Fantastic Voyage II: Destination Brain

We are always certain that the decision we have just made is wrong.

23.

Now, finally, Morrison rose, feeling a trifle unsteady on his feet - whether from the vodka, from the general tension of the day, or from this last revelation he did not know or care. He stamped his feet a little, as though to firm them, then deliberately walked the length of the small room and back.

He faced Boranova and said in a harsh voice, "You can miniaturize a rabbit and nothing seems to happen to it. Did it occur to you that the human brain is the most complex bit of matter we know and that, whatever else might survive, the human brain might not?"

"It did," said Boranova stolidly, "but all our investigations have shown us that miniaturization does not in the least affect the interrelationships within the object being miniaturized. In theory, even the human brain would not be affected by miniaturization."

"In theory!" said Morrison with contempt. "How is it possible that, based on theory alone, you would experiment with Shapirov, whose brain you seem to value so highly? And having failed with him, to your enormous loss, how can you be so mad as to propose experimenting with me to recover that loss? You'll simply fail with me, too, and I cannot accept that."

Dezhnev said, "Don't speak nonsense. We are not mad. Nothing we did was lightly undertaken. The fault was Shapirov's."

Boranova said, "In a way, it was. Shapirov had his eccentric ways. 'Crazy Peter' I believe you call him in English and that is perhaps not so far off. He was intent on having the miniaturization experience. He was getting old, he said, and he would not, like Moses, reach the Promised Land without entering it."

"He might have been forbidden to do so."

"By me? I would forbid Shapirov? You can't be serious."

"Not you. Your government. If the miniaturization process is so precious to the Soviet Union -"

"Shapirov threatened to abandon the project altogether if he did not have his way and that could not be risked. Nor is our government quite so high-handed as it once was in its pressures on troublesome scientists. It must take world opinion into greater account now, as your government must. It is the price of global cooperation. Whether that is for the better or for the worse, I cannot say. In any case, Shapirov was eventually miniaturized."

Morrison muttered, "Absolutely mad."

"No," said Boranova, "for we did not move without precautions. Despite the fact that every exercise in miniaturization is costly and sends shivers through the Central Coordinating Committee, we insisted on a careful approach. Twice we miniaturized chimpanzees and twice we brought them back and could detect no changes in them - either as a result of minute studies of their behavior or by magnetic resonance imaging of the brain."

"A chimpanzee is not a human being," said Morrison.

"Something we were aware of," said Boranova gravely. "Therefore, we miniaturized a human being next. A volunteer. Yuri Konev, to be precise."

Konev said, "It had to be me. It was I who felt most strongly that the human brain would not be affected. I am the neurophysicist of the project and it was I who made the necessary calculations. I would not ask another human being to risk his sanity on my calculations and my certainty. Life is one thing - we all lose it sooner or later. Sanity is quite another."

"So brave," whispered Kaliinin, looking at her fingertips, "the deed of a true Soviet hero." Her lip trembled, as though on the brink of a sneer.

Looking firmly at Morrison, Konev said, "I am a loyal Soviet citizen, but I did not do it for nationalist motives. They would be, in this case, irrelevant. I did it as a matter of decency and of scientific ethics. I had confidence in my analysis and of what worth was my confidence if I would not risk myself on it? And it is a matter of something else, too. When the history of miniaturization is recorded, I will be listed as the first human being ever to have been subjected to the process. That will eclipse the deeds of a great-grand-uncle of mine who was a general fighting the German Nazis in the Great Patriotic War. And I would be pleased with that, not out of vainglory but out of a belief that the conquests of peace should always be held superior to victories in war."

Boranova said, "Well, putting ideals to one side and passing on to the facts. Yuri was miniaturized twice. First, he was taken down to about half his height and was restored in perfect order. Then he was miniaturized to the size of a mouse and again was restored in perfect order."

Morrison said, "And then Shapirov?"

"And then Shapirov. He was by no means easy to control even this far. He argued vociferously for the chance to be the first person miniaturized. After Konev's first venture into the small, it was all we could do to persuade him to wait for a second and more drastic attempt. After that we could control him no more. Not only were we forced to miniaturize him, but he swore that he would abandon the project and somehow make his way out of the country to begin a miniaturization project elsewhere if we did not miniaturize him to a greater extent than we had Konev. We had no choice. If 'Crazy Peter,' as you call him, were mad enough to speak of emigrating, that would go beyond what the government would be willing to allow even in these days. We didn't want him in prison, so we miniaturized him to the size of a cell."

"And that passed the limits of safety, did it?"

"No. We have every reason to think he was in perfect order, even miniaturized so far. He was being brought back and then at one point in the deminiaturization there was a misadventure. Deminiaturization took place a trifle too quickly and the temperature rose slightly in Shapirov's body. It had the effect of a high fever - not enough to kill him, but enough to damage his brain permanently. It might have been reversed if we could have attended to him at once, but deminiaturization had to be completed and that took time. It was an appalling catastrophe and all that we can hope for is the chance to salvage what we need from what is left of his brain."

"There may be another misadventure, as you call it, if I were to be miniaturized. Isn't that so?"

"Yes," said Boranova, "that is so. I don't deny it. There have been failures and misadventures throughout the history of science. Surely you need no reminder that there were deaths of cosmonauts in space both on the American and Soviet sides. That did not prevent our present settlement of the moon - and of space itself - as a new home for humanity."

"That may be so, but all advances in space were made by volunteers. No one was launched into space against his will. And I am not volunteering."

Boranova said, "You need not be so frightened of it. We have done our best to make it as safe as possible and, by the way, you will not go alone. Konev and Shapirov did go alone and as bare as the rabbit, for they, like the rabbit, were in a miniaturization field that was encased in air. You, on the other hand, will be in a ship, a kind of modified submarine. It, too, has been miniaturized and deminiaturized without harm. It is a little less expensive to carry through the process with an inanimate object because it can stand a rise in temperature more easily. In fact, such a rise serves to test for the ruggedness and stability of all its components."

"I am not going, Natalya, either alone or with the Red Army."

Boranova ignored the remark. "With you on the ship," she said, "will be we four. Myself, Sophia, Yuri, and Arkady. That is why I have introduced each of them to you. We are all partners in this greatest of all exploring trips. We will not be crossing an ocean or penetrating the vacuum of space. We will instead enter a microscopic ocean and penetrate the human brain. Can you be a scientist - a neurophysicist - and resist that?"

"Yes. I can resist that. And easily. I will not go."

Boranova said, "We have your software, your program. You always carry it with you and you had it with you when you were brought here. We will have a computer on board the ship for you, one that is the exact model of the one you use in your laboratory. It should not be a long trip. We will all be miniaturized, taking our chances along with you. You will take your computer readings and record the sensations you receive and then we will all be deminiaturized and your part will be done with. Say that you will join us. Say you will do it."

And Morrison, fists clenched, said stubbornly, "I will not join you. I will not do it."

Boranova said, "I am so sorry, Albert, but that is the wrong answer. We will not accept it."

24.

Morrison felt his heart racing again. If this was going to be a straightforward contest of wills, he was not sure he was up to coping with this woman who, despite all her apparent softness, seemed made of alloy steel. Moreover, she had behind her the full apparatus of the Soviet Union and he himself was alone.

He said desperately, "Surely you know this whole thing is a trumped-up romantic notion. How do you know there is any connection between Planck's constant and the speed of light? All you have is some statement by Shapirov. Isn't that correct? Did he give you any details? Any evidence? Any explanations? Any mathematical analysis? - It was nothing more than a statement - an imaginative speculation - wasn't it?"

Morrison tried to sound confident. After all, if Shapirov had given them anything substantive, they would not now be trying the desperate trick of rifling his brain for something useful. He held his breath, waiting for the response.

Boranova looked at Konev then said, with a shade of reluctance, "We will continue our policy of telling the flat and unadorned truth. We have nothing but some remarks Shapirov made, as you've guessed. He enjoyed keeping things to himself until he could spring them on us fully dressed, so to speak. He was more than a little childish in this respect. Perhaps that was an aspect of his eccentricity - or of his genius - or of both."

"But how can you tell, under those circumstances, that such an unsupported speculation would have any validity whatever?"

"When Academician Pyotor Shapirov said, 'I feel it will be thus and so,' that is how it turned out to be."

"Come on. Always?"

"Almost always."

"Almost always. He could have been wrong this time."

"I admit that. He could have been."

"Or if he had some notion which would really prove of use, it might have been localized in the part of the brain which has been destroyed."

"That is conceivable."

"Or if the notion is useful and is still in the intact portion of the brain, I might not be able to interpret the brain waves properly."

"That may well be."

"Putting it all together: Shapirov's suggestion may be wrong and, even if it isn't, it might be out of reach or, even if it isn't, I might not be able to interpret it. Considering that, what are the chances of success? And can't you see that we will be putting our lives into danger for something we will almost certainly fail to get?"

"Considering the matter objectively," said Boranova, "it would seem the chances are very small. However, if we do not hazard our lives, the chances of obtaining anything at all are zero - flat zero. If we do risk our lives, the chances of success are very small, admittedly, but they are not zero. Under the circumstances, we must take the risk, even though the best we can say for our chances of success are that they are not zero."

"For me," said Morrison, "the risk is too great and the chances of success are too small."

Boranova placed one hand on Morrison's shoulder and said, "Surely that is not your final decision."

"Surely it is."

"Think about it. Think about the value to the Soviet Union. Think about the benefits to your own country that will result from your acknowledged participation, to the needs of global science, to your own fame and reputation. All this is in favor of doing it. Against it are your personal fears. These are understandable, but all achievement in life requires the overcoming of fear."

"Thinking about it won't change my mind."

"Think about it until tomorrow morning, anyway. That's fifteen hours and it's all we can spare you. After all, balancing fears against hopes can keep one irresolute for a lifetime and we don't have a lifetime. Poor Shapirov might linger on in coma for a decade, but we don't know how long what is left of his brain will retain his ideas and we dare not wait very long at all."

"I can not and will not concern myself with your problems."

Boranova seemed to hear none of his denials and refusals. She said in her unfailingly gentle voice, "We will not attempt to persuade you further right now. You may have a leisurely dinner. You may watch our holovision programs if you wish, view our books, think, sleep. Arkady will accompany you back to the hotel and if you have any more questions, you need only ask him."

Morrison nodded.

"And, Albert, remember, tomorrow morning you must give us your decision."

"Take it now. It will not change."

"No. The decision must be that you will join us and help us. See to it that you come to that decision - for come to it you must - and it will be easier for all of us if you do so gladly and voluntarily."

25.

It proved to be a quiet and thoughtful dinner for Morrison and not a very filling one - for he found he could only pick at his food. Dezhnev seemed quite unaffected by the other's lack of appetite and reaction. He ate vigorously and spoke incessantly, drawing on what was apparently a large stock of funny stories - in all of which his father played a key role - and was clearly delighted to try them out on a new audience.

Morrison smiled faintly at one or two, more because he recognized from the other's raised voice that a punch line had been advanced than because he heard them with any interest at all.

Valeri Paleron, the waitress who had served them at breakfast, was still there at dinner. A long day - but either that was reflected in her wages or it was required by her extracurricular duties. Either way, she glowered at Dezhnev each time she approached the table, perhaps (Morrison thought distantly) because she disapproved of his stories, which tended to be disrespectful of the Soviet regime.

Morrison did not particularly enjoy his own thoughts. Now that he was considering the distant possibility of getting away from the Grotto - from Malenkigrad - from the Soviet Union - he was beginning to feel a perverse disappointment at what he might be missing. He found himself daydreaming just a little on the matter of miniaturization, of using it to prove the worth of his theories, of triumphing over the smug fools who had dismissed him out of hand.

He recognized the fact that, of all the arguments presented by Boranova, only the personal one had shaken him. Any reference to the greater good of science, or of humanity, or of this nation or that was just idle rhetoric. His own place in science was something more. That seethed within him.

When the serving woman passed near the table, he stirred himself to say, "How long must you stay on, waitress?"

She looked at him without favor. "Until you two grand dukes can bring yourselves to stir out of here."

"There's no rush," said Dezhnev as he emptied his glass. His speech was already slurred and his face was flushed. "I am so fond of the comrade waitress, I could stay on for as long as the Volga flows, that I might gaze on her face."

"As long as I don't have to gaze at yours," muttered Paleron.

Morrison filled Dezhnev's glass and said, "What do you think of Madame Boranova?"

Dezhnev gazed at the glass owlishly and did not offer to lift it immediately. He said with an attempt at gravity, "Not a first-class scientist, I am told, but an excellent admin-ministrator. Keen, makes up her mind quickly, and absolutely incorr-corruptible. A pain in the neck, I should think. If an administrator is incorr- too infernally honest, it makes life hard in so many little ways. She is a worshipper of Shapirov, too, and she thinks him incorr- no, incompre- no, incontrovertible. That's it."

Morrison was not sure of the Russian word. "You mean she thinks he's always right."

"Exactly. If he hints that he knows how to make miniaturization cheap, she's sure he can. Yuri Konev is sure of it, too. He's another of the worshippers. But it's Bora- Boranova who'll send you into Shapirov's brain. One way or another, she'll send you there. She has her ways. - As for Yuri, that little shaver, he's the real scientist of the group. Very brilliant." Dezhnev nodded solemnly and sipped at his refilled drink gently.

"I'm interested in Yuri Konev," said Morrison, his eyes following the lifting of the glass, "and in the young woman, Sophia Kaliinin."

Dezhnev leered. "A fine young piece." Then sadly, shaking his head, "But she has no sense of humor."

"She's married, I take it."

Dezhnev shook his head more violently than the occasion seemed to require. "No."

"She said she had had a baby."

"Yes, a little girl, but it isn't the signing of the marriage book that makes one pregnant. It's the game of bed - married or not."

"Does the puritanical Soviet Government approve of this?"

"No, but its approval was never asked, I think." He burst into laughter.

"Besides, as a scientist at Malenkigrad, she has her special dispen-pensations. The government looks the other way."

"It strikes me," said Morrison, "that Sophia is much interested in Yuri Konev."

"You see that, do you? It takes little shrewdness. She is so interested that she has made it quite clear that her child was the result of Yuri's collaboration in that little game I spoke of."

"Oh?"

"But he denies it. And very vigorously, too. I think it is rather humorous, in a bitter way, that he remains compelled to work with her. Neither one can be spared from the project and all he can do is pretend she doesn't exist."

"I noticed that he never looks at her, but they must have been friendly once."

"Very friendly - if she is to be believed. If so, they were very discreet about it. But what's the difference? She doesn't need him to support the child. Her salary is a large one and the day-care center takes loving care of her daughter when she is at work. It is just a matter of emotion with her."

"What split them up, I wonder?"

"Who knows? Lovers take their disputes so seriously. I myself have never let myself fall in love - not poetically. If I like a girl, I play with her. If I get tired, I move on. It is my good fortune that the women I engage are as prag-pragmatic - isn't that a good word? - as I am and make little fuss. As my father used to say, 'A woman who doesn't fuss has no faults.' Sometimes, to be truthful, they grow tired before I do, but even then, so what? A girl who is tired of me is not much good to me and, after all, there are others."

"I suppose Yuri is much like that, too, isn't he?"

Dezhnev had emptied his glass again and he held out his hand when Morrison made a move to refill it. "Enough! Enough!"

"Never enough," said Morrison calmly. "You were telling me about Yuri."

"What is there to tell? Yuri is not a man to fly from woman to woman, but I have heard -" He stared blearily at Morrison. "You know how one hears - one tells another who tells another and who is to know whether what comes out of the funnel is anything like what went in. But I have heard that when Yuri was in the United States, being educated Western-style, he met an American girl. In went La Belle Americaine, they say, and out went poor little Soviet Sophia. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he came back different and perhaps he still dreams of his lost love across the sea."

"And is that why Sophia is so ill-disposed to Americans?"

Dezhnev stared at the glass of vodka and sipped a little of it. "Our Sophia," he said, "has never liked Americans. This is not surprising." He leaned toward Morrison, his breath heavy with food and drink. "Americans are not a lovable people - if I may say so without offense."

"I'm not offended," said Morrison evenly, as he watched Dezhnev's head sink slowly and come to rest on his bent right arm. His breathing grew stertorous.

Morrison watched him for half a minute or so, then raised his hand to beckon the serving woman.

She came at once, her ample hips swinging. She stared at the unconscious Dezhnev with rather more than half a sneer. "Well, do you wish me to get a large pair of tongs and use them to carry our prince here to his bed?"

"Not just yet, Miss Paleron. As you know, I'm an American."

"As everyone knows. You have but to say three words and the tables and chairs in this room nod to each other and say, 'An American.'"

Morrison winced. He had always been proud of the purity of his Russian and this was the second time the woman had sneered at it.

"Nevertheless," he said, "I have been brought here by force, against my will. I believe it was done without the knowledge of the Soviet Government, which would have disapproved of and prevented the action if they had known. The people here - Dr. Boranova, whom you have referred to as the Tsarina - have acted on their own. The Soviet Government should be told of this and they will then act speedily to return me to the United States and prevent an international incident that nobody would want. Don't you agree?"

The waitress put her fists on her hips and said, "And of what matter is it to anyone either here or in the United States as to whether I agree or not? Am I a diplomat? Am I the reincarnated spirit of Tsar Peter the Great Drinker?"

"You can see to it," said Morrison, suddenly uncertain, "that the government learns of it. Quickly."

"What is it you think, American? That I have but to tell my lover, who is on the Presidium, and all will be well for you? What have I to do with the government? What's more - and in all seriousness, Comrade Foreigner - I do not wish you to talk to me in this fashion again. Many a fine, loyal citizen has been hopelessly compromised by foreign blabbermouths. I will, of course, report this to Comrade Boranova at once and she will see to it that you do not insult me in this fashion again."

She left in a flounce and with a scowl and Morrison stared after her in dismay. And then his head whirled in surprise and astonishment when he heard Dezhnev's voice saying, "Albert, Albert, are you satisfied, my child?"

Dezhnev's head was raised from his pillowing arm and, though his eyes were a little bloodshot, his voice seemed to have lost its fuzziness. He said, "I wondered why you were so anxious to fill my glass, so I gobbled a little and let myself collapse. It was all very interesting."

"You are not drunk?" said Morrison, goggling at the other in wonder.

"I have been more sober in my life, certainly," said Dezhnev, "but I am not unconscious, nor have I been. You non-drinkers have an exaggerated idea of the speed with which all accomplished Soviet citizen will fall unconscious with drink - which shows the dangers of being a nondrinker."

Morrison still found himself in a state of disbelief over the failure of the waitress to cooperate. "You said she was an intelligence operator."

"Did I?" Dezhnev shrugged. "I think I said I suspected she was, but suspicions are often wrong. Besides, she knows me better than you do, my little Albert, and was probably under no illusion that I was drunk. I'll bet you ten rubles to a kopeck that she knew I was listening with both ears. What would you have her say in such circumstances?"

"In that case," said Morrison, taking heart, "she will have heard what I said and will nevertheless inform your government of the state of affairs. Your government, to avoid an international incident, will then order me set free, probably with an apology, and you people here will have some tall explaining to do. You had better free me and send me back to the United States of your own accord."

Dezhnev laughed. "Your waste your time, my clever intriguer. You have too romantic a notion of our government. Conceivably, they may be willing to let you go someday but, regardless of possible embarrassment, not before you have been miniaturized and -"

"I don't believe anyone in authority knows you kidnapped me. They cannot approve once they find out."

"Maybe they don't know and maybe they will grind their teeth when they find out - but what can they do? The government has invested too much money in the project to let you go before you have had your chance to make it practical, so that it will repay all that has been spent - and more in addition. Well? Doesn't that seem logical to you?"

"No. Because I won't help you." Morrison felt his heart harden once again. "I will not allow myself to be miniaturized."

"That will be up to Natasha. She will be furious with you, you know, and will have no pity. You realize that you callously attempted to have everyone in the project thrown into the government's bad graces, have some of us retired - or worse. And this, after we had treated you with perfect consideration and kindness."

"You kidnapped me."

"Even that was done with perfect consideration and kindness. Were you hurt in any way? Mistreated? Yet you have tried to harm us. Natasha will repay you for that."

"How? Force? Torture? Drugs?"

Dezhnev turned his eyes up to the ceiling. "How little you know our Natasha. She doesn't do such things. I might, but she wouldn't. She's as much a gentle chicken-heart as you are, my wicked Albert - in her own way. But she will force you to go along with us."

"Well? How?"

"I don't know. I can never quite make out how she does it. But she manages. You will see." His smile developed a wolfish edge. And when Morrison saw that smile, he finally realized there was no escape.

26.

The next morning Morrison and Dezhnev returned to the Grotto. They entered a large windowless ceiling-lit office, which Morrison had not seen before. It was clearly not Boranova's and it was very impressive, as anything with an ostentatious waste of space is bound to be.

Boranova sat behind a bulky desk and on the wall behind her was a portrait of the Soviet Executive, looking grave. In the corner to her left was a water cooler and in the one on the right a microfilm cabinet. On the desk was a small word processor. That was all. The room was empty otherwise.

Dezhnev said, "I have brought him, you see. The mischievous fellow tried to use the charming Paleron to effect an escape by intriguing with the govemment behind our back."

"I have received the report," said Boranova quietly. "Please leave, Arkady. I wish to be alone with Professor Albert Morrison."

"Is that safe, Natasha?"

"I think so. Albert is not, in my opinion, a man of violence. - Will I be safe, Albert?"

Morrison spoke for virtually the first time that day. "Let's not play games," he said. "What is it you want, Natalya?"

Boranova gestured with her hand peremptorily and Dezhnev left. When the door closed behind him, she said, "Why have you done this? Why have you tried to intrigue with someone you thought was an intelligence agent watching us? Have we treated you so badly?"

"Yes," said Morrison angrily, "you have. Why can't any of you get it through your head that hijacking me to the Soviet Union is not something I am likely to appreciate? Why do you expect gratitude of me? Because you didn't break my head in the process? You probably would have - if my head, unbroken, hadn't been valuable to you."

"If your head, unbroken, hadn't been valuable to us, we would have left you in peace. You know that and you know the necessity that drove us. We have explained it carefully. If you were simply trying to get away, I would understand, but your method of attempted escape might have destroyed our project and perhaps us as well - if you had succeeded. You hoped our government would disapprove of our actions and be appalled. If that were so, what do you think would have happened to us?"

Morrison's lips tightened and he looked sullen. "I could think of no other way of escaping. You speak of driving necessities. My needs drive me, too."

"Albert, we have tried every reasonable way to persuade you to help us. There has been no force, no threats of force, no unpleasantness of any kind after you had arrived there. Isn't that true?"

"I suppose so."

"You suppose so? It is true. But it has all failed. You still refuse to help us, I think."

"I still refuse and I shall continue to refuse."

"Then I am forced, very much against my will, to take the next step."

A bit of fear stirred within Morrison and he felt his heart skip a beat, but he tried desperately to sound defiant, "Which is?"

"You want to get home, to go back to America. Very well, if all our persuasiveness fails, you shall return."

"Are you serious?"

"Are you surprised?"

"Yes, I'm surprised, but I accept. I take you at your word. When will I leave?"

"The very moment we settle upon the story we're going to tell."

"Where's the problem? Tell the truth."

"That would be a little difficult, Albert. It would embarrass my government, which would have to deny having given permission for my action. I would be in serious trouble. It would be unreasonable for you to expect me to do that."

"What can you say instead?"

"That you came here at your own request, in order to help us with our projects."

Morrison shook his head vehemently. "That would be at least as difficult for me as admitting the kidnapping would be for you. These may be the good new days, but old habits die hard and the American public would be more than a little suspicious of an American scientist who went to the Soviet Union to help them with their projects. Old competitions remain and I have my reputation to think of."

"Yes, there is that difficulty," admitted Boranova, "but from my point of view, I would rather you had the difficulty than that I did."

"But I won't allow it. Do you suppose I will hesitate to tell the truth in full detail?"

"But, Albert," said Boranova quietly, "do you suppose anyone would believe you?"

"Of course. The American government knows that you asked me to come to the Soviet Union and that I refused. I would have had to be kidnapped to get here."

"I'm afraid your American government won't want to admit that, Albert. Would they want to say that Soviet agents had plucked an American out of his comfortable hotel room and carried him off by land, sea, and air without the forces of American law being aware of this? Considering modern American high-tech, of which your people are all so proud, that would argue either incompetence or a little inside treason on the part of your intelligence. I think your government would prefer to have the world believe you went to the Soviet Union voluntarily. - Besides, they wanted you to go to the Soviet Union voluntarily, didn't they?"

Morrison was silent.

Boranova said, "Of course they did. They wanted you to find out as much about miniaturization as possible. You're going to have to tell them you refused to be miniaturized. All you'll be able to report will be that you watched a rabbit undergo miniaturization, which they will consider to have been a bit of flim-flam on our part. They will consider that we carefully hoodwinked you and you will have failed them badly. They will not feel bound to support you."

Morrison revolved the matter in his mind. He said, "Do you really intend to leave me in the position of being considered a spy and a traitor by my people? Is that what you're going to try to do?"

"No, indeed, Albert. We will tell all the truth we can. In fact, we would like to protect you, even though you showed no signs of wanting to protect us. We would explain that our great scientist Pyotr Shapirov is in a coma, that he had spoken highly of your neurophysical theories shortly before this tragedy had befallen him. We therefore called on you and asked you to use your theories and your expertise to see if you could bring him out of his coma. You can't object to that. It would hold you up to the world as a great humanitarian. Your government might well support this view. It would certainly protect them against possible embarrassment - and our government as well. And it is all almost true."

"What about the miniaturization?"

"That is the one place where we must avoid the truth. We can't mention that."

"But what would keep me from mentioning it?"

"The fact that no one would believe you. Did you accept the existence of miniaturization until you saw it with your own eyes? Nor would your government want to spread the feeling that the Soviet Union has attained miniaturization. They would not want to frighten the American public until such time as they were certain the Soviet Union had the process and, better yet, that they had the process as well. - But there you are, Albert. We will send you home with an innocuous story that doesn't mention miniaturization, doesn't embarrass either my country or yours, and relieves you of any suspicion of being a traitor. Are you satisfied?"

Morrison stared at Boranova uncertainly and rubbed his thin sandy hair till it stood Lip in vague tufts. "But why will you say you are sending me back? That has to be explained, too. You can't very well say that Shapirov recovered with my help unless he actually recovers so that you can produce him. Nor can you say that he died before I could get to him unless he actually does die soon, as otherwise you would have to explain why he is still in a coma or why, perhaps, he has come back to life. You can't hide the situation forever."

"That is a problem that worries us, Albert, and it is clever of you to see it. After all, we are sending you back within a few days of your arrival - and why? The only logical reason, I'm afraid, is that we have found you to be a charlatan. We brought you here in high hopes for our poor Shapirov, but in no time at all it turned out that your views were incoherent nonsense and, with bitter disappointment, we sent you back. That will do you no harm, Albert. Being a charlatan is not the same as being a spy."

"Don't play the innocent, Natalya. You can't do that." He had turned white with anger.

"But it makes sense, doesn't it? Your own peers don't take you seriously. They laugh at your views. They would agree with us that your neurophysical suggestions are incoherent nonsense. We'd be a little embarrassed for having been so credulous as to take you seriously, but it was really Shapirov who thought highly of you and he was, unbeknown to us, on the edge of a stroke and total mental breakdown, so that one could scarcely blame him for his mad admiration of you."

Morrison's lips trembled. "But you can't make a clown out of me. You can't ruin my reputation so."

"But what reputation are you talking about, Albert? Your wife has left you and some people think it was because having your career founder on your mad ideas was the last straw for her. We have heard that your appointment is not to be renewed and that you have not managed to find another place. You are finished as a scientist in any case and this story of ours would merely conflrm what already exists. Perhaps you can find some other way of making a living - outside of science. You would probably have had to do that anyway, even if we had never touched you. There's that consolation."

"But you're lying and you know you're lying, Natalya. Have you no code of ethics? Can a respectable scientist do this to an honorable brother scientist?"

"You were unmoved by abstractions yesterday, Albert, and I am unmoved by them today in consequence."

"Someday scientists will discover I was right. How will you look then?"

"We may all be dead by then. Besides, you know that that is not the way it works. Franz Anton Mesmer, though he discovered hypnotism, was considered a fraud and a charlatan. When James Braid rediscovered hypnotism, he got the credit and Mesmer was still considered a fraud and charlatan. Besides-are we truly lying when we call you a charlatan?"

"Of course you are!"

"Let's reason it out. Why do you refuse to venture into an experiment of miniaturization which may enable you to establish your theories and which is likely to increase your knowledge of the brain by whole orders of magnitude? Such refusal can only arise through your own certain knowledge that your theories are wrong, that you are either a fool or a fraud or both, and that you don't want this established beyond a doubt, as it would be if you subjected yourself to miniaturization."

"That is not so."

"Do you expect us to believe that you refuse miniaturization simply because you are frightened? That you turn down a chance at knowledge, glory, fame, victory, vindication after years of scorn - all because you are scared? Come, we can't think so little of you, Albert. It makes much more sense to believe you are a fraud and so we will have no hesitation in saying you are."

"Americans won't believe a Soviet libel against an American scientist."

"Oh, Albert, of course they will. When we release you, with our explanation, it will be in all your American newspapers at once. They will be full of it. They are the most enterprising in the world and the freest, as you are all so fond of saying, meaning they are a law unto themselves. They pride themselves on it and never tire of flaunting that in the eyes of our own more sedate press. This will be such a lovely story for them: 'American Faker Fools Stupid Soviets.' I can see the headlines now. In fact, Albert, you may make a great deal of money on your American lecture circuit. You know: 'How I Made Jerks of the Soviets.' Then you can tell them all the ridiculous things you persuaded us to believe before we caught on to you and the audiences will laugh themselves into hysterics."

Morrison said in a whisper, "Natalya, why do you do this to me?"

"I? I am doing nothing. You are doing it. You want to go home and since we've failed to get you to accept miniaturization, we have no choice but to agree. Once, though, we agree to send you home, then, step by step, everything else must logically follow."

"But in that case, I can't go home. I can't have my life destroyed beyond repair."

"But who would care, Albert? Your estranged wife? Your children, who no longer know you and can always change their names anyway? Your university, which is firing you? Your colleagues, who laugh at you? Your government, which has abandoned you? Take heart. No one would care. An initial raucous laugh across the whole country and then you would be forgotten forever. You'll die without an obituary notice eventually, except for those papers who might not object to the tastelessness of bringing back that old joke for one more spurt of laughter to follow you to your grave."

Morrison shook his head in despair. "I can't go home."

"But you must. Unless you are willing to help us, which you're not, you can't stay here."

"But I can't go home on your terms."

"But what is the alternative?"

Morrison stared at the woman, who was looking at him with such mild concern. He whispered, "I accept the alternative."

Boranova looked at him for a long minute. "I do not wish to be mistaken, Albert. Put your agreement into clear language."

"It's either consent to be miniaturized or consent to be destroyed. Isn't that it?"

Boranova thrust out her lips. "That's a harsh way of putting it. I prefer that you look at it this way. Either you agree to help us by noon or you will be on a plane to the United States by 2 p.m. What do you say? It is now nearly 11 a.m. You have over an hour to decide."

"What's the use? An hour won't change anything. I'll be miniaturized."

"We will be miniaturized. You will not be alone." Boranova reached out and touched a contact on her desk.

Dezhnev entered. "Well, Albert. You stand there looking so sad, so crumpled, that it strikes me you have decided to help us."

Boranova said, "You need make no sardonic remarks. Albert will help us and we will be grateful for his help. His decision was a voluntary one."

"I'm sure it was," said Dezhnev. "How you squeezed it out this time, Natasha, I can't say, but I knew you would. - And I must contratulate you, too, Albert. It took her quite a bit longer than I thought it would."

Morrison could only stare at the two vacantly. He felt as though he had swallowed an icicle whole - one that didn't melt but that, instead, reduced the temperature of his abdomen to the freezing point.

Certainly, he was shivering.