Vlad bummed one instantly. He was impressed that I had American cigarettes. Only cool black-market operators had classy cigs like that. Vlad felt the need to impress me in return. "Khrushchev wants the next sputnik to broadcast propaganda," he confided, blowing smoke. "The Internationale in outer space—what foolishness!" Vlad shook his head. "As if countries matter any more outside our atmosphere. To any real Russian, it is already clear that we have surpassed the Americans. Why should we copy their fascist nationalism? We have soared into the void and left them in the dirt!" He grinned. "Damn, these are good smokes. Can you get me a connection?"