The security colonel scowled at him. "That doesn't sound reasonable, if the economic situation is as bad as has been reported." His table mate put down the paper. "Why not? Has there ever been a country where the Party was _voted_ into power? Anywhere--at any time during the more than half a century since the Bolsheviks first took over here in Russia?" Simonov looked at him. The other was talking out opinions he'd evidently formed while reading the _Izvestia_ account of the Italian elections, not paying particular attention to the stranger across from him. He said, his voice irritated, "Nor will there ever be. They know better. In the early days of the revolution the workers might have had illusions about the Party and it goals. Now they've lost them. Everywhere, they've lost them." Ilya Simonov said tightly, "How do you mean?" "I mean the Party has been rejected. With the exception of China and Yugoslavia, both of whom have their own varieties, the only countries that have adopted our system have done it under pressure from outside--not by their own efforts. Not by the will of the majority." Colonel Simonov said flatly, "You seem to think that Marxism will never dominate the world." "Marxism!" the other snorted. "If Marx were alive in Russia today, Frol Zverev would have him in a Siberian labor camp within twenty-four hours." Ilya Simonov brought forth his wallet and opened it to his police credentials. He said coldly, "Let me see your identification papers. You are under arrest." The other stared at him for a moment, then snorted his contempt. He brought forth his own wallet and handed it across the table. Simonov flicked it open, his face hard. He looked at the man. "Konstantin Kasatkin." "Candidate member of the Academy of Sciences," the other snapped. "And bearer of the Hero of the Soviet Union award." Simonov flung the wallet back to him in anger. "And as such, practically immune." The other grinned nastily at him. "Scientists, my police friend, cannot be bothered with politics. Where would the Soviet Complex be if you took to throwing biologists such as myself into prison for making unguarded statements in an absent-minded moment?" Simonov slapped a palm down on the table. "Confound it, Comrade," he snapped, "how is the Party to maintain discipline in the country if high ranking persons such as yourself speak open subversion to strangers." The other sported his contempt. "Perhaps there's too much discipline in Russia, Comrade policeman." "Rather, far from enough," Simonov snapped back. The waiter, at last, approached and extended a menu to the security officer. But Ilya Simonov had come to his feet. "Never mind," he clipped in disgust. "There is an air of degenerate decay about here." The waiter stared at him. The biologist snorted and returned to his paper. Simonov turned and stormed out. He could find something to eat and drink in his own apartment. * * * * *