"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.

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."