Mirsky trained the video cameras on them until they passed out of view. There was something else at stake. Was it possible to be ignorant of the character of one's own country, after having spent one's entire life within its borders? Yes; there was no basis for comparison, and however much he knew, without comparison the knowledge was dormant. Even with the library's information, he had to conduct an experiment.

However unfair the test was, he would now judge his country and all it stood for by how Vielgorsky acted.

"He'll take their weapons," Mirsky said. "We can't have them armed when I appear."

"You're going down there now?" Pogodin asked.

"Yes."

"You trust Vielgorsky that much?"

"I don't know. It's a risk."

"Not just for you," Pogodin said. "We cooperated with you—Pletnev, the scientists, myself, Annenkovsky, Garabedian."

Mirsky headed for the stairwell. His back crawled as he descended the stairs. He was more afraid now then when he had leaped from the heavy-lifter in the bore hole. Strangely, he felt like a child again. And he was tired. He had observed the same weariness in the American, Lanier.

Opening the door.

Stepping out onto library floor. Only the three Zampolits had entered: Vielgorsky, holding a pistol on Belozersky, Yazykov standing to one side staring at his fellow political officer in dismay. Their rifles lay scattered on the floor, kicked out of reach.

"Come forward, Comrade General," Vielgorsky said. He took several steps to one side, still pointing the pistol, and bent to pick up an AKV. Belozersky stared at Mirsky with uncomprehending hatred. Yazykov's face was blank, tightly controlled. Mirsky walked across the plaza toward them.

When he was five meters from the group, Vielgorsky turned the pistol away from Belozersky, lifted it and sighted along the barrel at Mirsky. "I do not thank you, Comrade," he said. He squeezed the trigger.

Mirsky's view of things skewed, as if the anamorphic lens on a motion picture projector were suddenly twisted. One side of his head seemed very large. He fell on his knees and leaned forward, bowed, then fell over, his cheek smacking sharply against the yielding floor. That hurt more than whatever had happened to his head. His one good eye blinked.

Vielgorsky lowered the pistol, handed it to Belozersky, walked toward the scattered rifles, picked up and aimed an AKV at the chairs and globes on the plaza and began firing a clip. Teardrops shattered and bullets ricocheted, the sound somewhat distant and unimpressive in the large hall, even with the echoes.

Belozersky's yell of triumph and delight was cut short by a very big sound, impossible to describe. The three political officers twitched; Vielgorsky dropped his weapon and jerked his head back. Yazykov clapped his hands to his ears and mouth. All three collapsed. White streamers jetted from the ceiling all around the plaza and untwisted into thick fog.