"It's either consent to be miniaturized or consent to be destroyed. Isn't that it?"

Boranova thrust out her lips. "That's a harsh way of putting it. I prefer that you look at it this way. Either you agree to help us by noon or you will be on a plane to the United States by 2 p.m. What do you say? It is now nearly 11 a.m. You have over an hour to decide."

"What's the use? An hour won't change anything. I'll be miniaturized."

"We will be miniaturized. You will not be alone." Boranova reached out and touched a contact on her desk.

Dezhnev entered. "Well, Albert. You stand there looking so sad, so crumpled, that it strikes me you have decided to help us."

Boranova said, "You need make no sardonic remarks. Albert will help us and we will be grateful for his help. His decision was a voluntary one."

"I'm sure it was," said Dezhnev. "How you squeezed it out this time, Natasha, I can't say, but I knew you would. - And I must contratulate you, too, Albert. It took her quite a bit longer than I thought it would."

Morrison could only stare at the two vacantly. He felt as though he had swallowed an icicle whole - one that didn't melt but that, instead, reduced the temperature of his abdomen to the freezing point.

Certainly, he was shivering.

Chapter 7. Ship

Morrison felt numb all through lunch and yet in a way the pressure was off. There were no determined voices pressing on him, no intensity of explanations and persuasions, no smiles of intent, no heads closing in.

Of course, they made it quite clear, in a cool businesslike way, that he would no longer leave the Grotto till the deed was done and that from the Grotto there was, of course, no escape.

And then every once in a while a thought swirled into his mind. He had actually agreed to be miniaturized!

They took him to a room of his own in the Grotto where he could view book-films through a viewer provided for his personal use - even English-language book-films if he wanted the inner familiarity of home to pass the next few hours. So he sat there with a book-film unreeling through the viewer strapped on his eyes and somehow it left his mind totally untouched.

He had actually agreed to be miniaturized!

He had been told that he could do as he pleased until someone came for him. He could do as he pleased, that is, provided he did not please to leave. There were guards everywhere.

The feeling of terror had, Morrison was aware, much diminished. That was the use of numbness and, of course, the more one repeats a sentence in one's mind, the more it loses meaning. He had actually agreed to be miniaturized, The more it rang in his mind like the tolling of a bell, over and over, the more the horror of it faded. And left a mere vacuum of non-sensation in its place.

He was distantly aware that the door of his room had opened. Someone, he presumed dully, had come for him. He removed his viewer, lifted his eyes languidly, and, for just a moment, felt a mild spark of interest.

It was Sophia Kaliinin, looking beautiful even to his bleared senses. She said in English, "A good afternoon to you, gentleman."

He grimaced slightly. He would rather hear Russian than English delivered with quite so distorted an accent.

He said sullenly in Russian, "Please speak in Russian, Sophia."

His Russian might be as distressing to her, for all he knew, as her English was to him, but he didn't care. He was here by their doing and if his shortcomings troubled them, that was their doing, too.

She shrugged slightly and said in Russian, "Certainly - if that is what pleases you."

Then she stared at him for a thoughtful while. He met that stare easily enough for, at the moment, he did not much care what he did and looking at her was not much different to him than looking at something else would have been - or looking at nothing would have been. The momentary impression of beauty that had come with her entrance had faded.

She said finally, "I understand that you have now agreed to accompany us on our venture."

"Yes, I have."

"That is good of you. We are all grateful. In all honesty, I did not think you would do so, since you are an American. I apologize."

Morrison said with a far-off touch of regret and anger, "The decision to help you was not voluntary. I was persuaded - by an expert."

"By Natalya Boranova?"

Morrison nodded.

"She is very good at persuading," said Kaliinin. "Not very kind, usually, but very good. I, too, required persuasion."

"Why you?" said Morrison.

"I had other reasons - ones that were important to me."

"Indeed? What were they?"

"But unimportant to you."

There was a short uncomfortable pause.

"Come, the task I have been given is to show you the ship," said Kaliinin.

"The ship? How long have you been planning this? Have you had time to build a ship?"

"For the specific purpose of testing Shapirov's brain from within? Of course not. It was meant for other, simpler purposes, but it is the only thing we have that we can use. - Come, Albert, Natalya thinks it will be wise for you to become acquainted with it, see it, feel it. It is possible that the down-to-earthness of the technology will reconcile you to the task."

Morrison held back. "Why must I see it now? Can't I have time to grow accustomed to the whole subject of personal miniaturization?"

"That is foolish, Albert. If you had more time to sit in your room and brood, you would have more time to feed your uncertainty. Besides, we have no time. How long do you suppose we can allow Shapirov to lie there deteriorating, with his thoughts diminishing with each moment? The ship embarks on its journey tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning," muttered Morrison, his throat dry. Foolishly, he looked at his watch.

"You have few enough hours, but we'll keep track of the time for you so you need not consult your watch. Tomorrow morning the ship enters a human body. And you will be on the ship."

Then, without warning, she slapped his cheek hard. She said, "Your eyes were beginning to turn upward. Were you planning to faint?"

Morrison rubbed his cheek, grimacing with pain. "I wasn't planning anything," he mumbled, "but I might have fainted without planning it. Have you no gentler way of breaking the news?"

"Have I really caught you by surprise, when you already know that you have agreed to be miniaturized and it is self-evident that we have no time?"

She gestured peremptorily, "Now come with me."

And Morrison, still rubbing his cheek and seething with rage and humiliation, followed.

It was back to the miniaturization area - back to the busy people, each concerned with their own affairs and paying no attention to one another. Through them all, Kaliinin walked with an erect carriage and maintained the aristocratic air that arises automatically when all defer to you.

She was one of the leading lights, Morrison could see (his hand still resting lightly on his cheek, which felt inflamed and which he hesitated to expose), and all who crossed or even neared her path nodded their heads in a kind of rudimentary bow and stepped a little backward, as though to make sure not to impede her patch. No one acknowledged Morrison's presence at all.

On, on, through one room after another - and everywhere the feel of pent-up energy held in bare check.

Kaliinin must have sensed it too, familiar as she must be with it, for she muttered to Morrison with a certain pride, "There's a solar power station in space, a major part of whose output is reserved for Malenkigrad."