His first impulse was to look for the damage done by Vielgorsky's spray of fire. There was none. All the globes were intact. Mirsky raised his hand to the side of his head, and then to his nose and chin. No scars. In his head, a tiny, unobtrusive signal told him he was using part of his brain that did not originally belong to him.

He walked back and forth, noticing a distinctly unpleasant sensation of inexperience behind his eyes. Then he circumnavigated the banks of chairs and approached the black wall, still closed and featureless. Frowning, he called out, "Hello!" Nobody responded. "Hello! Where is everybody?"

Perhaps he had been left alone. The others may have exited the library after shooting him. But there had been the white, curling mist—and he remembered the three officers with their heads jerked back, jaws slack.

"Pogodin!" he called. "Pogodin, where are you?"

Again, no answer. He crossed the dark corner of the library to the little doorway that led to the observation booth. The door was open. He climbed the stairs and entered the booth.

Pogodin stretched on three chairs, breathing steadily, apparently sleeping. Mirsky shook his shoulder gently. "Pogodin," he said. "Time to leave now."

Pogodin's eyes opened and he regarded Mirsky with surprise. "They shot you," he said. "They took half your head away. I saw it."

"I've been dreaming," Mirsky said. "Very odd dreams. Did you see what happened to Vielgorsky—to Belozersky and Yazykov?"

"No," Pogodin said. "Just mist all over me, itching. And now this." His eyes widened and he sat up, lips quivering. "I want to leave," he said.

"Good idea. Let's find out what happened." Mirsky preceded Pogodin down the stairs to the black wall. "Open," he said.

The half-moon doorway irised open silently.

Annenkovsky stood at parade rest with his back toward Mirsky and the door, holding his rifle by the barrel with the stock on the paving.

"Excuse me, Major," Mirsky said. Annenkovsky tensed and swung around on one foot, lifting his rifle and fumbling it. "Careful," Mirsky cautioned.

"Comrade Colonel—I mean, General—"

"Where are the others?" Mirsky asked, looking at the troops in the quadrangle.

"Others?"

"The political officers."

"They haven't come out. Excuse me, General, but we must go to our camp right away—we must contact them by radio and—"

"How long have I been gone?"

"Nine days, General."

"Who's in charge?" Mirsky asked. Pogodin stepped up just behind him.

"Major Garabedian and Lieutenant Colonel Pletnev for the moment, sir."

"Then take me to them. What are the NATO troops doing here?"

"Sir. . .” Annenkovksy seemed ready to faint. "There has been a lot of tension. Nobody knew what happened in there. What did happen?"

"Good question," Mirsky said. "Maybe we'll find out later. For now, I'm fine—Pogodin is fine—and we need to go to the camp. . . in the fourth chamber?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's go. And why are our men stationed here?"

"Waiting for you, General."