ought Lindsay, was a descendant of one of the Red Commissars
whose fanatic and chill austerity had terrorized the free world of a
century ago. Lindsay knew something of modern Soviet history, of course.
There had been no real counter-revolution. Instead the gradual emergence
of the scientists over their Marxist political rulers had been a slow
process of erosion.

Once computer rule was inaugurated in the North American Republic and
swept the Western World, the scientists had simply taken over real
power. The once-powerful Politburo and its sub-committees became
obsolete.

Alenkov was stressing this very point. He said, "So you see, we, the
best blood of Russia, are forced by these machines to live the lives of
outcast children. Naturally we resent it. And when, after so many long
years of waiting, we learn that one man has succeeded in foiling the
computers where no man has succeeded before, we want to know his secret.
We must have it."

Nina spoke first. She said, "Dmitri, the secret, as you call it, has
been right there all along for any of us to see. It just happens that
Ambassador Lindsay fell into it head first."

"Thanks for the 'Ambassador' anyway," Lindsay said drily.

Nina quelled him with a frown. "The computer weakness," she said, "lies
in the human element. Now figure that out for yourself."

Alenkov's brows all but met in the middle of his forehead and his mouth
became a little round O under the twin commas of his mustache. He said,
"I see."

He left shortly afterward on a note of sadness, rousing himself only to
say to Lindsay, "Ambassador, you are a very lucky man." His eyes
caressed Nina's near-nude figure.

"That," Lindsay told him, "is what you think."

When he had departed Lindsay suddenly realized he was exhausted. He sank
back in a contour chair and let fatigue sweep over him. But Nina paced
the bathroom floor like a caged cat. Finally she went to the
wall-talkie, gave a number in a low voice.

She pushed some sort of signal button several times, then swore and
said, "Better not sleep now, boss. We're cut off."

It brought him to with a start. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Somebody or something is jamming our communicator."

She opened a concealed cabinet, apparently part of the bathroom wall,
drew from it a couple of light but deadly looking blasters, and tossed
one onto the contour chair in front of him. "You know how to work one of
these things?" she asked.

"Better drop the