Life is pleasant Death is peaceful. It is the transition that is troublesome.
19.
"This," said Natalya Boranova, "is my own portion of the Grotto."
She sat down in a rather battered armchair that (Morrison imagined) she found perfectly comfortable, having molded it to her body over the years.
He sat down in another chair, smaller and more austere, with a satin-covered seat that was less comfortable than it looked. He glanced over the surroundings with a sharp sensation of homesickness. There were ways in which it reminded him of his own office. There was the computer outlet and the large screen. (Boranova's was far more ornate than his own - the Soviet style tended toward the curlicue and Morrison felt a momentary curiosity as to the reason and then put that aside as a trivial matter.)
There was also the same trend toward disorder in the piles of printouts, the same distinct odor they gave rise to, the same occasional old-fashioned book in among the film cassettes. Morrison tried to read the title of one that was too far off and too worn to be made out. (Books always had an ancient appearance, even when they were new.) He had the impression it was an English-language book, which would not have surprised him. He himself had several Russian classics in his laboratory for an occasional brushup of the language.
Boranova said, "We are quite private here. We will not be overheard and we will not be disturbed. Later we can have lunch brought in."
"You are kind," said Morrison, trying not to sound sardonic.
Boranova seemed to take it at face value. "Not at all. And now, Dr. Morrison, I can't help having noticed that Arkady is on a first-name basis with you. He is, of course, to a certain extent an uncultured individual and is apt to presume. Still, may I ask again if, despite the conditions that brought you here, we might be pleasant and informal with each other?"
Morrison hesitated. "Well, call me Albert, then. But it will be merely a convenience and no sign of friendship. I am not likely to dismiss my kidnapping."
Boranova cleared her throat. "I did try to persuade you to come of your own free will. If necessity had not driven us so hard, we would have gone no farther than that."
"If you are embarrassed by what you have done, then return me to the United States. Send me back now and I will be willing to forget this episode and will make no complaint to my government."
Slowly Boranova shook her head. "You know that cannot be done. Necessity still drives. You will see what I mean, shortly. But meanwhile, Albert, let us talk together, without nonsense, as part of the global family of science that rises superior to questions of nationality and other artificial distinctions among human beings. - Surely by now you have accepted the reality of miniaturization."
"I must accept it." Morrison shook his head, almost regretfully.
"And you see our problem?"
"Yes. It is far too expensive in energy."
"Imagine, however, if we lower the energy cost drastically. Imagine if we can bring about miniaturization by plugging a wire into a wall socket and consuming no more energy than we would if we were heating a toaster oven."
"Of course - but apparently it can't be done. Or, at any rate, your people cannot do it. Why all the secrecy, then? Why not publish the findings you have already made and welcome the contributions of the rest of the family of science? Secrecy seems to imply the possibility that the Soviet Union is planning to use miniaturization as a weapon of some kind, one powerful enough to make it possible for your country to find it feasible to break the mutual understanding that has led to peace and cooperation throughout the world for the last two generations."
"That is not so. The Soviet Union is not trying to establish a world hegemony."
"I hope not. Still, if the Soviet Union seeks secrecy, it is understandable that other units of the global alliance would begin to wonder if it seeks conquest."
"The United States has its secrets, has it not?"
"I don't know. The American government does not confide in me. If it does have secrets - and actually I suppose it does - I disapprove of that, too. But tell me why there is any necessity for secrets? What does it matter if you develop miniaturization, or we, or both of us in combination - or the Africans, for that matter? We Americans invented the airplane and the telephone, but you have both. We were the first to reach the moon, but you enjoy your full share of the lunar settlements. You, on the other hand, were the first to crack the problem of fusion power and the first to build a solar power station in space and we participate fully in both."
Boranova said, "All that you say is true. Nevertheless, for over a century, the world has taken it for granted that American technology is superior to Soviet technology. That is a constant irritant to us, and if, in something as basic and as thoroughly revolutionary as miniaturization, it is clearly established that the Soviet Union led the way, then that would be most desirable for us."
"And the global family of science that you appeal to? Are you a member of that or are you merely a Soviet scientist?"
"I am both," said Boranova with a touch of anger. "If it were my decision, then perhaps I would open our discoveries to the world. However, I do not make the decision. My government does and I owe them loyalty. Nor do you Americans make it easy for us to do otherwise. Your constant loud American assumption of superiority drives us into a defensive posture."
"But won't it spoil Soviet pride in their accomplishment to have to call upon an American such as myself to help out?"
"Well, yes, it does sour the milk a bit, but it will at least give the United States a share in the achievement, which we shall acknowledge, Albert. You will be showing yourself a true American patriot and will improve your own reputation if you help us."
Morrison smiled bitterly. "A bribe?"
Boranova shrugged. "If that is how you interpret it, I cannot stop you. But let us talk in a friendly manner and see what will come of it."
"In that case, start by giving me some information. Now that I am forced to believe that miniaturization is possible, can you tell me the basic physics behind it? I am curious."
"You know better than that, Albert. It would be dangerous for you to learn too much. How would we, then, be able to let you go back to your country? - Besides, although I can operate the miniaturization system, even I don't know the basics. If I did, our government could scarcely risk having me visit the United States."
"You mean we might kidnap you as you kidnapped me. Do you think the United States engages in kidnapping?"
"I am absolutely certain it would when necessity drove sufficiently."
"And who are the people who do know the basics of miniaturization?"
"That also is not something that, in general, it is safe for you to know. However, I can lift the curtain just a bit in this matter. Pyotor Shapirov is one of them."
"Crazy Peter," said Morrison, smiling. "Somehow I'm not surprised."
"You shouldn't be. I am sure you say 'crazy' only as one of your jokes, but it was he who first worked out the basic rationale behind miniaturization. Of course," she added thoughtfully, "it may very well be that that required a certain insanity - or, at any rate, a certain idiosyncracy of thought. It is also Shapirov who first suggested a method of achieving miniaturization with a minimum expenditure of energy."
"How? The conversion of derniniaturization into an electromagnetic field?"
Boranova made a face. "I was merely giving you an example. Shapirov's method is far more subtle."
"Can it be explained?"
"Only roughly. Shapirov points out that the two great aspects of the unified theory of the Universe - the quantum aspect and the relativistic aspect - each depends on a constant that sets a limit. In quantum theory it is Planck's constant, which is very tiny but not zero. In relativity, it is the speed of light, which is very great but not infinite. Planck's constant sets a lower limit to the size of energy transfer and the speed of light sets an upper limit to the speed of information transmission. Shapirov maintains, furthermore, that the two are related. In other words, if Planck's constant is decreased, the speed of light would increase. If Planck's constant were reduced to zero, then the speed of light would be infinite."
Morrison said at once, "In which case, the Universe would be Newtonian in its properties."
Boranova nodded. "Yes. According to Shapirov, then, the reason for the enormous energy consumption of miniaturization is that the two limits are uncoupled, that Planck's constant is decreased without the speed of light being increased. If the two were coupled, then energy would flow from the speed-of-light limit into the Planck's constant limit during miniaturization and in the other direction during deminiaturization, so that the speed of light would go up as miniaturization proceeded and down again during deminiaturization. The efficiency should be nearly a hundred percent. Very little energy would then be required to miniaturize and re-expansion could take place very quickly."
Morrison said, "Does Shapirov know how miniaturization and deminiaturization can be carried through with the two limits coupled?"
"He said he did."
"Said? Past tense? Does that mean he has changed his mind?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what has he done?"
Boranova hesitated. "Albert," she said almost pleadingly, "do not go too fast. I want you to think. You know that miniaturization works. You know that it is possible, but not practical. You know that it would be a boon for humanity and I have assured you that it is not meant for destructive or warlike use. Once we know that our national precedence is recognized, which we want for psychological reasons I have presented to you quite frankly, I am sure we will share miniaturization with all divisions of the globe."
"Really, Natalya? Would you and your nation trust the United States if the situation were reversed?"
"Trust!" said Boranova and sighed heavily. "It doesn't come naturally to anyone. It is the weakness of humanity that we constantly read the worst into others. Yet trust must begin somewhere or the fragile mood of cooperation we have enjoyed for so long will shatter and we will be back to the twentieth century with all its horrors. Since the United States feels so strongly that it is the stronger and more advanced nation, should it not be the first to risk the act of trusting?"
Morrison spread out his arms. "I can't answer that. I am a private citizen and do not represent my nation."
"As a private citizen you can help us, knowing that you will not be harming your own country."
"I can't possibly know such a thing, since I only have your word for it and I don't believe you represent your nation any more than I represent mine. But all this is irrelevant, Natalya. Even if I wanted to, how on Earth can I help you make miniaturization practical, when I know nothing about the subject?"
"Be patient. In a while we will have lunch. Dezhnev and Kaliinin will be through with the deminiaturization of Katinka by then and will join us, together with one other whom you must meet. Then, after lunch, I will take you to see Shapirov."
"I'm not sure about that, Natalya. You told me just a while ago that it would be dangerous for me to meet anyone who really understood miniaturization. I might learn too much and this might raise problems with my return to the United States. Why, then, should I risk seeing Shapirov?"
Boranova said sadly, "Shapirov is an exception. I promise you that you will understand this when you see him - and you will also understand why we must turn to you."
"That," said Morrison with all the conviction with which he had lately proclaimed the impossibility of miniaturization, "I will never understand."
20.
Lunch was in a well-lit room, for strips of the walls, together with the entire ceiling, were electroluminescent. Boranova had pointed it out with obvious pride and Morrison had refrained from making invidious comparisons with the United States, where electroluminescence was widespread.
Nor did he express his amusement over the fact that despite the electroluminescence there was a small but ornate chandelier centered in the ceiling. Its bulbs contributed nothing to the light, but it undoubtedly made the room seem less antiseptic.
As Boranova had predicted, a fifth person had joined them and Morrison was introduced to someone named Yuri Konev. "A neurophysicist like yourself, Albert," said Boranova.
Konev, who was darkly handsome and who seemed to be in his middle thirties, had an air of almost gawky youth about himself. He shook hands with wary curiosity and said, "I am most pleased to meet you," in creditable English, spoken with a distinct American accent.
"You have been in the United States, I imagine," said Morrison, also in English.
"I spent two years doing graduate work at Harvard University. It gave me a splendid opportunity to practice my English."
"Nevertheless," said Boranova in Russian, "Dr. Albert Morrison does very well in our language, Yuri, and we must give him a chance to practice it here in our country."
"Of course," said Konev in Russian.
Morrison had, indeed, almost forgotten that he was underground. There were no windows in the room, but that was common enough in large office buildings even aboveground.
The meal was not an ebullient one. Arkady Dezhnev ate with silent concentration and Sophia Kaliinin seemed abstracted. She glanced occasionally at Morrison, but ignored Konev completely. Boranova watched everyone, but said very little. She seemed content to leave the floor to Konev.
Konev said, "Dr. Morrison, I must tell you that I have followed your work carefully."
Morrison, who had been eating the thick cabbage soup appreciatively, looked up with a quick smile. This was the first reference to his work, rather than to their work, since he had arrived in the Soviet Union.
"Thank you for your interest, but Natalya and Arkady call me Albert and I will have difficulty in responding to different names. Let us all be on a first-name basis for the brief time that remains before I am returned to my own land."
"Help us," said Boranova in a low voice, "and it will indeed be a brief time."
"No conditions," said Morrison in an equally low tone. "I wish to leave."
Konev raised his voice, as though to force the conversation back into the track he had chosen. "But I must admit, Albert, that I have been unable to duplicate your observations."
Morrison's lips tightened. "I have had this complaint from neurophysicists in the United States."
"Now, why should this be? Academician Shapirov is greatly intrigued by your theories and maintains that you are probably correct, at least in part."
"Ah, but Shapirov isn't a neurophysicist, is he?"
"No, he's not, but he has an extraordinary feel for what is correct. I have never known him to say, 'It seems to me that this must be right,' in which whatever he is discussing hasn't proved to be right - at least in part. He says you are probably on the road to establishing an interesting relay station."
"A relay station? I don't know what he means by that."
"It's what he said once in my hearing. Some private thought of his own, no doubt." He cast a penetrating glance at Morrison, as though waiting for an explanation of the remark.
Morrison simply shrugged it away. "What I have done," he said, "is to establish a new kind of analysis of the cephalic waves originating in the brain and to have narrowed the search for a specific network within the brain devoted to creative thought."
"There you may be a little overoptimistic, Albert. I have not satisfied myself that this network of yours really exists."
"My results mark it out quite clearly."
"In dogs and monkeys. It is uncertain how far we can extrapolate such information to the much more complex structure of the human brain."
"I admit I haven't worked with the human brain anatomically, but I have analyzed human brain waves carefully and those results are at least consistent with my creative structure hypothesis."
"This is what I haven't been able to duplicate and what American researchers may not have been able to duplicate, either."
Again Morrison shrugged. "Adequate brain wave analysis is, at best, a monumentally difficult thing at the quintenary level and no one else has given the years to the problem that I have."
"Or possesses the particular computerized equipment. You have designed your own program for the purpose of brain wave analysis, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have."
"And described it in the literature?"
"Certainly. If I achieved results with an undescribed program, they would be worth nothing. Who could confirm my results, lacking an equivalent computer program?"
"Yet I have heard, at the International Neurophysical Conference in Brussels last year, that you are continually modifying your program and complaining that the lack of confirmation stems from the use of insufficiently complex programming incapable of Fourier analysis to the proper degree of sensitivity."
"No, Yuri, that is false. Entirely false. I have modified my program from time to time, but I have carefully described each modification in Computer Technology. I have tried to publish the data in The American Journal of Neurophysics, but they haven't accepted my papers these last few years. If others confine their reading to the AJN and don't keep up with relevant literature elsewhere, that is not my fault."
"And yet -" Konev paused and frowned in what seemed to be uncertain thought. "I don't know if I ought to say this because it may be something else that will antagonize you."
"Go ahead. I have, in these last few years, learned to accept all kinds of remarks-hostile, sarcastic, and - worst of all - pitying. I am quite hardened to it. - This is good chicken Kiev, by the way."
"This is a guest meal," murmured Kaliinin, almost under her breath. "Too buttery - bad for the figure."
"Hah," said Dezhnev loudly. "Bad for the figure. That is an American remark that makes no sense in Russian. My father always said, 'The body knows what it needs. That's why some things taste good.'"
Kaliinin closed her eyes in quite obvious distaste. "A recipe for suicide," she said.
Morrison noticed that Konev did not look at the young woman during this bit of byplay. Not at all.
He said, "You were saying, Yuri? About something that might antagonize me, you thought?"
Konev said, "Well, then, is it true, Albert, or not true that you actually gave your program to a colleague and that, using it in your computer, he was still unable to duplicate your results?"
"That's true," said Morrison. "At least my colleague, an able enough man, said he could not duplicate my results."
"Do you suspect he was lying?"
"No. Not really. It's just that the observations are so delicate that to attempt them while certain of failure may well lead, it seems to me, to failure."
"Might one not argue the other way around, Albert, and say that your certainty of success leads you to imagine success?"
"Possibly," said Morrison. "That has been pointed out to me several times in the past. But I don't think so."
"One more rumor," said Konev. "This I truly hate to repeat, but it seems so important. Is it true that you have claimed that in your analysis of brain waves you have occasionally sensed actual thoughts?"
Morrison shook his head vigorously. "I have never made such a claim in print. I have said to a colleague, once or twice, that in concentrating on the brain wave analysis there are occasionally times when I seem to find thoughts invading my mind. I have no way of telling whether the thoughts are entirely mine or whether my own brain waves resonate to those of the subject."
"Is such a resonance conceivable?"
"I suppose so. The brain waves produce tiny fluctuating electromagnetic fields."
"Ah! It is this, I suppose, that made Academician Shapirov make that remark about a relay station. Brain waves are always producing fluctuating electromagnetic fields - with or without analysis. You don't resonate - if resonance is what it is - to the thoughts of someone in your presence, no matter how intensely he may be thinking. The resonance takes place only when you are busily studying the brain waves with your programmed computer. It presumably acts as a relay station, magnifying or intensifying the brain waves of the subject and projecting them into your mind."
"I have no evidence for that except for an occasional fugitive impression. That's not enough."
"It might be. The human brain is far more complex than any other equivalent piece of matter we know of."
"What about dolphins?" said Dezhnev, his mouth full.
"An exploded view," said Konev at once. "They're intelligent, but their brains are devoted too entirely to the minutiae of swimming to allow enough room for abstract thought on the human scale."
"I have never studied dolphins," said Morrison indifferently.
"Ignore the dolphins," said Konev impatiently. "Just concentrate on the fact that your computer, properly programmed, may act as a relay station, passing thoughts from the mind of the subject you are studying to your own mind. If that is so, Albert, we need you and no other person in the world."
Morrison said, frowning and pushing his chair away from the table, "Even if I can pick up thoughts by way of my computer - a claim I have never made and which, in fact, I deny - what can that possibly have to do with miniaturization?"
Boranova rose and looked at her watch. "It is time," she said. "Let us go and see Shapirov now."
Morrison said, "What he says will make no difference to me."
"You will find," said Boranova with a hint of steel in her voice, "that he will say nothing - but will be utterly convincing just the same."
21.
Morrison had kept his temper well so far. The Soviets were, after all, treating him as a guest and if he could overlook the small matter of his being carried off by force, he had little of which to complain.
But what were they getting at? One by one, Boranova had introduced him to others - first Dezhnev, then Kaliinin, then Konev - for reasons he had not penetrated. Over and over, Boranova had hinted of his usefulness without actually saying what it might be. Now Konev talked of it and was equally uncommunicative.
And now they were to see Shapirov. Clearly this had to be a climax of sorts. From the first mention of him by Boranova at the convention two days ago, Shapirov had seemed to hover over the whole matter like a thickening fog. It was he who had worked out the miniaturization process, he who seemed to detect a connection between Planck's constant and the speed of light, he who seemed to value Morrison's neurophysical theories, and he who made the remark about the computer as relay station that had apparently set off Konev's conviction that Morrison - and only Morrison - could help them.
It remained for Morrison, now, to resist any blandishments or arguments that Shapirov could present. If Morrison insisted that he would not help them, what would they do when all the blandishments and arguments had failed?
Crude threat of force - or torture?
Brainwashing?
Morrison quailed. He dared not put his refusal on the basis that he would not. He would have to persuade them that he could not. Surely that was a reasonable position on which to take his stand. What could neurophysics - and a dubious, unaccepted bit of neurophysical work at that - have to do with miniaturization?
But why didn't they see that for themselves? Why did they all act as though it were conceivable that a person like himself, who had never as much as thought of miniaturization until some forty-eight hours before, could do something for them - them, the only experts in the field - that they could not do for themselves?
It was a rather lengthy walk along corridors and, lost in his own uncomfortable thoughts, Morrison did not notice that they were fewer in number than he had thought.
He said to Boranova suddenly, "Where are the others?"
She said, "They have work to do. We do not have forever to do what we must, you know."
Morrison shook his head. Chatty, they were not. None of them seemed to scatter information. Always close-lipped. A long-standing Soviet habit, perhaps - or something that was ground into them through their work on a secret project in which even the scientists dared not step outside the narrow limits of their immediate work.
Were they coming to him as a storybook American generalist? Nothing he had ever done, surely, would give anyone that impression. As a matter of fact, he was himself a narrow specialist, knowing virtually nothing outside of neurophysics. - This was a worsening disease of modern science, he thought.
They had entered another elevator, something he had scarcely bothered to notice, and they were now on another level. He looked around him and recognized characteristics that seemed to transcend national differences.
"Are we in a medical wing?" he asked.
"A hospital," said Boranova. "The Grotto is a self-contained scientific complex."
"And why are we here? Am I -" He stopped suddenly, as the horror of the thought smote him. Was he to be drugged or, by some other medical means, made more compliant?
Boranova had walked on for a moment, then stopped, looked back, and came toward him, saying snappishly, "Now what is frightening you?"
Morrison felt ashamed. Were his facial expressions that transparent? "Nothing is frightening me," he grumbled. "I am simply tired of walking aimlessly."
"What makes you think we are walking aimlessly? I said we were going to see Pyotor Shapirov. We are walking toward him now. - Come, we have only a few steps left."
They turned a corner and Boranova beckoned him to a window.
He stepped to her side and looked in. It was a room and there were a number of people present. There were four beds, but only one was occupied and it was surrounded by equipment that he did not recognize. There were tubes and glassware extending toward the bed and Morrison counted a dozen functionaries, who might be doctors, nurses, or medical technicians.
Boranova said, "There is Academician Shapirov."
"Which one?" said Morrison, his eyes traveling from one of the figures to the other and finding no one who seemed similar in appearance to the scientist he recalled haVing met once.
"In the bed."
"In the bed? He's ill, then?"
"Worse than ill. He is in a coma. He has been in a coma for over a month and we strongly suspect it is an irreversible state."
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that. I presume that is why you referred to him in the past tense before lunch."
"Yes, the Shapirov we know is in the past tense, unless -"
"Unless he recovers? But you just said the coma is probably irreversible."
"That's true. But neither is he brain-dead. The brain is damaged certainly or he wouldn't be in a coma, but it is not dead and Konev, who has followed your work closely, thinks that some of his thinking network is still intact."
"Ah," said Morrison, the light breaking. "I begin to understand. Why didn't you explain this to begin with? If you had wanted to consult me on such a matter and had explained, I might have been willing to come here with you voluntarily. Yet, on the other hand, if I were to study his cerebral functioning and tell you, 'Yes, Yuri Konev is right,' then what good will that do you?"
"That will do us no good at all. You don't yet begin to understand, you see, and I can't explain exactly what it is I want until you understand the problem. Do you quite realize what is buried there in the still-living portions of Shapirov's brain?"
"His thoughts, I suppose."
"Specifically, his thoughts of the interconnection of Planck's constant and the speed of light. His thoughts of a method for making miniaturization and deminiaturization rapid, low-energy, and practical. With those thoughts, we give humanity a technique that will revolutionize science and technology - and society - more than anything since the invention of the transistor. Perhaps more than anything since the discovery of fire. Who can tell?"
"Are you sure you're not being overdramatic?"
"No, Albert. Does it occur to you that if miniaturization can be tied in with a vast acceleration of the speed of light, a spaceship, if sufficiently miniaturized, can be sent to anywhere in the Universe at many times the ordinary speed of light. We won't need faster-than-light travel. Light will travel fast enough for us. And we won't need antigravity, for a miniaturized ship will have close to zero mass."
"I can't believe all that."
"You couldn't believe miniaturization."
"I don't mean I can't believe the results of miniaturization. I mean I can't believe that the solution of the problem is permanently locked in the brain of one man. Others will eventually think of it. If not now, then next year or next decade."
"It's easy to wait when you are not concerned, Albert. The trouble is we're not going to have a next decade or even a next year. This Grotto which you see all about you has cost the Soviet Union as much as a minor war. Each time we miniaturize anything - even if it's just Katinka - we consume enough energy to last a sizable town for a whole day. Already, our government leaders look askance at this expense and many scientists, who do not understand the importance of miniaturization or who are simply selfish, complain that all of Soviet science is being starved for the sake of the Grotto. If we do not come up with a device to save on energy - an extreme saving, too - this place will be shut down."
"Nevertheless, Natalya, if you publish what is now known of miniaturization and make it available to the Global Association for the Advancement of Science, then innumerable scientists will put their minds to it and quickly enough someone will devise a method for coupling Planck's constant and the speed of light."
"Yes," said Boranova, "and perhaps the scientist who will obtain the key of low-energy miniaturization will be an American or a Frenchman or a Nigerian or a Uruguayan. It is a Soviet scientist who has it now and we don't want to lose the credit."
Morrison said, "You forget the global fellowship of science. Don't cut it up into segments."
"You would speak differently if it were an American who was on the edge of the discovery and you were asked to do something that might possibly give the credit to one of us. Do you remember the history of the American reaction when the Soviet Union was the first to put an artificial satellite into orbit?"
"Surely we have advanced since then."
"Yes, we have advanced a kilometer, but we have not advanced ten kilometers. The world is not yet entirely global in its thinking. There remains national pride to a considerable extent."
"So much the worse for the world. Still, if we are not global and if national pride is something we are expected to retain, then I should have mine. As an American, why should I be disturbed over a Soviet scientist losing credit for the discovery?"
"I ask you only to understand the importance of this to us. I ask you to put yourself in our place for a moment and see if you can grasp our desperation to do what we can to find out what it is that Shapirov knows."
Morrison said, "All right, Natalya. I understand. I don't approve, but I understand. Now - listen carefully, please - now that I understand, what is it you want of me?"
"We want you," said Boranova intensely, "to help us find out what Shapirov's thoughts - his still-living and existing thoughts - are."
"How? There's nothing in my theory that makes that possible. Even granting that thinking networks do exist, and that brain waves can be minutely analyzed, and even granting that I occasionally get a mental image, possibly imaginary, possibly an artifact - there remains no way in which the brain waves can be studied to the extent of interpreting them in terms of actual thoughts."
"Not even if you could analyze, in detail, the brain waves of a single nerve cell that was part of a thinking network?"
"I couldn't deal with a single nerve cell in anything approaching the necessary kind of detail."
"You forget. You can be miniaturized and be inside that single nerve cell."
And Morrison stared at her in sick horror. She had mentioned something like this at their first meeting, but he had put it aside as nonsense - horrifying, but nonsense, since miniaturization, he was certain, was impossible. But miniaturization was not impossible and now the horror was undiluted and paralyzing.
22.
Morrison did not then, nor could he at any time afterward, clearly recall the events that immediately followed. It was not a case of everything going black as much as everything having blurred.
His next clear memory was that of lying on a couch in a small office with Boranova looking down at him and with the other three - Dezhnev, Kaliinin, and Konev - behind her. Those three came into focus more slowly.
He tried to struggle into a sitting position, but Konev moved toward him and placed his hand on Morrison's shoulder. "Please, Albert, rest awhile. Gather your strength."
Morrison looked from one to another in confusion. He had been upset, but he did not clearly remember what he had been upset about.
"What happened? How - how did I get here?" He looked around the room again. No, he hadn't been here. He had been looking through a window at a man in a hospital bed.
He said, puzzled, "Did I faint?"
"Not really," said Boranova, "but you weren't quite yourself for a while. You seemed to undergo a shock."
Now Morrison remembered. Again he tried to lift himself into a sitting position, more strenuously this time. He struck Konev's restraining hand out of the way. He was sitting up now, with his hands on the couch on either side of him.
"I remember now. You wanted me to be miniaturized. What happened to me when you said that?"
"You simply swayed and - crumpled. I had you placed on a stretcher and brought here. It didn't seem to anyone that you needed medication, merely a chance to rest and recover."
"No medication?" Morrison looked vaguely at his arms, as though he expected to see needle marks through the sleeve of his cotton blouse.
"None. I assure you."
"I didn't say anything before I collapsed?"
"Not a word."
"Then let me answer you now. I'm not going to be miniaturized. Is that clear?"
"It is clear that you say so."
Dezhnev sat down on the couch next to Morrison. He had a full bottle in one hand and an empty glass in the other.
"You need this," he said and half-filled the glass.
"What is it?" asked Morrison, lifting his arm to ward it off.
"Vodka," said Dezhnev. "It's not medicinal, it's nourishing."
"I don't drink."
"There is a time for everything, my dear Albert. This is a time for a warming bit of vodka, even for those who do not drink."
"I don't drink out of disapproval. I can't drink. I have no head for alcohol, that's all. If I take two swallows of that, I will be drunk within five minutes. Completely drunk."
Dezhnev's eyebrows went up. "So? What other purpose is there in drinking? Come, if you are lucky enough to win your goal in a few inexpensive sips, thank whatever you find thankable. A very small amount will warm you, stimulate your peripheral circulation, clear your head, concentrate your thoughts. It will even give you courage."
Kaliinin's voice sounded in half a whisper, but was distinctly audible. "Do not expect miracles of a little alcohol."
Morrison's head twisted sharply and he looked at her. She did not seem as pretty as he had thought her on their first meeting. There was a hard and unforgiving look about her.
Morrison said, "I have never represented myself as a courageous man. I have never presented myself as anything that would be of help to you. I have maintained from the beginning that I could not do anything for you. That I am here at all is the result of compulsion, as you all know. What do I owe you? What do I owe any of you?"
Boranova said, "Albert, you are shivering. Take a sip of the vodka. You will not be drunk on a sip and we won't force more on you."
Almost as though to show bravery in a small way, Morrison, after a moment's hesitation, took the glass from Dezhnev's hand and swallowed a bit of the liquor recklessly. He felt a burning sensation in his throat, which passed. The taste was rather sweetish than otherwise. He took a larger sip and handed the glass back. Dezhnev took it and placed it and the bottle on a small table on his side of the couch.
Morrison tried to speak, but he coughed instead. He waited, cleared his throat, and said breathily, "Actually, that's not so bad. If you don't mind, Arkady -"
Dezhnev reached for the glass, but Boranova said, "No. That's enough, Albert." Her imperious gesture stopped Dezhnev. "We do not want you drunk, Albert. Just a little warm so you will listen to us."
Morrison could feel the warmth rising within him, as it always had when, on rare occasions of social bonhomie, he had had some sherry or (once) a dry martini. He decided he could handle any argument she could produce.
"All right," he said, "say on," and set his lips into a firm and unyielding line.
"I don't say, Albert, you owe us anything and I'm sorry that all this came as such a shock to you. We are aware that you are not a reckless man of action and we tried to break it to you as gently as possible. I had hoped, in fact, that you would see what was essential on your own, without any necessity of explanation."
"You were wrong," said Morrison. "At no time would such a mad thing have occurred to me."
"You see our necessity, don't you?"
"I see your necessity. I don't see it as mine.
"You might feel you owe it to the cause of global science."
"Global science is an abstraction that I admire, but I am not likely to want to sacrifice my highly concrete body for an abstraction that doesn't seem to exist. The whole point of your necessity is that it is Soviet science that is at stake, not global science."
"Then consider American science," said Boranova, "If you help us, that will become an eternal part of the victory. It will become a joint Soviet-American victory."
"Will my part be publicized?" demanded Morrison. "Or will the thing be announced as purely Soviet?"
Boranova said, "You have my word."
"You cannot commit the Soviet Government."
"Horrible," said Kaliinin. "He judges our government by his own."
Konev said, "Wait, Natalya. Let me talk to our American friend, man to man." He sat down by Morrison and said, "Albert, I appeal to your interest in your work. So far, you have achieved little in the way of results. You have convinced no one in your country and you don't have any chance of doing so as long as you are left with only the tools you have. We offer you a better tool, one whose worth you couldn't dream of three days ago and one which you'll never have again if you turn away from it now. Albert, you have the chance to graduate from romantic speculations to convincing evidence. Do this for us and you will become, at a bound, the most famous neurophysicist in the world."
Morrison said, "You're asking me to risk my life on an untried technique."
"That is not unprecedented. All through history, scientists have risked death to continue their investigations. They have gone up in balloons and have dipped under the seas in primitive armored spheres to make their measurements and observations. Chemists have risked dealing with poisons and explosives, biologists with pathogens of all types. Physicians have injected themselves with experimental sera and physicists, in attempting to establish a self-supporting nuclear reaction, knew well that the explosion that resulted might destroy them or, conceivably, the entire planet."
Morrison said, "You spin dreams. You would never let it be known that an American played a role. Not when you confess your desperation at the possibility that Soviet science would lose the credit."
Konev said, "Let's be honest with each other, Albert. We couldn't hide your share in this, even if we wished to. The American government knows we brought you here. We know they do. You know they do. They made no move to stop us because they want you here. Well, they will know - or at least guess - what we wanted you here for and what you did for us, once we announce our success. And they will see to it that American science, in your person, will get full credit."
Morrison sat silently, head bent, for a while. There was a flushed spot, high on each cheek, as a result of the vodka he had drunk. Without looking, he knew that four pairs of eyes were firmly fixed upon him and he suspected that four breaths were being held.
He looked up and said, "Let me ask you one question. How did Shapirov come to be in a coma?"
There was again a silence and three of the pairs of staring eyes shifted to Natalya Boranova.
Morrison, seeing that, also stared at her. "Well?" he said.
Boranova said, "Albert, I will tell you the truth, even if that would tend to defeat our aims. If we try to lie to you, you will be right not to believe anything we say. If you see we are truthful, then you can believe us in the future. Albert, Academician Shapirov is in a coma because he was miniaturized, as we hope you will be. There was a small accident during deminiaturizing that destroyed part of his brain, apparently permanently. That can happen, you see, and we are not hiding it from you. Now give us the credit for utter frankness and say you will help us."