"IT FIGURES!"

"How?" Bragin asked Igor.

"Isn't it obvious? No sooner have you dubbed Arthur a 'medium,' than that Basha fellow turns out to be a Siberian shaman---how about that, eh?  Suggestible isn't the word for it."

"Please," asked Alex, "what means 'shaman'?"

"It's a magician," Diana explained. "In a primitive tribe like the Evenki, the Tungusi, as they used to be called.  Of course, there aren't any shamans these days.  But back in 1880 there would have been---it's not at all implausible."

Alex squinted. "Maybe...it's a case of 'set a thief to catch a thief'?"

"What do you mean by that?" There was a note of derision in Igor's voice.

"Well, if Professor Bragin says Mr. Tolkachyov is a medium, and if that guide bloke back in 1880 is one of them and all--if that's what you mean by 'magician,' Miss..."

"Bravo, Alex!  You're amazing!" Bragin looked genuinely pleased.  " 'Set a thief to catch a thief,' eh?  A medium will be drawn to another medium....A good piece of reasoning. But there is a snag.  Art's supposed to be identifying himself with Delko, not with Basha."

"I would say he's identifying himself with every damn character in his head," Igor said.  "Why not one more?  Let's really crowd the stage!  Josef Stalin was exiled to Krasnoyarsk, wasn't he?  When would that have been?"

"Later on," Tisha said. "Stalin was born in 1879."

"No chance of that, I imagine.  He'd only have been 1 year old by the time of Delko's journey.  What a shame, though.  A young firebrand like him spending half his youth escaping from one place to another.  That'd be a neat thing to happen, if it were possible:  the man of steel fleeing through the forest and bumping into our brave band, Basha telling his fortune."

"Don't any of you understand?  I don't have any control over this!"

"Pardon me," Alex said, "but in my opinion, Josef Stalin is not relevant to our present crisis."

"Quite right," agreed Tisha.  "Don't go on any flights of fancy, Igor."

"All right, I apologize.  I shall do all in my power not to let it happen again."

"Anyway," went on Alex, "if we could stick to brass tacks for a minute, we're all in deep shit, aren't we?  There's some kind of mass suggestion going on, right? What you might call a collective mesmerism.  Like a theater, with a hypnotist up on a stage.  Only, this time the hypnotist has fooled the whole audience, not just one dupe up front.  What's more, he's hypnotized himself into the bargain.  Nobody's in charge anymore---and there's no exit from the theater, either.  Nobody can see the exits!"

"You are offering to be our usher?"

"Somebody has to be, but it's not me, Mr. Andropov."  Alex rubbed his bristly chin.  "I'm just saying, who's going to clap their hands and command everyone to wake up?"

"But we don't want to 'wake up' yet," said Bragin.  "It's too soon.  The expedition hasn't reached its goal and the ship hasn't exploded.  Well, in a manner of speaking it has exploded."

"Only it's back in one piece again, unfortunately," said Tisha.  "For us, and for all on board, and for Eric Delko, and for my great-aunt Anastasia.  Do make a better go of it next time, Art!  Any clever Western headshrinker could tell you that a spaceship is a great big phallic symbol.  This failure to explode could do awful things to your love life---right Dr. Kotov?"

Diana blushed. "Freudianism is a..."

"Jewish bourgeois mystification," Tisha finished the sentence for her.

"More to the point," snapped Diana, "the redstar Galactica doesn't remotely resemble a phallus."

"How do I know what Arthur's dong looks like?"