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SUBMITTED: NATO RESOLUTION ON SOVIET INTELLECTUAL REFUGEES (SIR) [PUBLICLY ACCESSIBLE, NO CLEARANCE REQ.]

NATO Parliamentary Assembly

Resolution on Soviet Intellectual Refugees

AUGUST 25, 1987

The Assembly,

Recognizing that a “second economy” has developed within the Soviet Union, giving rise to expanding black markets;

Concerned that the Soviet government has intensified efforts to crack down on these black markets, leading to potential human rights violations;

Noting that many individuals involved in this shadow economy are religious and ethnic minorities;

Stressing that these individuals are facing increasing persecution due to their alignment with Western capitalist practices;

Asserting that these individuals have the potential to provide immense human capital value to NATO countries;

Endorsing the flight of these individuals from the Soviet Union to NATO countries with free-market economies;

URGES the governments and parliaments of the North Atlantic Alliance:

to recognize these individuals as a new class of “intellectual refugee”

to adopt measures to welcome them to their countries and provide an expedited path to citizenship

to create dedicated government programs to promote the welfare of these individuals and support their economic advancement

to publicize the stories of these individuals and encourage more emigration of skilled individuals to their countries from the Soviet Union.

Thirty-Eight

Spring 2037

New York, New York

Klaudia beckoned Nadiya, Giselle, and Julian into her room. On the surface, she knew she looked calm—this was the same performance she had given all her life. Mock assurance. False confidence. She was as much a showman as Julian, in a way. But her hands shook as she opened the door, and when she glanced up, she saw Julian staring down at them. He had noticed. He had always been able to see under her mask.

Her room was dark; she had kept the shades drawn. Klaudia didn’t want to look at the New York skyline, the sharp-edged buildings glittering like broken glass. She didn’t want to calculate the precise distance between her hotel and an apartment on the Upper West Side. This was as close as she had been to her father in nearly four years.

Stop it, she chided herself as she felt her throat begin to tighten. He’s not here. You’ll never see him again.

Once inside, Giselle perched on the edge of the couch and twisted her hands in her lap. “What are we supposed to do? I don’t want to kill anyone. I can’t.”

“That’s the least of our concerns,” Julian said. He stood at the foot of Klaudia’s bed with his arms folded across his chest. “After the gala, and after maybe a few days back at Valeran for Dr. Iver’s parody of a graduation ceremony, and then Deckard is dropping us into enemy territory with some forged documents and those flimsy Auric guns. We’re more likely to get captured and hanged before we reach Satow.”

“They wouldn’t hang you,” Nadiya said. She was leaning against the wall by the window. “They would keep you as a hostage and torture you to extort your father.”

“Oh, well, in that case—”

“None of that is going to happen,” said Klaudia. “We’re getting out of here. Tomorrow.”

“I suppose you already have a plan, don’t you?” Julian arched a brow.

“Pieces of one.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”