"Yes, self-preservation is the most powerful instinct. It is now three-thirty in the afternoon and I have shrunk to the unbelievable height of six inches. And I am continuing to shrink, yet I am taking every precaution to guarantee that I stay alive."

"But what have I got to live for? What am I? A twenty eight year old, old woman  with no friends and no life because of The Research. What have I got to show for it? A cheap furnished room, a meager position as a research fellow, which doesn't pay enough to live like other people. Not enough to have a husband or children. And no dignity certainly. All that I can call mine is in this room: a couple of dresses; some stockings with runs in them, piles of heavy books; the microscope on my desk; and a tape recorder to record my notes on. That's all that will be left of doctor Jane Richardson, research fellow."

Above, a flutter of wings, blotting out the sun. She jumps back at the sound.

"Oh, excuse me, Doctor Pasteur. And one green and gold parakeet with the name of Pasteur."

"To pose a hypothetical problem, Doctor Pasteur, who's going to change the water in your cage if I return to dust? Certainly not doctor Wilson. She might steal what little water you had, but she wouldn't change it."

"Who will? If I don't contact the doctor, it may be a week before the landlady comes up here to clean. He'd starve to death. I've got to open that cage and let him loose. But - how?" she glances around the table top, her eyes brightening at an idea "Of course! The yard stick!"

Scrambling across the desk, she levers the yardstick over her shoulder and lifts with great effort. "I can push the latch open with that - -" The yardstick falls into place. "Yes! Yes, I can just reach it!"

The latch removed, the cage slowly swings open.

"You're free, Pasteur. You're free. The window is open across the room. There's a whole world ahead of you. Fly away and make a name for yourself!"
 
She slumps to the desk. "The whole world. I've got the whole world ahead of me, too, if I live. After I publish my thesis, I'll be famous. I'll have everything I ever dreamed of. But not unless Doctor Wilson gets the instructions. So, we resume taping. But I can't reach the start button on the recorder!"

Glancing around, she spots several paperback books in a pile towards the back of the desk. "These - these books, they're like a grand staircase to the tape deck."

She clambers to the top of the pile, then crosses the recorder. She leans into the REC button with all her might and the reels start spinning again.

"There we go! Doctor Wilson? Doctor Wilson, this is Jane Richardson recording again. I have still not received your phone call, but I have not given up hope. The call will come. I am convinced of that."

"In the meanwhile, I have made the necessary precautions for isolating myself in the event that you do not call before tomorrow morning. I have made a ramp -- or the ruler -- to the stage of the microscope. Glued to the microscope is a transparent glass petri dish. As soon as it becomes apparent that I'm in danger of being lost from view on the desk, I will make my way to the petri dish."

She stops for a moment.

"But what if you haven't called by that time? I could be lost in the petri dish!" she leaned against the microphone, thinking. "Ah! I could prepare a slide for myself. If I diminished to the size of a one-celled organism, I would have no difficulty in crawling under the cover glass and taking up a position directly under the lens. Perhaps I should prepare a slide now."

The air is split by the sound of the desk phone ringing.

"You've called, Doctor Wilson. You've called at last!"

Without hesitation, she leapt from the reel-to-reel recorder and sprinted to the phone. The sounds of her bare feet slapping faintly as the runs across the desk. She throws herself at the receiver.

"No! I - I can't lift it!"

. . .RING. . .
 
"I'm too small. I can't lift it off the cradle!"

. . .RING. . .

"Don't stop ringing, please! I'll lift it somehow. But how? A lever! Give me a lever and I can move the world."

 . . .RING. . .

"A pencil! I can do it with a pencil. Don't hang up, Doctor Wilson! I'm looking! I'm looking!"

. . .RING. . .

"Please don't hang up, Doctor Wilson! I'm coming, I'm coming!"

. . .RING. . .

 "Just don't stop ringing! Please don't stop ringing! Please!"

. . .RING. . .

"Just don't hang up, Doctor Wilson! I've almost got it! Just a little more!"

With all the strength in her tiny body, she lifts the cradled receiver, where it clatters to the desk. .. . and to the floor below.

"No! No! No!"

After a few moments, a voice is heard on the other end, distant and muffled.

"Hello?"

"Miss Pritchart?!"

"Doctor Richardson?"

"Can you hear me?! Get Doctor Wilson!"

"Hello?"

"Miss Pritchart, I'm on top of the desk! The phone fell on the floor!"

"Hello?"

"I'm only six inches tall! You've got to get me help!"

"Hello, are you there, doctor Richardson?"

"Yes, I'm here! I'm here!"

Another voice, hard and gruff is heard on the other end. "Richardson?"

"No, doctor. I called doctor Richardson's room but she doesn't answer or something."

"I'm here, Doctor Wilson, I'm here!"

"What do you mean she doesn't answer?"

"Well, I rang and rang and then the phone just went dead."

"No! The phone didn't go dead, it fell on the floor!"

"Well, call her back in about an hour. See if she answers then."

"No please, don't hang up, Miss Pritchart! I can't put my phone back on the hook!"

"Well, what if she doesn't answer then? When she called this morning, he sounded very strange."

"Don't let her hang up, Miss Pritchart!"

"Richardson's been very strange since the day she joined the department. If you can't get her today, I'll talk to her when I see her tomorrow."

"No! No! Please!"

"Yes, Doctor Wilson."

"No, no, no! Please don't hang up! I'm still here! Please don't hang up! Doctor Wilson, please!"

. . . .CLICK. . . .