"Listen,” I said. “Kirill."

And he stood there with his last empty on the scales, looking like he was ready to climb into it.

"Listen,” I said, “Kirill! What if you had a full empty, huh?"

"A full empty?” He looked puzzled.

"Yeah. Your hydromagnetic trap, whatchamacallit … Object 77b. It's got some sort of blue stuff inside."

I could see that it was beginning to penetrate. He looked up at me, squinted, and a glimmer of reason, as he loved to call it, appeared behind the dog tears.

"Hold on,” he said. “Full? Just like this, but full?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

"Where?"

My Kirill was cured. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Let's go have a smoke."

He stuffed the empty into the safe, slammed the door, and locked it with three and a half turns, and we went back into the lab. Ernest pays 400 in cash for an empty empty, and I could have bled him dry, the son of a bitch, for a full one, but believe it or not, I didn't even think about it, because Kirill came back to life before my eyes and bounded down the steps four at a time, not even letting me finish my smoke. In short, I told him everything: what it was like, and where it was, and the best way to get at it. He pulled out a map, found the garage, put his finger on it, and stared at me. Of course, he immediately figured it out about me—what was there not to understand? “You dog, you,” he said and smiled. “Well, let's go for it. First thing in the morning. I'll order the passes and the boot for nine and we'll set off at ten and hope for the best. All right?"

"All right,” I said. “Who'll be the third?"

"What do we need a third for?"

"Oh no,” I said. “This is no picnic with ladies. What if something happens to you? It's in the Zone,” I said. “We have to follow regulations."