f of it. There are
_five_ classes on this ship. Needless to say, this is Tourist B, the
last."

"And we'll probably be fed borsht and black bread the whole trip,"
Hank growled.

Loo Motlamelle said mildly, "I hear the food is very good."

Paco stood up from his luggage, put his hands on his hips, "Gentlemen,
do you realize there is no lock on the door of this cabin?"

"The crime rate is said to be negligible in the Soviet countries," Loo
said.

Paco put up his hands in despair. "That isn't the point. Suppose one
of us wishes to bring a lady friend into the cabin for ... a drink.
How can he lock the door so as not to be interrupted?"

Hank was chuckling. "What did you take this trip for, Paco? An
investigation into the mores of the Soviets--female flavor?"

Paco went back to his bag. "Actually, I suppose I am one of the many.
Going to the new world to see whether or not it is worth switching
alliances from the old."

A distant finger of cold traced designs in Henry Kuran's belly. He had
never heard the United States referred to as the Old World before. It
had a strange, disturbing quality.

Loo, who was now reclined on his bunk, said, "That's approximately the
same reason I visit the Soviet Union."

Hank said quietly, "Who's sending you, Paco? Or are you on your own?"

"No, my North American friend. My lips are sealed but I represent a
rather influencial group. All is not jest, even though I find life the
easier if one laughs often and with joy."

Hank closed his bag and slid it under his bunk. "Well, you should have
had this influencial group pony up a little more money so you could
have gone deluxe class."

Paco looked at him strangely. "That is the point. We are not
interested in a red-carpet tour during which the very best would be
trotted our for propaganda purposes. I choose to see the New World as
humbly as is possible."

"And me," Loo said. "We evidently are in much the same position."

Hank brought himself into character. "Well, lesson number one. Did you
notice the teeth in that steward's face? Steel. Bright, gleaming
steel, instead of gold."

Loo shrugged hugely. "This is the day of science. Iron rusts, it's
true, but I assume that the Soviet dentists utilize some method of
preventing corrosion."

"Otherwise," Paco murmured reasonably, "I imagine the Russians
expectorate a good deal of rusty spittal."

"I don't know why I keep getting into these arguments," Hank said.
"I'm just going f