Isaac Asimov - Fantastic Voyage II - Destination Brain

Boranova shook her head. "You are a hard man to convince, Dr. Morrison. I have been truthful with you from the start. The project is one of miniaturization."

"I cannot believe that."

"Why, then, are you in the city of Malenkigrad?"

"Small city? Littletown? Tinyburg?" said Morrison, feeling a pleasure in hearing his own voice sound the phrases in English. "Perhaps because it is a small city."

"As I have had periodic occasion to say, Dr. Morrison, you are not a serious man. Still, you will not be in doubt long. There are a few people you should meet. One of them should, in fact, be here by now." She looked around with an annoyed frown. "So where is he?"

Morrison said, "I notice that no one approaches us. Every once in a while, the people at the other tables look at me, but then they look away if they catch my eye."

"They have been warned," said Boranova absently. "We will not waste your time with irrelevancies and almost everyone here is an irrelevancy as far as you are concerned. But some are not. Where is he?" She rose. "Dr. Morrison, excuse me. I must find him. I will not be gone long."

"Is it safe to leave me?" said Morrison sardonically.

"The soldiers will remain, Dr. Morrison. Please do not give them cause to react. Intellect is not their forte and they are trained to follow orders without the painful necessity of thinking, so they might easily hurt you."

"Don't worry. I'll be careful."

She left, moving hurriedly out the door after exchanging a few words with the soldiers as she passed.

Morrison watched her go, then glanced over the dining room morosely. Having found nothing of interest, he bent his eyes upon his clasped hands on the table and then stared at the still-sizable portions of unconsumed food before him.

"Are you all through, comrade?"

Morrison looked up sharply. He had decided "comrade" was an archaism, hadn't he?

— A woman was standing, looking at him, with one balled fist on her hip in a negligent manner. She was a reasonably plump woman in a white uniform, slightly stained. Her hair was reddish-brown, as were her eyebrows, which arched disdainfully.

"Who are you?" asked Morrison, frowning.

"My name? Valeri Paleron. My function? Hardworking serving woman, but Soviet citizen and member of the party. I brought you this food. Didn't you notice me? Am I beneath your notice, perhaps?"

Morrison cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, miss. I have other things on my mind. - But you had better leave the food. Someone else is supposed to be coming here, I think."

"Ah! And the Tsarina? She will be back, too, I suppose?"

"The Tsarina?"

"You don't think we have Tsarinas any longer in the Soviet Union? Think again, comrade. This Boranova, the granddaughter of peasants and a long line of peasants, considers herself quite a lady, I'm sure." She made a sound with her lips like a long "psh-sh-sh," redolent with contempt and a touch of herring.

Morrison shrugged. "I do not know her very well."

"You are an American, aren't you?"

Morrison said sharply, "Why do you say that?"

"Because of the way you speak Russian. With that accent, what would you be? The son of Tsar Nicholas the Tyrant?"

"What's wrong with the way I speak Russian?"

"It clashes as though you learned it in school. You can hear an American a kilometer away as soon as he says, 'A glass of vodka, please.' He is not as bad as an Englishman, of course. Him you can hear two kilometers away."

"Well, then, I'm an American."

"And you'll be going home someday?"

"I certainly hope so."

The serving woman nodded her head quietly, pulled out a rag, and wiped the table thoughtfully. "I would like to visit the United States someday."

Morrison nodded. "Why not?"

"I need a passport."

"Of course."

"And how does a simple, loyal serving woman get one?"

"I suppose you must apply for one."

"Apply? If I go to a functionary and I say, 'I, Valeri Paleron, wish to visit the United States,' he will say, 'Why?'"

"And why do you want to go?"

"To see the country. The people. The wealth. I am curious how they live. - That would not be reason enough."

"Say something else," said Morrison. "Say you want to write a book about the United States as a lesson to Soviet youth."

"Do you know how many books -"

She stiffened and began to wipe the table again, suddenly absorbed in her work.

Morrison looked up. Boranova was standing there, her eyes hard and angry. She uttered a harsh monosyllable that Morrison didn't recognize but that he could have sworn was an epithet and not a very polite one, either.

The serving woman flushed dully. Boranova made a small gesture with her hand and the woman turned and left.

Morrison noticed that a man stood behind Boranova - short, thick-necked, with narrowed eyes, large ears, and a broad-shouldered, muscular body. His hair was black, longer than usual for a Russian, and it was in wild disarray, as though he clutched at it a great deal.

Boranova made no move to introduce him. She said, "Was that woman talking to you?"

"Yes," said Morrison.

"She recognized you to be an American?"

"She said my accent made it obvious."

"And she said she wants to visit the United States?"

"Yes, she did."

"What did you say? Did you offer to help her go there?"

"I advised her to apply for a passport if she wanted to go."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

Boranova said with discontent, "You must pay no attention to her. She is an ignorant and uncultured woman. - Let me introduce to you my friend, Arkady Vissarionovich Dezhnev. This is Dr. Albert Jonas Morrison, Arkady."

Dezhnev managed a clumsy bow and said, "I have heard of you, Dr. Morrison. Academician Shapirov has spoken of you often."

Morrison said coldly, "I am flattered. - But tell me, Dr. Boranova, if that serving woman annoys you so much, it should be an easy task to have her replaced or transferred."

Dezhnev laughed harshly. "Not a chance, Comrade American - which I expect is what she called you -"

"Not actually."

"Then she would have sooner or later, had we not interrupted you. That woman, I suspect, may be an intelligence operator and is one of those who keeps a close eye on us.

"But why -?"

"Because with an operation like this, no one can be trusted entirely. When you Americans are engaged in breakthrough science, are you not kept under close observation?"

"I don't know," said Morrison stiffly. "I have never been engaged in any breakthrough science that my government has been in the least interested in. - But what I was going to ask is, why does that woman act as she does if she is an intelligence agent?"

"To be a provocateur, obviously. To say outrageous things and to see what she can trip someone else into saying."

Morrison nodded. "Well, it's your worry, not mine."

"As you say," said Dezhnev. He turned to Boranova. "Natasha, have you told him yet?"

"Please, Arkady-"

"Now come, Natasha. As my father used to say, 'If you must pull a tooth, it is mistaken kindness to pull it slowly.' Let's tell him."

"I have told him we're involved in miniaturization."

"Is that all?" said Dezhnev. He sat down, pulled his chair next to that of Morrison, and leaned toward him. Morrison, with his personal space invaded, automatically withdrew. Dezhnev came closer still and said, "Comrade American, my friend Natasha is a romantic and she is convinced that you will want to help us for love of science. She feels that we can persuade you to do gladly what must be done. She is wrong. You will not be persuaded any more than you were persuaded to come here voluntarily."

"Arkady, you are being boorish," snapped Boranova.

"No, Natasha, I am being honest - which is sometimes the same thing. Dr. Morrison - or Albert, to avoid formality, which I hate" - he shuddered dramatically - "since you won't be persuaded and since we have no time, you will do what we want by force, as you were brought here by force."