Fantastic Voyage II: Destination Brain fv-2 Read online

  "No no. It's your room, all right. Do come in and close the door behind you."

  Morrison followed orders, staring at the man in silent astonishment.

  He was a comfortably plump man, not quite fat, filling the chair from arm to arm. He wore a thin seersucker jacket and under it was a shirt so white that it seemed to glisten. He was not yet what one might call bald, but he was clearly on the way and what remained of his brown hair was crisply curly. He did not wear glasses, but his eyes were small and had a nearsighted look about them, which might be misleading - or which perhaps meant he wore contacts.

  He said, "You came back running, didn't you? I watched you -" he pointed out the window - "sitting on the bench, then get up and come toward the hotel at the double. I was hoping you would come up to your hotel room. I didn't want to sit up here all day waiting for you."

  "You were here in order to watch me from the window?"

  "No, not at all. That was just an accident. You just happened to walk out with the lady to that bench. Convenient, but not really foreseen. It's all right, though. If I hadn't had the view from the window, there were others watching."

  By that time Morrison had caught his breath and his mind had steadied itself to the point where he asked the question that should have had pride of place in the conversation. "Who are you, anyway?"

  In response the man, smiling, took a small wallet from his inner jacket pocket and let it flip open. He said, "Signature, hologram, fingerprint, voiceprint."

  Morrison looked from the hologram to the smiling face. The hologram was smiling, too. He said, "All right, so you're security. It still doesn't give you the right to break into my private quarters. I'm available. You could have called me from the lobby or knocked at my door."

  "Strictly speaking, you're right, of course. But I thought it best to meet you as discreetly as possible. Besides, I presumed on old acquaintance."

  "What old acquaintance?"

  "Two years ago. Don't you remember? An international conference in Miami? You were presenting a paper and had a hard time of it -"

  "I remember the occasion. I remember the paper. It's you I don't remember."

  "That's not surprising, perhaps. I met you afterward. I asked you questions, and we actually had a few drinks together."

  "I don't consider that old acquaintance. - Francis Rodano?"

  "That's my name, yes. You even pronounced it correctly. Accent on the second syllable. Broad a. Subliminal memory, obviously."

  "No, I don't remember you. The name was on your identification. - I'd rather you left."

  "I would like to talk to you in my official capacity."

  "Apparently everyone wants to talk to me. What about?"

  "Your work."

  "Are you a neurophysicist?"

  "You must know I'm not. Slavic languages was my major. I minored in economics."

  "Then what can we talk about? I'm good at Russian, but you're probably better. And I know nothing about economics."

  "We can talk about your work. As we did two years ago. - Look, why don't you sit down? It's your room and I won't really take long. If you want the chair I'm sitting on, I'll be glad to give it to you."

  Morrison sat down at the side of the bed. "Let's get this over with. What do you want to know about my work?"

  "The same thing I wanted to know two years ago. Is there anything to your notion that there's a specific structure in your brain that's specifically responsible for creative thought?"

  "Not quite a structure. It's not something you can cut out in the ordinary way. It's a neuronic network. Yes, I think there's something to that. Obviously. The catch is that no one else thinks so because they can't locate it and have no evidence for it."

  "Have you located it?"

  "No. I reason backward from results and from my analysis of brain waves and I don't seem to be convincing. My analyses are not - orthodox." He added bitterly, "Orthodoxy in this field has gotten them nowhere, but they won't let me be unorthodox."

  "I am told that you use mathematical techniques in your electroencephalographic analyses that are not only unorthodox, but are flat wrong. To be unorthodox is one thing; to be wrong is quite another."

  "The only reason they say I am wrong is that I cannot prove that I am right. The only reason I cannot prove that I am right is that I can't study an isolated brain neuron in sufficient detail."

  "Have you tried to study them? If you work with a living human brain, don't you leave yourself open to severe lawsuits or to criminal trial?"

  "Of course. I'm not mad. I've worked with animals. I have to."

  "You told me all this two years ago. I take it, then, you have made no startling discoveries in the last two years."

  "None. But I'm convinced I'm right just the same."

  "Your being convinced doesn't matter if you can't convince anyone else. But now I have to ask you another question. Have you done something in the last two years that has managed to convince the Soviets?"

  "The Soviets?"

  "Yes. What is this attitude of surprise, Dr. Morrison? Haven't you spent an hour or two in conversation with Dr. Boranova? Isn't she the one whom you just left in a great hurry?"

  "Dr. Boranova?" Morrison, in his confusion, could think of nothing better to do than play the parrot.

  Rodano's face lost none of its pleasantness. "Exactly. We know her well. We keep half an eye on her whenever she is in the United States."

  "You make it sound like the bad old days," mumbled Morrison.

  Rodano shrugged. "No, not at all. There is no danger of nuclear war now. We are polite to each other, the Soviet Union and we. We cooperate in space. We have a cooperative mining station on the moon and freedom of entry into each other's space settlements. That makes these the good new days. But, Doctor, some things don't change entirely. We keep an eye on our polite companions, the Soviets, just to make sure they stay virtuous. Why not? They keep an eye on us."

  Morrison said, "You keep an eye on me, too, it would seem."

  "But you were with Dr. Boranova. We couldn't help seeing you."

  "That won't happen again, I assure you. I have no intention of ever being in her vicinity again if I can help it. She's a madwoman."

  "Do you mean that literally?"

  "Take my word for it. - Look, nothing of what she and I talked about is secret as far as I'm concerned. What she said I feel free to repeat. She's involved in some miniaturization project."

  "We've heard of it," said Rodano easily. "They have a special town in the Urals devoted to miniaturization experiments."

  "Are they getting anywhere as far as you know?"

  "We wonder."

  "She's tried to tell me they are, that they've succeeded in producing actual miniaturization."

  Rodano said nothing.

  Morrison, who had waited a moment to let him speak, then said, "But that's impossible, I tell you. Scientifically impossible. You must realize that, Or, since your field of expertise is Slavic languages and economics, take my word for it. "

  "I don't have to, my friend. There are many others who say it is impossible and yet, nevertheless, we wonder. The Soviets are free to play with miniaturization if they please, but we don't actually want them to have it unless we do also. After all, we don't know to what uses it might be put."

  "To none! To none!" said Morrison fiercely. "There's no point in worrying about it. If our government really doesn't want the Soviet Union to get too far ahead in technology, it should encourage this miniaturization madness. Let the Soviets spend money on it - and time and material - and concentrate every atom of their scientific expertise on it. Everything will be wasted."

  "And yet," said Rodano. "I don't think Dr. Boranova is mad or a fool, any more than I think that you are mad or a fool. - Do you know what I was thinking as I watched the two of you in so intent a conversation on the park bench? It seemed to me that she wanted your help. Perhaps she thought that with your theories on neurophysics you could somehow help the Soviet pu
sh for miniaturization. Their peculiar theories and your peculiar theories might add up to something that is not at all peculiar. Or so I think."

  Morrison's lips tightened. "I told you I have no secrets to keep, so I'm telling you that you're right. Just as you say, she wants me to go to the Soviet Union and help out in their miniaturization project. I won't ask how you know that, but I don't think it's just an idle guess and don't try to persuade me it is."

  Rodano smiled and Morrison went on. "In any case, I said no. I refused absolutely. I stood up and left at once - and in a hurry. You saw me hurry. That's the truth. I would have reported it if you had given me time to do so. And I'm reporting it now, as a matter of fact, to you. Nor is there any reason for you not to believe me because why, under any circumstances, would I take any part in a project that has absolutely no sense to it. Even if I wanted to work against my country, which I don't, I'm enough of a physicist not to try to do so by involving myself in anything as insane as working on a project without hope. They might as well be working on a perpetual motion machine, or antigravity, or faster-than-light travel, or -" He was perspiring freely.

  And Rodano said gently, "Please, Dr. Morrison, no one doubts your loyalty. Certainly I don't. I'm not here because I am perturbed at your having had a discussion with the Russian woman. I am here because we had reason to think she might approach you and we feared you would not listen to her."

  "What?"

  "Now understand me, Dr. Morrison. Please understand. We would suggest - in fact, we would very much want - to have you go with Dr. Boranova to the Soviet Union."

  5.

  Morrison stared at Rodano, face pale, lower lip quivering slightly. He brushed at his hair with his right hand and said, "Why do you want me to go to the Soviet Union?"

  "Not I, personally. The United States Government wants it."

  "Why?"

  "For the obvious reason. If the Soviet Union is engaged in miniaturization experiments, we would like to know as much about them as possible."

  "You've got Madame Boranova. She must know a great deal. Grab her and beat it out of her."

  Rodano sighed and said, "I know you're joking. We can't do that these days. You know that. The Soviet Union would retaliate at once in the most unpleasant ways and world opinion would be with them. So let's not waste time with jokes like that."

  "All right. Granted, we can't do anything crude. I presume we have agents attempting to dig out the details."

  "The operative word, Doctor, is attempting. We have our agents in the Soviet Union, to say nothing of sophisticated espionage equipment both Earthside and in space, just as they have agents here. But if they and we are very good at poking around quietly, we're also very good at keeping things secret. If anything, the Soviet Union is better at it than we are. Even though these are not what you call the bad old days, the Soviet Union is still not quite an open society in our sense and they've had more than a century of practice in keeping things under the rug."

  "Then what do you expect me to do?"

  "You're different. The usual agent is sent into the Soviet Union or into some region in which the Soviet Union is operating under some cover which might possibly be penetrated. He - or she - must insinuate himself into a place where he is not really welcome and manage to elicit information that is secret. This isn't easy. He - or she - usually does not succeed and he - or she - is sometimes caught, which is always unpleasant all around. In your case, though, they're asking for you; they behave as though they need you. They will place you in the very midst of their secret installations. What an opportunity you will have."

  "But they've just asked me to go in these last two hours. How do you know so much about it?"

  "They've been interested in you for quite a while now. One of the reasons I made it my business to talk to you two years ago was because they seemed interested in you even at that time and we were wondering why that should be. So when they made their move, we were ready."

  Morrison's fingers drummed on the arm of the chair, his nails making a rhythmic clicking noise. "Let me get this straight. I'm to agree to go with Natalya Boranova to the Soviet Union, presumably to the region where they are supposedly working on miniaturization. I am to pretend to help them -"

  "You needn't pretend," said Rodano comfortably. "Help them if you can, especially if that means you get to know the process better."

  "All right, help them. And then give you what information I have when I return."

  "Exactly."

  "What if there is no information? What if the whole thing is one gigantic bluff or if they're only kidding themselves? What if they're following some Lysenko type down into an empty hole?"

  "Then tell us that. We would love to know that - if it's a matter of knowing and not just thinking. After all, the Soviets, we are pretty certain, are under the impression that we are making progress on the matter of antigravity. Maybe we are and maybe we're not. They don't know for certain and we're not about to let them find out. Since we're not asking any Soviet scientist to come and help us, we're not giving them an easy entry. For that matter, there's some talk the Chinese are working on faster-than-light travel. Oddly enough, those are two items you mentioned as being theoretically impossible. I haven't heard that anyone's working on perpetual motion, however."

  "These are ridiculous games the nations are playing," said Morrison. "Why don't they cooperate in these matters? We might as well be in the bad old days."

  "Not quite. But being in the good new days does not mean we're in heaven. There is still residual suspicion and there are still attempts to take a giant step forward before someone else does. Maybe it's even a good thing. If we're driven by selfish motives of aggrandizement, as long as that doesn't lead to war, we may make more rapid progress. To stop trying to steal a march on neighbors and friends might reduce us to indolence and decay."

  "So if I go and am eventually in a position to assure you, authoritatively, that the Soviets are drilling a dry hole or that they are indeed making progress of such and such a nature, then I will be helping not only the United States, but the whole world, to remain vigorous and progressiveeven including the Soviet Union."

  Rodano nodded. "That's a good way to look at it."

  Morrison said, "I have to give you people credit. You're clever con artists. However, I don't fall for it. I favor cooperation among nations and I'm not going to play these dangerous twentieth-century games in the rational twenty-first. I told Dr. Boranova I wasn't going and I'm telling you I'm not going."

  "Do you understand that it is your government that is asking this of you."

  "I understand that you are asking me and I'm refusing you. But if it happens that you actually represent the government's views in this, then I am prepared to refuse the government as well."

  6.

  Morrison sat there, flushed, chin up. His heart was beating rapidly and he felt heroic.

  Nothing can make me change my mind, he thought. What can they do? Throw me in jail? What for? They have to have a charge.

  He waited for anger from the other. For a threat.

  Rodano merely looked at him with an expression of quiet bemusement.

  "Why do you refuse, Dr. Morrison?" he asked. "Have you no feelings of patriotism?"

  "Patriotism, yes. Insanity, no."

  "Why insanity?"

  "Do you know what they plan to do with me?"

  "Tell me."

  "They intend to miniaturize me and place me in a human body to investigate the neurophysical state of a brain cell from the inside."

  "Why should they want you to do that?"

  "They imply it's to help me with my research, which they claim will also help them, but I certainly don't intend to submit to such an experiment."

  Rodano scratched lightly at his fluffy hair, put it into a mild disarray, and quickly flattened it again as though anxious not to show too much pink skin.

  He said, "You can't possibly be concerned over this. You tell me that miniaturization
is flatly impossible - in which case, they can't miniaturize you whatever their intentions or desires."

  "They'll perform some sort of experiment on me. They say they have miniaturization, which means they are either liars or mad, and in either case I won't have them playing games with me - either to do them pleasure, or to do you pleasure, or to do the whole American government pleasure."

  "They're not mad," said Rodano, "and whatever their intentions, they know very well we'd hold them responsible for the well-being of an American citizen invited by them to their country."

  "Thank you! Thank you! How would you hold them responsible? Send them a stiff note? Hold one of their citizens in reprisal? Besides, who says they'll execute me publicly in Red Square? What if they decide they don't want me to return and talk about their work on miniaturization? They'll have what they want of me - whatever that may be - and they'll decide that the American government need not benefit in their turn from any knowledge I may have gained from them. So they arrange a small accident. So sorry! So sorry! And they, of course, will pay reparations to my sorrowing family and send back a flag-draped coffin. No, thank you. I'm not the type for a suicide mission."

  Rodano said, "You dramatize. You'll be a guest. You will help them if you can and you needn't be ostentatious about learning things. We're not asking you to be a spy; we will be grateful for anything you may pick up more or less unavoidably. What's more, we will have people there who will keep an eye on you if they can. We intend to see to it that you get back safely -"

  "If you can," interposed Morrison.

  "If we can," agreed Rodano. "We can't promise you miracles. Would you believe us if we did?"

  "Do what you will, this is not a job for me. I'm not that courageous. I'm not planning to become a pawn in some crazy chess game, with my life very possibly at stake, just because you - or the government - ask me to."

  "You frighten yourself unnecessarily."

  "Not so. Fright has its proper role; it keeps one cautious and alive. There's a trick to staying alive when you're someone like me; it's called cowardice. It may not be admirable to be a coward if someone has the muscles and mind of an ox, but it's no crime for a weakling to be one. I am not so great a coward, however, that I can be forced to take on a suicide role, simply because I fear revealing my weakness. I reveal it gladly. I am not brave enough for the role. Now, please leave."