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"And?"
"And we're moving in the direction of the impulse."
"Good! A stroke of luck. We're heading for the axon, then."
"So it would seem."
Boranova said, "And if we are heading for the axon?"
Konev said, "Natalya, think! The skeptic waves travel along the surface of the cell. The cell here is wide and relatively large. The skeptic waves spread out over a large surface and are weakened in intensity. As the cell approaches the axon, it narrows. The axon itself is long, a very long tube compared to the cell - and very narrow. The waves must concentrate enormously as they race along that tube and they must grow more intense. What's more, the axon is insulated by a thick myelin sheath, so that the wave energy will not be lost to the outside, but will be kept tightly within the axon."
Boranova said, "You think, then, that we can receive more effectively in the axon?"
"Much more effectively. If you can detect curiosity now, it should be overwhelming in the axon. And you might be able to detect what Shapirov is curious about."
"It may turn out to be totally unimportant," said Morrison thoughtfully. "What if he's curious about why he should be lying there and not moving?"
"No," said Konev sharply, "that would not interest him. I knew Shapirov well. You didn't."
Morrison nodded. "That's true enough."
"All his waking time was consumed with the miniaturization process," said Konev. "All his dreams, too, I suspect. And toward the end, in the last few weeks before the - the accident took place, he was working, thinking, dreaming of the co
"Surely," said Morrison, "if that were the case, he must have given some hints as to some of the details of his thinking."
"No, he was a child in some ways. We knew what he was thinking of, but not whether he was making progress or in what direction. What he loved to do was to present it to us whole, complete. - Remember, Natalya, how he loved to do that? He did that with miniaturization itself. When he finally wrote his paper - it was a young book -"
Morrison said casually, "Where was it published?"
Konev sneered. "You know it wasn't published. It had a limited circulation to those who had to know. It's nowhere where you're likely ever to see it."
Boranova said, "Yuri, don't be needlessly insulting. Albert is a fellow crew member and a guest. He is not to be treated as a spy."
Konev said, "If you say so, Natalya. Nevertheless, if Shapirov is curious, so intensely curious that Natalya gets that message, it can be only about the quantum-relativity co
"And you think we'll get those details in the axon?"
"Yes, I'm sure of it." Konev clenched both fists as though preparing to get a stranglehold on the facts.
Morrison looked away. He was not sure of it. Increasingly, it was begi
He tried not to show it, but he was as excited as Konev was.
Dim objects to either side loomed up ahead, drifted to one side, left or right, and fell behind. Ribosomes? Golgi apparatus? Fibrils of one sort or another? Morrison could not tell. From the vantage point of small molecule size, nothing, not even the sharpest, most familiar intracellular object, would look familiar, let alone recognizable.
They were racing through a strange land of indefiniteness and Morrison could not, no matter how he tried, picture his surroundings as those with which he was familiar from electron micrography.
He wondered if, somewhere beyond where the light of the ship's beam extended, there would be the endless volume of the cell's nucleus. Imagine being within submicroscopic distance of it and yet never seeing it.
He concentrated on the immediate surroundings. It seemed to him, once again, that he ought to make out the water molecules that made up 98 percent of all the molecules in the cell, that huge percentage being the direct consequence of the fact that they were just about the smallest molecules there.
He could not be sure. Focus his eyes though he did and as tightly as he could, what he saw was only a faint glitter - a photon, perhaps, bouncing off such a molecule and flashing back toward his eye. At best, he would only see one or two from any given water molecule.
He was suddenly aware of Kaliinin's head, bending toward his. Her hair brushed his face and he noticed, as he had once or twice before, the fresh scent of her shampoo.
She said, "This is terrible, Albert."
Her breath was a little strong and Morrison flinched before he could stop himself.
She noticed, for her fingers came up sharply, covering her mouth, and she mumbled, "I'm sorry."
Morrison shook his head slightly, "My own breath isn't exactly a bed of roses. - Tension, nothing much to eat. A drink of water might help, Natalya."
One drink set off everybody, of course, in a chain reaction.
Kaliinin fingered a small white pellet. "Peppermint drop?"
Morrison held out his hand and smiled. "Is it permitted?"
Kaliinin's eye flickered back toward Boranova and she gave a Who-cares shrug. Having passed the drop to Morrison, Sophia popped another in her mouth.
Then she said again, "This is terrible, Albert."
"What is, Sophia?"
"How can we pass through this cell without examining it in detail?"
"We have a specific mission."
"Yes, but no one may be back within a brain cell for many years. Perhaps, never. When, in the future, someone will read that this ship and this crew merely raced through, looking neither to right or left, what barbarians they will think we must have been."
She was whispering very softly and their heads were bent close together. Morrison found himself rather enjoying it.
Had he grown so calloused to the threat of the situation - the constant skirting along the edge of the abyss of spontaneous deminiaturization, the possibility of split-second death at any moment - that he could take joy from the trivial fact that his lips were so close to the pretty face of a woman?
Well, why quarrel with that? Let the nearness anesthetize him, so that he might for a moment forget.
Morrison remembered the sharp image he had had so brief a time before of a happy, smiling, beautiful girl. He had not recognized the thought as his own, so unexpectedly had it come out of nowhere, and it didn't return, even now, but he remembered it distinctly and the memory squeezed at his heart with a warm feeling.
He had the momentary impulse to kiss her lightly, just a touch upon the cheekbone with his lips - and fought it down. If she decided to take it amiss, he would feel like an incredible fool.
Morrison said gently, "The people of the future will know we have a mission. They will understand."
"I wonder," Sophia said, then paused and sent a quick and almost fearful look in the direction of Konev, who as always sat stiff and detached at ally sign of speech or even motion from Kaliinin.
She turned to her computer, switched it to the word-processor mode, and tapped out in rapid Russian: YURI IS A FANATIC WHO SACRIFICES EVERYTHING TO HIS MANIA. THERE IS NO CHANCE OF READING THOUGHTS, BUT HE PERSUADES EVERYONE. She blanked it, then tapped out: WE ARE HIS VICTIMS and blanked it at once.
For "we," read "I," thought Morrison sadly. He looked at his own instrument hesitantly. It seemed to him that the thought waves, which he had dimmed to low, were growing more intense. Morrison looked out as though he might be able to tell just how near the axon they now were, but, of course, there was no way of knowing.