Following the orders of his underground contact, he begged out of the afternoon tour, as did half a dozen of the others. Sightseeing was as hard on the feet in Moscow as anywhere else. After lunch he looked up Sovietska Park on his tourist map of the city. It was handy enough. A few blocks up Gorky Street. It turned out to be typical. Well done so far as fountains, monuments and gardens were concerned. Well equipped with park benches. In the early afternoon it was by no means empty, but, on the other hand not nearly so filled as he'd noticed the parks to be the evening before. Hank stopped at one of the numerous cold drink stands where for a few kopecks you could get raspberry syrup fizzed up with soda water. While he sipped it, a teen-ager came up beside him and said in passable English, "Excuse me, are you a tourist? Do you speak English?" This had happened before. Another kid practicing his school language. "That's right," Hank said. The boy said, "You aren't a ham, are you?" He brought some cards from an inner pocket. "I'm UA3-KAR." For a moment Hank looked at him blankly, and then he recognized the amateur radio call cards the other was displaying. "Oh, a _ham_. Well, no, but I have a cousin who is." Two more youngsters came up. "What's his call?" Hank didn't remember that. They all adjourned to a park bench and little though he knew about the subject, international amateur radio was discussed in detail. In fifteen minutes he was hemmed in by a dozen or so and had about decided he'd better make his excuses and circulate around making himself available to the _stilyagi_ outfit. He was searching for an excuse to shake them when the one sitting next to him reverted to Russian. "We're clear now, Henry Kuran." Hank said, "I'll be damned. I hadn't any idea--" The other brushed aside trivialities. Looking at him more closely, Hank could see he was older than first estimate. Possibly twenty-two or so. Darker than most of the others, heavy-set, sharp and impatient. "You can call me Georgi," he said. "These others will prevent outsiders from bothering us. Now then, we've been told you Americans want some assistance. What? And why should we give it to you?" Hank said, worriedly, "Haven't you some place we could go? Where I could meet one of your higher-ups? This is important." "Otherwise, I wouldn't be here," Georgi said impatiently. "For that matter there is no higher-up. We don't have ranks; we're a working democracy. And I'm afraid the day of the secret room in some cellar is past. With housing what it is, if there was an empty cellar in Moscow a family would move in. And remember, all buildings are State owned and operated. I'm afraid you'll have to tell your story here. Now, what is it you want?" "I want an opportunity to meet the Galactic Confederation emissaries." "Why?"