By 1700 hours, 6 hours after the storm's first high winds, rain fell through the dust and landed as great drops of mud. In the first compounds, people huddled in the bungalows, both alarmed and thrilled by the sudden change.

Hoffman watched from her mud-splattered window, chewing on a knuckle with eyebrows raised. The surcease from tubelight was welcome. This was the closest to night that anyone had experienced on the Stone, and it made her feel drowsy and content.

Lightning crackled throughout the chamber and engineers and marines braved the wind and rain to fasten conducting rods to the buildings.

In the Russian command bungalow, at the middle of the second compound, the storm and darkness were ignored. The argument over the political and command structure ran late into the sleeping period, with Belozersky and Yazykov most vehement, and Vielgorsky staying in the background.

Mirsky insisted on a military organization and refused to reduce his power in any way, or to share it equally with (and he emphasized the point) junior officers.

Belozersky proposed a true Soviet structure, with a central party committee, led by a general secretary—Vielgorsky was suggested—and a president and premier acting through a Supreme Soviet.

Just the day before, Mirsky and Pogodin—the commanding officer in the first chamber—had supervised the beginning of construction on a Russian compound in the fourth chamber; permission had been granted to harvest wood from the thick forests. Tools were at a premium; everything was at a premium.

Negotiations over the second chamber had grown heated when NATO archaeologists protested the potential desecration of what they regarded as their site. Mirsky had brusquely informed Hoffman that the Potato was no longer a monument; it was a refuge.

That had worn him down. His long sessions in the third chamber library—often instead of sleeping—had added to his fatigue; and now, this.

"We must situate our people before we decide the final political structure," Mirsky said. "All we have are makeshift tents and this compound, and Hoffman—"

"That bitch," Belozersky commented dryly. "She's worse than the fool Lanier."

Vielgorsky touched Belozersky's shoulder and the martinet sat down obediently. Vielgorsky's ascendancy among the political officers did not surprise Mirsky; neither did it please him. Mirsky was sure he could handle Belozersky, but with Vielgorsky's cunning, reserve and authoritative speaking voice—and Yazykov's razor-sharp legal mind—Mirsky felt a nasty challenge brewing.

Was there some way he could "turn" Vielgorsky and Yazykov, put their talents to his own advantage?

In his favor, he felt, was his continuing education. Or, perhaps more accurately phrased, his enlightenment. Never before had he been able to wander at will through such a huge and diverse source of information. Soviet libraries—military and otherwise—had always been severely restricted, with books available only to those with a demonstrable need to know. Simple curiosity was frowned upon.