ndering whether or not to leave the room. The _Stilyagi_
were to contact him. Where? When? Obviously, he'd need their help. He
had no idea whatsoever on how to penetrate to the Interplanetary
emissaries.

[Illustration]

He spoke Russian. Fine. So what? Could he simply march up to the
spacecraft and knock on the door? Or would he make himself dangerously
conspicuous by just getting any closer than he now was to the craft?

As he stood now, he felt he was comparatively safe. He was sure the
Russkies had marked him down as a rather ordinary American. Heavens
knows, he'd worked hard enough at the role. A simple, average tourist,
a little on the square side, and not even particularly articulate.

However, he wasn't going to accomplish much by remaining here in this
room. He doubted that the _Stilyagi_ would get in touch with him
either by phone or simply knocking at the door.

"O.K., Paco," he said. "Let's go. In search of the pin-up girl--Moscow
style."

They walked down to the lobby and started for the door.

One of the Intourist guides who had brought them from the railroad
station stood to one side of the stairs. "Going for a walk, gentlemen?
I suggest you stroll up Gorky Street, it's the main shopping center."

Paco said, "How about going over into Red Square to see the
spaceship?"

The guide shrugged. "I don't believe the guards will allow you to get
too near. It would be undesirable to bother the Galactic delegates to
the Soviet Union."

That was one way of wording it, Hank thought glumly. _The Galactic
delegates to the Soviet Union._ Not to the Earth, but to the Soviet
Union. He wondered what the neutrals in such countries as India were
thinking.

But at least there were no restrictions on Paco and him.

They strolled up Gorky Street, jam packed with fellow pedestrians.
Shoppers, window-shoppers, men on the prowl for girls, girls on the
prowl for men, Ivan and his wife taking the baby for a stroll, street
cleaners at the endless job of keeping Moscow's streets the neatest in
the world.

Paco pointed out this to Hank, Hank pointed out that to Paco. Somehow
it seemed more than a visit to a western European nation. This was
Moscow. This was the head of the Soviet snake.

And then Hank had to laugh inwardly at himself as two youngsters,
running along playing tag in a grown-up world of long legs and stolid
pace, all but tripped him up. Head of a snake it might be, but
Moscow's people looked astonishing