The chauffeur rapped on the glass that divided their seat from his, and motioned ahead. "Here's the airport," Jimmy said. "We'll drive right over to the plane. Hid your face with your hat, just for luck." "Wait a minute, now," Hank said. "Listen, how do I contact these beat generation characters?" "You don't. They contact you." "How." "That's up to them. Maybe they won't at all; they're plenty careful." Jimmy snorted without humor. "It must be getting to be an instinct with Russians by this time. Nihilists, Anarchists, Mensheviks, Bolsheviks, now anti-Communists. Survival of the fittest. By this time the Russian underground must consist of members that have bred true as revolutionists. There've been Russian undergrounds for twenty generations." "Hardly long enough to affect genetics," the older one said wryly. Hank said, "Let's stop being witty. I still haven't a clue as to how Sheridan Hennessey expects me to get to these Galactic Confederation people--or things, or whatever you call them." "They evidently are humanoid," Jimmy said. "Look more or less human. And stop worrying, we've got several hours to explain things while we cross the Atlantic. You don't step into character until you enter the offices of Progressive Tours, in London." * * * * * The door of Progressive Tours, Ltd. 100 Rochester Row, was invitingly open. Hank Kuran entered, looked around the small room. He inwardly winced at the appearance of the girl behind the counter. What was it about Commies outside their own countries that they drew such crackpots into their camp? Heavy lenses, horn rimmed to make them more conspicuous, wild hair, mawkish tweeds, and dirty fingernails to top it off. She said, "What can I do for you, Comrade?" "Not _Comrade_," Hank said mildly. "I'm an American." "What did you want?" she said coolly. Hank indicated the travel folder he was carrying. "I'd like to take this tour to Leningrad and Moscow. I've been reading propaganda for and against Russia as long as I've been able to read and I've finally decided I want to see for myself. Can I get the tour that leaves tomorrow?" She became businesslike as was within her ability. "There is no country in the world as easy to visit as the Soviet Union, Mr--" "Stevenson," Hank Kuran said. "Henry Stevenson." "Stevenson. Fill out these two forms, leave your passport and two photos and we'll have everything ready in the morning. The _Baltika_ leaves at twelve. The visa will cost ten shillings. What class do you wish to travel?" "The cheapest." _And least conspicuous_, Hank added under his breath. "Third class comes to fifty-five guineas. The tour lasts eighteen days including the time it takes to get to Leningrad. You have ten days in Russia." "I know, I read the folder. Are there any other Americans on the tour?" A voice behind him said, "At least one other."