Boranova said, "Very farfetched."

"Of course," said Konev, "but worth thinking about. We must record every impression we get, however dim, however apparently meaningless."

"I plan to do precisely that, Yuri," said Boranova.

Konev said, "Then quiet again. Let's see if we can get anything more."

Morrison concentrated fiercely, his eyes half-buried under jutting eyebrows, but those same eyes were fixed on Konev, who sighed and said in a whisper, "I get something over and over - 'nu times c equals m sub s.'"

Morrison said, "I got that, too, but I thought it was 'm times c square.'

"No," said Konev tightly. "Try again."

Morrison concentrated, then, quite abashed, said, "You're right. I get it, too: 'nu times c equals m sub s.' What does it mean?"

"Who can say at first glance? However, if this is in Shapirov's mind, it means something. We can assume that nu is radiational frequency, c the speed of light, and m sub s is the standard mass - that is, the mass at rest under ordinary conditions. In the light of -"

Boranova's arms lifted with an admonitory forefinger upraised. Konev stopped short and said uncomfortably, "But that is neither here nor there."

Morrison grinned, "Classified material, eh, Yuri?"

And then Dezhnev's voice sounded with an unaccustorned petulance to it. "How is it," he said, "that you are hearing all these things about time and standard mass and whatnot and I sense nothing? Is it that I am not a scientist?"

Morrison said, "I doubt that that has anything to do with it. Brains are different. Maybe they come in different types the way blood does. Blood is blood but you can't always transfuse one person's blood into another. Your brain may be sufficiently different from Shapirov's so that there is no sensory crossover."

"Only mine?"

"Not only yours. There may be billions of minds that can pick up nothing from Shapirov. You'll notice that Sophia and Natalya can pick up the same things, which Yuri and I cannot - and vice versa."

"Two men and two women," grumped Dezhnev, "and I am what?"

Konev said impatiently, "You are wasting our time, Arkady. Let's not endlessly discuss every tiny thing we pick up. We have more to hear and little time to do it in. If you concentrate a little harder, Arkady, you, too, may sense something."

Silence!

It was broken occasionally by a soft murrnur from one or another who reported sensing an image or a scrap of words. Dezhnev contributed only one thing: "I sense a feeling of hunger, but it may be my own."

"Undoubtedly," said Boranova dryly. "Console yourself with the thought, Arkady, that when we get out of here, you will be allowed seconds and thirds of every dish and unlimited vodka."

Dezhnev grinned almost lasciviously at the thought.

Morrison said, "We don't seem to come across anything mathematical or even out of the ordinary. I insist that even Shapirov must have the great majority of his thoughts concerned with trivia."

"Nevertheless," grunted Konev under his breath, "we listen."

"For how long, Yuri?"

"Till the end of the axon. Right down to the end."

Morrison said, "Do you then intend to run into the synapses or will you double back?"

"We will go as close to the synapses as possible. That will bring us into the immediate neighborhood of the adjoining nerve cell and the skeptic waves may be even more easily sensed at that crucial point of transfer than anywhere else."

Dezhnev said, "Yes, Yuri, but you are not the captain. - Natasha, little flower, is that what you wish, too?"

Boranova said, "Why not? Yuri is right. The synapse is a unique spot and we know nothing about it."

"I ask only because half our power supply has now been consumed. How long dare we continue to remain within the body?"

"Long enough," said Boranova, "to reach the synapse, certainly."

And silence fell once more.

The ship continued to move along the enormous length of the axon and Konev dictated the actions of the others more and more.

"Whatever you get, report. It doesn't matter whether it makes sense or not, whether it's one word or a paragraph. If it's an image, describe it. Even if you think it's your own thought, report it if there's the slightest doubt."

"You'll have meaningless chatter," said Dezhnev, apparently still annoyed at his nonreceiving brain.

"Of course, but two or three meaningful hints will pay all. And we won't know what's meaningful until we examine everything."

Dezhnev said, "If I sense something I think isn't mine, do I throw it in, too?"

"You, especially," said Konev. "If you're as insensitive as you seem to think, anything you do get may be particularly important. Now, please, no more talk. Every second of conversation may mean we miss something."

And there began a period of disjointed phrases out of which, in Morrison's opinion, it was impossible to make sense.

One surprise came when Kaliinin said suddenly, "'Nobel Prize!'"

Konev looked up sharply and almost responded - then, as though realizing who had said it, he subsided.

Morrison said, trying not to sound mocking, "Did you get that, too, Yuri?"

Konev nodded. "At almost the same time."

"That's the first crossover between a man and woman," said Morrison. "I suppose Shapirov had his mind on it in connection with his extension of miniaturization theory."

"Undoubtedly. But his Nobel Prize was sure for what he had already done in miniaturization."

"Which is classified and therefore unknown."

"Yes. But once we perfect the process, it will no longer be unknown."

"Let's hope so," said Morrison sardonically.

Konev snapped, "We are no more secretive than you Americans."

"All right. I'm not arguing," but Morrison grinned broadly at Konev, who was peering over his shoulder at him, and that seemed to irritate the younger man even further.

At one point, Dezhnev said, "'Hawking.'"

Morrison's eyebrows lifted in surprise. He had not expected this.

Boranova said, looking displeased, "What is this, Arkady?"

"I said, 'Hawking,'" said Dezhnev defensively. "Out of nowhere it popped into my mind. You told me to tell you anything that did."

"It is an English word," said Boranova, "that means 'spitting.'

"Or 'selling,'" said Morrison cheerfully.

Dezhnev said, "I don't know enough English to know that word. I thought it was someone's name."

"So it was," said Konev uncomfortably. "Stephen Hawking. He was a great English theoretical physicist of over a century ago. I was thinking of him, too, but I thought it was my own thought."

Morrison said, "Good, Arkady. That might be useful."

Dezhnev's face split with a grin. "I'm not altogether useless, then. As my father used to say: 'If the words of a wise man are few, they are nevertheless worth listening to.'"

An interminable half hour later, Morrison said gently, "Are we getting anywhere at all? It seems to me that most of the phrases and images tell us nothing. 'Nobel Prize' tells us, reasonably enough, that Shapirov thought of winning one, but we know that. 'Hawking' tells us that that physicist's work was significant, perhaps, in connection with the extension of miniaturization, but it doesn't tell us why."

It was not Konev who rose to the defense, as Morrison would have expected, but Boranova. Konev, who might have been readying himself for a response, seemed willing, on this occasion, to let the captain bear the weight.

Boranova said, "We are dealing with an enormous cryptogram, Albert. Shapirov is a man in a coma and his brain is not thinking in a disciplined or orderly fashion. It is sparking wildly, those parts of it that remain whole, perhaps randomly. We collect everything without distinction and it will all be studied by those of us with a deep understanding of miniaturization theory. They may see meaning where you see none. And a bit of meaning, in one corner of the field, may be the start of an illumination that will spread to all parts of it. What we are doing makes sense and it is the proper thing to do."