Act of God by John Maddox Roberts, Eric Kotani Page B

Tarkovsky's pet. And of course it had no military dimension at that time."
    "Then we need a codename to pin on this. Now, if I was a typical Pentagon planner, I'd stick a name on it that would give nobody any idea of what was under study. I'd call it Operation Sunflower, or Plan Salami Sandwich or something. But we want something that sounds as ominous as what we're facing." He saw that he was faced with two mystified masks. "Don't laugh, dammit, I'm serious. If I was a Hollywood agent, I'd say we were putting together a package. We're dealing with people who think in terms of signs and symbols. We should have one for this project."
    "Hell, that's easy, Taggart," Ciano insisted. "The peaceful uses of space come under the heading of Project Peter the Great, right?"
    "Right," Sam concurred.
    "Well, what we got here," Ciano ground a thumb into the tabletop, "is Project Ivan the Terrible."

CHAPTER SEVEN

    TSIOLKOVSKY SPACE CENTER
    ARAL SEA, U.S.S.R.

    The snow storm that had raged for two days had slopped, but it was bitterly cold outside the Administration Building of the Tsiolkovsky Space Center. In weather like this, even the hardy native Siberians would not dare to venture outside with out their heavy protective winter outfits. It was in just such outfits that Tarkovsky and his young protégé, Alexei Ilyich Kamarovsky, were attired as they mounted the steps, no longer smelling of pine-sap, to the building. Kamarovsky was about to push open the door when Tarkovsky stopped him and turned, facing out over the docks and slapping at his sides with mittened hands. "Isn't it a fabulous sight, Alyosha?"
    Alexei turned reluctantly to look. Yes, the docks were more complete now. The paving was being laid on the roads and more of the crude buildings had had their electricity connected. "Yes, it's beautiful, Pyotr Maximovich," he admitted. "But we can't admire it if our eyeballs freeze. Let's go inside."
    "You know what happens if you go into a Siberian's house on a night like this, Alyosha?"
    "No," Alexei said, patiently, "what happens?"
    "Well, they'll have a big samovar full of hot tea, just like all other good Soviet citizens, but as much as you long for some of that tea, coming out of weather like this, they won't serve you any until you've been in the house for at least half an hour."
    "And why is that, Pyotr Maximovich?" Alexei asked, now wishing the old man would stop stalling and go inside.
    "Because, when you come inside out of a night like this, with temperatures so low, it is dangerous. When that hot tea hits your teeth, they can crack. What do you think of that, Alyosha?"
    "I think the Siberians are superstitious. No matter what the temperature is outside, that in your mouth will remain at normal body temperature."
    "You have no soul, Alexei Ilyich," Tarkovsky said, testily. It was very nearly the strongest insult that one Russian could give another, but Tarkovsky took the edge off with a self-deprecating admission, "and, yes, you are right. I don't want to go inside, and tell the people in there the things that must be said."
    Alexei released a sigh and watched it drift away in steam on the stiff breeze. Darkness was falling, electric lights were blinking on all over the complex, the temperature was dropping rapidly, and it was only mid-afternoon. God, what a place this was! He dragged enough air into his lungs to tell Tarkovsky what had to be done. "Pyotr Maximovich, it will be unpleasant, and I would not be standing in your shoes, or whatever the Siberians call this footgear, tonight. But you have your instructions and it must be done for the sake of Mother Russia."
    Tarkovsky looked at Alexei and wondered if he had guessed wrong, if he had let his affection for the father color his judgment of the son. The boy's father, Ilya Yurivich, would never have mouthed such a sentence with a straight face. Pyotr Miximovich Tarkovsky yielded to none in his love of Mother Russia, but he would never have sought to express his