonel Ilya Simonov shrugged. "Those were his instructions. Not to bebothered under any circumstances. "

"But it was an appointment with Number One!"

That was bad. And unforeseen. Ilya Simonov said, "It's probably beencanceled. All I'm saying is that Minister Blagonravov instructs you not tobother him under any circumstances for the next hour. "

He left the other and strode down the corridor, keeping himself from tooobvious, a quickened pace. 

At the entrance to the Ministry, he shot his glance up and down thestreet. He was in the clutch now, and knew it. He had few illusions. 

Not a cab in sight. He began to cross the road toward the park. In amatter of moments there, he'd be lost in the trees and shrubbery. He hadrather vague plans. Actually, he was playing things as they came. Therewas a close friend in whose apartment he could hide, a man who owed himhis life. He could disguise himself. Possibly buy or borrow a car. If hecould get back to Prague, he was safe. Perhaps he and Catherina coulddefect to the West. 

Somebody was screaming something from a window in the Ministry. 

Ilya Simonov quickened his pace. He was nearly across the street now. Hethought, foolishly, _Whoever that is shouting is so excited he sounds morelike a woman than a man. _

Another voice took up the shout. It was the plainclothes man. Feet beganpounding. 

There were two more shouts. The guards. But he was across now. The shrubswere only a foot away. 

The shattering blackness hit him in the back of the head. It was overimmediately. 

Afterwards, the plainclothes man and the two guards stood over him. Menbegan pouring from the Ministry in their direction. 

Colonel Ilya Simonov was a meaningless, bloody heap on the edge of thepark's grass. 

The guard who had shot said, "He killed the Minister. He must have beencrazy to think he could get away with it. What did he want?"

"Well, we'll never know now, " the plainclothesman grunted. 

THE END

 * * * * *