In 1991, the Soviet Union boasted a scientific workforce of 1.5 million people. Since then, the number of working scientists has plummeted 40 percent, 900,000, according Western analysts' estimates. Some former researchers have retired, and many of those under age 40 have moved on other occupations. Western hopes that the number of Russian scientists was rebounding after years of decline diminished last October with the death of a prominent laboratory director. Reportedly despondent over his inability pay researchers, Vladimir Nechai of the nuclear weapons laboratory Chelyabinsk-70 killed himself after his appeals Moscow for more funding went unanswered. The outlook for Russian science is pessimistic, says political scientist Loren R. Graham of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Significant sources of Western aid have run out, years of neglect have eroded equipment, and economic turmoil has destroyed scientists' ability work. Of all the people reeling from the collapse of the Soviet Union, scientists rank among those who have fallen the furthest in terms of pay, prestige, and professional opportunity. For researchers who continue their pursuits, survival as a scientist is difficult. Archaeologist Tatyana M. Arsenjeva of the Russian Academy of Sciences has managed the excavation of the ancient town of Tanais in southern Russia for 20 years. Perched on the marshy edges of the River Don, the site has yielded over 20,000 amphorae-large tapered containers for oil, wine, grain, and so on-since excavations began in 1955. Surrounded by hundreds of these vessels in her workroom, Arsenjeva says that her goal is to create a center for dating research finds using amphorae. It isn't easy. Researchers at the dig make $40 a month and are not always paid on time. A decades-old relationship with a large museum in the nearby city of Rostov-on-Don collapsed over differences on how raise money. Now, Arsenjeva faces her largest problem: how obtain funds without losing the object of her research. When the Greek historian Herodotus wrote about Tanais in the fifth century B.C., he reported that Amazons ruled the city. Now, foreign researchers control Tanais. In 1992, work at the site almost halted when Moscow cut off support. A collaborative agreement with German archaeologists brought in needed funding but wrenched control of the dig out of Arsenjeva's hands. Instead of excavating the remains of houses, 90 percent of which are still buried, the German team preferred search for the town's central meeting place, or agora, hoping determine which ancient Greek city exerted the most architectural influence over Tanais. Polish researchers brought in by the Germans are most interested in the tombs of Goth tribesmen who roamed the region before 600 A.D. Plans for excavations are fixed on these two pursuits until the year 2000. Relations are friendly, but the Russians are now essentially working as contract researchers for foreigners at a site in their own country. And we're lucky have what we do, says Valeriy Chesnok, director of the small museum at Tanais.