The topic was Mirsky's message to Garabedian. The solution to the problem they now faced, Pletnev insisted, was simple.

At first, Garabedian and Pogodin were hesitant. Pletnev had insisted they had no other choice, however. "Look, they tried to kill Mirsky, and they were locked away," he said. "Now they'll be released. Isn't it obvious? It's what the American woman thought. It makes sense to me."

"So what do we do?"

Pletnev hefted his Kalashnikov. Most of the laser weapons had long since run out of charge, and besides, he had always preferred bullets.

"Won't we be locked up?" Garabedian asked.

"Was anyone locked up after all the fighting?" Pletnev asked. Pogodin shook his head.

"Then we'll just kill them away from the city."

"I don't like the idea of killing them without a trial."

"We don't have any choice," Pletnev said. "Shit, Mirsky left you the message, but I'm the one who understands what he was really saying. Vielgorsky still has his supporters. Without Mirsky, the three of us can rule reasonably, but if the Zampolits return, we'll all be shot. We meet them, and we do what we must. Agreed?"

Pogodin and Garabedian agreed.

"Then let's go," Pletnev said. "We'll wait them out. Better to be early than to miss them."

Mirsky had abandoned the truck on the water's edge and walked inland with his backpack filled with dry rations. Fingerlakes were plentiful in this area of the fourth chamber, and the fishing everywhere was excellent. He had little doubt he could survive. These forests were not meant to be harsh environments. In the regions where it snowed—roughly one-fourth of the chamber, in an area whose outer boundary was the 180 line—the snow was light, and it rained just often enough all over to maintain the chamber's plant life.

He would hardly be "roughing it."

The first few days he had spent peacefully, doing little besides making an adequate fishing pole. He had read the American biologist's reports on the fourth chamber and knew there would be earthworms and grubs to use as bait. His anxiety tapered off, and he wondered why he hadn't bothered to leave sooner.

He seldom encountered the boundary markers of his new mentality now. Either they were fading with use, or he had learned to ignore them.

On his fifth day in the l80 woods, he found signs that he was not alone. A Russian ration packet and an American plastic container revealed that one or more Russian soldiers had found their way here. The discovery didn't bother him. There was room enough for virtually everybody, and in privacy besides.

On the seventh day, he met a Russian at the edge of a grassy clearing. He did not recognize him, but the soldier knew Mirsky and quickly faded back into the woods.

On the eighth day, they saw each other again across a narrow lake, and the soldier did not run away.

"You're alone, aren't you?" the soldier asked.