Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction February 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
FREEDOM
by MACK REYNOLDS
Illustrated by Schoenherr
Freedom is a very dangerous thing indeed. It is socatching—like a plague—even the doctors get it.
olonel Ilya Simonov tooled his Zil aircushion convertible along the edgeof Red Square, turned right immediately beyond St. Basil's Cathedral,crossed the Moscow River by the Moskvocetski Bridge and debouched into theheavy, and largely automated traffic of Pyarnikskaya. At DobryninskayaSquare he turned west to Gorki Park which he paralleled on Kaluga until hereached the old baroque palace which housed the Ministry.
There were no flags, no signs, nothing to indicate the present nature ofthe aged Czarist building.
He left the car at the curb, slamming its door behind him and walkingbriskly to the entrance. Hard, handsome in the Slavic tradition,dedicated, Ilya Simonov was young for his rank. A plainclothes man, idlinga hundred feet down the street, eyed him briefly then turned his attentionelsewhere. The two guards at the gate snapped to attention, their eyesstraight ahead. Colonel Simonov was in mufti and didn't answer the salute.
The inside of the old building was well known to him. He went along marblehalls which contained antique statuary and other relics of the past which,for unknown reason, no one had ever bothered to remove. At the heavy doorwhich entered upon the office of his destination he came to a halt andspoke briefly to the lieutenant at the desk there.
"The Minister is expecting me," Simonov clipped.
The lieutenant did the things receptionists do everywhere and looked up ina moment to say, "Go right in, Colonel Simonov."
Minister Kliment Blagonravov looked up from his desk at Simonov'sentrance. He was a heavy-set man, heavy of face and he still affected theshaven head, now rapidly disappearing among upper-echelons of the Party.His jacket had been thrown over the back of a chair and his collarloosened; even so there was a sheen of sweat on his face.
He looked up at his most trusted field man, said in the way of greeting,"Ilya," and twisted in his swivel chair to a portable bar. He swung openthe door of the small refrigerator and emerged with a bottle ofStolichnaya vodka. He plucked two three-ounce glasses from a shelf andpulled the bottle's cork with his teeth. "Sit down, sit down, Ilya," hegrunted as he filled the glasses. "How was Magnitogorsk?"
Ilya Simonov secured his glass before seating himself in one of the room'sheavy leathern chairs. He sighed, relaxed, and said, "Terrible, I loaththose ultra-industrialized cities. I wonder if the Americans do any betterwith Pittsburgh or the British with Birmingham."
"I know what you mean," the security head rumbled. "How did you make outwith you assignment, Ilya?"
Colonel Simonov frowned down into the colorlessness of the vodka beforedashing it back over his palate. "It's all in my report, Kliment." He wasthe only man in the organization who called Blagonravov by his first name.
His chief grunted again and reached forward to refill the glass. "I'm sureit is. Do you know how many reports go acro