"No," muttered Morrison, taken aback.

"There's nothing remarkable about being afraid," she went on, "as long as you don't act afraid - as long as you don't let yourself be twisted into doing nothing because of fear, into having hysterics because of fear, into failing -" She interrupted herself in a bitter, whispered self-accusation. "I've had hysterics in my time." Her glance flickered in the direction of Konev, whose back was straight, stiff, and motionless.

"But now," she went on, "I intend to do my part, even if I am half-dead with fear. No one will tell from my actions that I'm afraid. And that had better be your case, too, Mr. American."

Morrison swallowed hard and he said, "Yes, of course," but it sounded very unconvincing, even to him.

His eyes flicked backward, then forward. There was no use whispering in those close quarters. There was no whisper so low it would not be overheard.

Boranova, behind Kaliinin, was obviously busy with her miniaturization mechanism, but there was a tiny smile on her face. Approval? Contempt? Morrison couldn't tell.

As for Dezhnev, he turned his head and called out, "Natasha, it is continuing to narrow. Should you hasten the miniaturization?"

"I'll do what is needed, Arkady."

Dezhnev's eye caught Morrison's and he winked, with a grin. "Don't believe little Sophia," he said, pretending to whisper. "She is not afraid. Never afraid. She just doesn't want you to be alone with your uneasiness. She has a very soft heart, our Sophia, as soft as her -"

"Keep quiet, Arkady," said Sophia. "Surely your father must have told you that it is not wise to beat the empty teapot you call your head with the rusty spoon you call your tongue."

"Ah," said Dezhnev, rolling his eyes, "that was harsh. What my father did say was that no knife could be honed as sharp as a woman's tongue. - But, Albert, seriously, reaching molecular size is nothing. Wait until we have learned to attach relativity to quantum theory and then, with a tiny puff of energy, we will reduce ourselves to subatomic size. Then you will see."

"What will I see?" said Morrison.

"You would see instant acceleration. We would simply take off -" He removed his hands from the controls momentarily in order to make a whizzing gesture with them, accompanied by a shrill whistle.

Boranova said calmly, "Hands on the controls, Arkady."

"Of course, my dear Natasha," said Dezhnev, "A moment of excusable drama, no more." Then to Morrison, "Instantly we would go at nearly the speed of light, the much faster speed of light under such conditions. In ten minutes we could be across the Galaxy, in three hours at the Andromeda, in two years at the nearest quasar. And if that's not fast enough, we can get smaller still. We have faster-than-light travel, we have antigravity, we have everything. The Soviet Union will lead the way to it all."

Morrison said, "And how would you guide the flight, Arkady?"

"What?"

"How would you guide it?" said Morrison seriously. "As soon as the ship swoops down to the proper sizelessness and masslessness, it will, in effect, radiate outward at hundreds of light-years per second. That means that if there were trillions of ships, they would shoot out in every direction with spherical symmetry - like sunlight. But since there would only be one ship, it would move outward in one particular direction, but in an absolutely unpredictable one."

"That's a problem for the clever theoreticians - like Yuri."

Konev had not indicated any interest in the conversation up to that point, but now he snorted loudly.

Morrison said, "I'm not sure that it's wise to develop the traveling and carelessly assume the steering. Wouldn't your father say: 'A wise man does not build the roof of a house first.'"

"He might," said Arkady, "but what he once did say was this: 'If you find a gold key without a lock, don't throw it away. The gold is also sufficient.'"

Boranova stirred in her seat behind Morrison and said, "Enough with the saws and sayings, my friends. - Where are we, Yuri? Are we making progress?"

Konev said, "In my opinion we are, but I would like the American to support my judgment, or correct it."

"How can I do either?" snapped Morrison. "I'm strapped in."

"Then unstrap," said Konev. "if you float a bit, at least you can't float very far."

For a moment, Morrison fumbled at his seat belt, having forgotten the location of the appropriate contact. Kaliinin's hand moved quickly and he was free.

"Thank you, Sophia," he said.

"You will learn," she replied indifferently.

"Lift yourself so that you can see over my shoulder," said Konev.

Morrison did so and, inevitably, pushed too hard against the back of the seat ahead. As a result of his insignificant inertia, he moved upward explosively and struck his head against the roof of the ship. Had this happened at the same speed under unminiaturized conditions, he might well have suffered the blinding pain of a concussion, but the very lack of mass and inertia that had sent him shooting upward had bounced him back almost once with no sensation of pain and virtually none of pressure. He was as easy to stop as he had been to start.

Konev clicked his tongue. "Gently. Just lift your hand upward edgewise, turn it slowly, then push it down flatwise, slowly. Do you get it?"

Morrison said, "I understand."

He followed Konev's suggestion and moved up slowly. He caught at Konev's shoulder and stopped himself.

Konev said, "Now, look here at the cerebrograph. Do you see where we are at this moment?"

Morrison found himself looking at an enormously complex network, with a distinct three-dimensional effect. It consisted of sinuous rills branching outward in such a way as to form an exceedingly intricate tree. In one of the larger branches there was a small red dot, moving slowly and progressively.

Morrison said, "Can you give me a broader view so that I can place this section?"

Konev, with another click of his tongue, one that might have signified impatience, expanded the view. "Does this help?"

"Yes, we're on the edge of the brain." He could recognize the individual convolutions and fissures. "Where do you plan to go?"

The picture magnified somewhat. Konev said, "We'll curve off here into the interior of the neuronic layer - the gray matter. And where I'd like to head for, by this route" - he named the areas in Russian rapidly and Morrison struggled to translate them in his mind into English - "is this area here which, if I have read your papers correctly, is a crucial node of the neuronic network."

"No two brains are exactly alike," said Morrison. "I can pin down nothing with certainty, all the more so if the particular brain in question is one I have never studied. Still, I would say the area you're heading for looks hopeful."

"Good, as far as that goes. And if we get to my destination, will you be able to tell more accurately whether we are at a crossroads where several branches of the network meet or, if not, in what direction and how far such a crossroads might be?"

"I can try," said Morrison cautiously, "but please remember that I have made no guarantees as to my abilities in this connection. I have not offered you any promises. I have not volunteered -"

"We know that, Albert," said Boranova. "We ask only that you do what you can."

"In any case," said Konev, "that's where we're going as a first approximation and we'll get there before long, even though the current is slowing. We are, after all, almost down to capillary size. - Strap yourself in, Albert. I'll let you know if I need you."

Morrison managed to operate the seat belt without any help, proving that even small triumphs can be sweet.

Almost to capillary size, he thought, and looked out through the walls of the ship.

The vessel wall was still at a comfortable distance, but it had changed in appearance. Earlier, the steadily pulsating walls had been rather featureless. Now, however, Morrison could make out no pulsing and the walls were beginning to look faintly tiled. The tiling, Morrison realized, consisted of the cells that made up the thinning walls.