Sherikov touched her soft hair briefly. Then he broke away and began
to pack up his briefcase busily. "I have to go. I'll get in touch with
you later."
"Where are you going?" she asked hesitantly. "Can't you stay and--"
"I have to get back to the Urals." Sherikov grinned at her over his
bushy black beard as he headed out of the room. "Some very important
business to attend to."
* * * * *
Thomas Cole was sitting up in bed when Sherikov came to the door. Most
of his awkward, hunched-over body was sealed in a thin envelope of
transparent airproof plastic. Two robot attendants whirred ceaselessly
at his side, their leads contacting his pulse, blood-pressure,
respiration, body temperature.
Cole turned a little as the huge Pole tossed down his briefcase and
seated himself on the window ledge.
"How are you feeling?" Sherikov asked him.
"Better."
"You see we've quite advanced therapy. Your burns should be healed in
a few months."
"How is the war coming?"
"The war is over."