Fantastic Voyage II: Destination Brain fv-2 Read online

  "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 fathe
r 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 we
ll 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."