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He blanked the radiation, switched to word-processing, and printed out in Roman-lettered Russian: HE, TOO, IS HIS VICTIM.
Kaliinin at once printed savagely: NO. I DON'T BELIEVE PEOPLE ARE THEIR OWN VICTIMS.
Morrison thought sadly of his one-time wife, his two children, his own inability to present his theory persuasively, or, alternatively, to walk away from it, and tapped out: I BELIEVE WE ARE EACH OF US MORE A VICTIM OF OURSELVES THAN OF ANYONE ELSE and returned it quickly to the thoughtwave mode.
He sucked in his breath sharply. The waves on his screen had risen high in intensity despite the fact that the device was still at low.
Morrison opened his mouth to comment on the fact, but Dezhnev made that u
That would account for it, thought Morrison. The cell was narrowing in toward the axon and the skeptic waves were being enormously concentrated. His device, having filtered out everything else, would radiate the wave function of the skeptic waves throughout the interior of the ship. And with what results?
Konev said with delight, "We'll see what happens now. Albert, keep your machine working at top intensity."
Boranova said, "I hope that whatever happens gives us our answer or at least a start to our answer. I have grown tired waiting."
"I don't blame you," said Dezhnev. "As my father used to say: 'The longer it takes to get to a point, the blunter it turns out to be.'"
It seemed to Morrison that every line of Konev's stiff body now betokened excitement and expectant triumph - but Morrison did not join in that expectation.
Morrison stared outward. They were well into the axon now and being carried along it by the fluid stream within the cell.
In the real world, the axon was an excessively thin fiber, but in the microminiaturized world of the ship, it might be the equivalent of a hundred kilometers across. As for its length, it was much, much longer than the cell itself. Going from one end to the other of the axon might very well be the equivalent of a trip from the Earth to the moon and back a couple of dozen times over. On the other hand, their apparent speed on the microminiaturized scale must seem, to themselves, to be a respectable faction of the speed of light.
There was no indication of that incredibly rapid speed, however. The ship was moving with the current and there was far less in the way of macromolecules or organelles in the axon than there had been in the cell body. If there were structural fibers withstanding the current and remaining motionless with respect to the cell membrane, the current swept them past those too rapidly for them to be visible, even if a sizable number of photons were reflected from them - which, of course, they were not.
So he gave up. There was nothing to look at outside.
He ought, in any case, to be looking at his screen. The skeptic waves were becoming even more intense, he could see. It had grown difficult to wipe out the nonskeptic material. It was so strong that it flooded the computer's receiving capacity.
What's more, the tight, elaborate vibration of the skeptic waves had become a series of irregular spikes. Even at full expansion, it was clear he wasn't getting all the detail that existed. Morrison had a clear vision of the necessity of a laser printout clear enough to be placed under a microscope.
Konev had unclasped himself and had half-lifted himself over the back of his seat so that he might stare at the screen.
He said, "I haven't seen it like that before."
Morrison replied, "Nor have I and I have been studying skeptic waves for nearly twenty years. Nothing like this."
"I was right, then, about the axon?"
"Absolutely, Yuri. The waves have concentrated themselves beautifully."
"And the meaning, then?"
Morrison spread out his hands helplessly. "There you have me. Since I have never seen anything like this, I obviously can't interpret it."
"No no," said Konev impatiently. "You keep concentrating on the screen and I keep thinking about induction. Our own minds are the true receptors - by way of your machine. What do you receive? Images? Words?"
"Nothing," said Morrison.
"That's impossible."
"Are you getting anything?"
"It's your machine. Adjusted to you."
"You've had images before, Yuri."
Dezhnev's voice broke in dryly, "My father used to say: 'If you want to hear, you must begin by listening.'"
Boranova said, "Dezhnev Senior is correct. We can receive nothing if we fill our minds with contention and shouts."
Konev drew a deep breath and said with a softness that was most uncharacteristic of him, "Very well, then, let us concentrate."
An u
Then Kaliinin said, breaking the silence rather timidly, "There is no time."
"No time for what, Sophia," said Boranova.
"I mean that's the phrase I sensed: 'There is no time.'"
Morrison said, "Are you saying that you received it from Shapirov's skeptic waves?"
"I don't know. Is that possible?"
Boranova said, "A moment before I had the same thought. It occurred to me that a better way of tackling the problem might be to study the recorded skeptic waves on the screen and to wait for sudden changes. It might be the change of pattern rather than the pattern itself that would produce an image. But then I thought that the waiting might be an enormously long drawn-out affair and for that we lacked the time."
"In other words," said Morrison, "you thought, 'There is no time.'
"Yes," said Boranova, "but it was my own thought."
"How can you know, Natalya?" said Morrison.
"I know my own thoughts."
"You also know your own dreams, but sometimes dreams arise out of external stimuli. Suppose you receive the thought 'There is no time.' Because you are not accustomed to receiving thoughts, you quickly build up a line of free association that makes it reasonable for you to feel that you have had the thought yourself."
"That may be so, but how does one tell, Albert?"
"I'm not sure, but Sophia apparently sensed the same phrase and we might ask if she were thinking something independently that would give rise to the phrase as a matter of course."
"No, I was not," said Kaliinin. "I was trying to keep my mind empty. It just came in."
"I didn't sense anything," said Morrison. "How about you, Yuri?"
Konev shook his head, frowning ferociously at his failure. "No, I didn't."
"In any case," said Morrison thoughtfully, "it needn't mean anything. Natalya felt it might be an idle thought that arose out of a series of previous thoughts in a natural way and with none but the most superficial meaning. Even if the thought had arisen in Shapirov's mind, it might be equally superficial there."
"Perhaps," said Konev, "but perhaps not. His whole life and mind were bound up in the problems of miniaturization. He would be thinking of nothing else."
"You keep saying that," said Morrison, "but, actually, that is romantic nonsense. No one thinks of nothing else. The most lovesick Romeo in history could not concentrate on his Juliet forever. A twinge of colic, a distant sound, and he would be distracted at once."
"Nevertheless, we must take anything Shapirov says as possibly significant."
"Possibly," said Morrison. "But what if he were trying to work out the extension of the miniaturization theory and decided to moan he had no time, that there was insufficient time to complete his work?"
Konev shook his head, more, it seemed, to brush off distraction than in a clear negative. He said, "How about this? What if it seemed to Shapirov that any miniaturization that involved an increase in the speed of light proportional to the decrease in Planck's constant would involve a change that was instantaneous, that took no time. And, of course, as the speed of light increased vastly, so would the inevitable speed of a massless - or nearly massless - object. He would, in effect, abolish time and could say to himself proudly, 'There is no time.'"