Ilya Simonov was shaking his head. "No. They're all spontaneous."
His chief growled, "I tell you there are literally thousands of these little groups. That hardly sounds like a spontaneous phenomenon."
"Nevertheless, that is what my investigations have led me to believe."
Blagonravov glowered at him, uncertainly. Finally, he said, "Well, confound it, you've spent the better part of a year among them. What's it all about? What do they want?"
Ilya Simonov said flatly, "They want freedom, Kliment."
"Freedom! What do you mean, freedom? The Soviet Complex is the most highly industrialized area of the world. Our people have the highest standard of living anywhere. Don't they understand? We've met all the promises we ever made. We've reached far and beyond the point ever dreamed of by Utopians. The people, all of the people, have it made as the Americans say."
"Except for freedom," Simonov said doggedly. "These groups are springing up everywhere, spontaneously. Thus far, perhaps, our ministry has been able to suppress some of them. But the pace is accelerating. They aren't inter-organized now. But how soon they'll start to be, I don't know. Sooner or later, someone is going to come up with a unifying idea. A new socio-political system to advocate a way of guaranteeing the basic liberties. Then, of course, the fat will be in the fire."
"Ilya! You've been working too hard. I've pushed you too much, relied on you too much. You need a good lengthy vacation."
Simonov shrugged. "Perhaps. But what I've just said is the truth."
His chief snorted heavily. "You half sound as though you agree with them."