Micro

by Michael Crichton; Richard Preston

  Alyson said nervously, “Vin…”

  “Shut up.”

  “So,” Peter said, “you disabled the GPS and rigged up the phone to clog my brother’s gas line?”

  “No. To kill the fuel pump, you little asshole…I killed the radio, too…”

  Alyson: “Vin, listen…”

  “Alyson, keep out of this—”

  “Why’d you do it?” Peter said, coughing, pulling at Drake’s fingers. Drake’s grip was strong on his throat. “Why?”

  “Your brother was a fool. You know what he wanted? He wanted to sell this technology. Turns out there’s some legal issue about ownership, who really owned it. So Eric thought we should sell. Can you imagine: sell this technology. Eric betrayed Nanigen. He betrayed me personally.”

  “Vin, for God’s sake—”

  “Shut up—”

  “Your mike!” Alyson pointed to the lavalier microphone on Drake’s lapel. “It’s on.”

  “Ah, shit,” Vin Drake hissed. He punched Peter brutally hard in the solar plexus, and let him crumple to the floor on his knees, gasping. Very deliberately, Drake pulled back his jacket, revealing the transmitter clipped to his belt. He tapped a switch: the light was off. “I’m not stupid.”

  Peter knelt on the floor and retched and coughed, unable to get a breath. He realized that the small clip microphone had come out of his pocket, and dangled on its cord. Drake might see it. Groping around, he tried to stuff it back in his pocket, and his hand hit the transmitter. He heard a loud popping noise coming over the loudspeakers in the conference room.

  Drake looked toward the conference room. He had heard the sound. His eyes followed Peter’s hand, and he saw the little microphone. He took a step backward and lashed out with his boot, kicked Peter on the side of the head. Peter collapsed. Drake tore the lavalier’s cord out of Peter’s pocket, disconnecting the mike, and tossed it away. Peter rolled on the floor and groaned.

  “What do we do now?” Alyson said to him. “They’ve heard it—”

  “Shut up!” He paced. “God damn it. None of them have cell phones, right?”

  “Right, they left them at the front…”

  “Okay then.”

  “What are you going to do?” she said, trembling.

  “Just stay out of my way.”

  He flipped open a security panel, and hit a red SECURITYbutton. A loud, rising and falling alarm began to sound. He hauled Peter up under the armpits and dragged him to his feet, where he swayed, unsteady and in pain, groggy from his beating. “Suck it up, sport,” Drake said. “Time to clean up your mess.”

  Drake unlocked the door and burst into the conference room, supporting Peter. He had to shout over the alarm. “We’ve had a security breach,” he said. “Peter has been injured. The security robots have been released. These bots are extremely dangerous. Come quickly this way, all of you. We need to get to the safety room.” He led them out into the hallway, holding on to Peter while Alyson Bender took Peter’s other arm.

  In the hallway, a few researchers were running toward the entrance. “Get outside!” somebody shouted, running past, heading for the building’s main exit. Most employees had gone home for the day.

  Drake, however, turned and led the students deeper into the complex.

  “Where the hell are you taking us?” Rick Hutter said to Drake.

  “It’s too late to get outdoors. We need to get to the safety room.”

  The students were in a state of confusion. What safety room? What did that mean?

  “What are you doing?” Alyson said to Drake.

  Drake didn’t answer.

  They came to a heavy door marked TENSOR CORE. Drake punched a keypad and the door swung open. “This way, come on now…”

  The students entered a large space with hexagonal tiles on the floor. The floor was almost transparent; they could see machinery below, complex machinery, going deep into the ground. “All right, everyone,” Drake said, “I want you all to stand in the center of one of the hexagons. Each hexagon is a safety spot. It’s robot-proof. Do it now, that’s it—hurry, hurry—we don’t have much time.” Drake touched a security pad and they heard bolts slamming home. They were locked inside the room.

  Erika Moll had gotten extremely frightened. She uttered a cry, and made a run for the exit door.

  “Don’t!” Danny Minot screamed after her.

  The exit door was locked, and Erika couldn’t get out.

  Drake had shut himself in a control room, where he looked in on the students through a window. An instant later, he went out of sight. The control room door opened, and a man, a stranger, was flung into the big room; he was a Nanigen employee. “Get in there and help them!” Drake’s voice roared after the man.

  The man followed Drake’s order. Looking shocked, he stood in the center of a hexagon among the students.

  The students were all positioning themselves; Erika had come back. Peter Jansen toppled and fell to his knees; Rick Hutter grabbed him and tried to support him but Peter stayed on his knees. Karen King noticed a row of backpacks hanging along the wall, and she ran and grabbed one and slung it over her shoulder. Meanwhile Drake had become visible in the window again, and they saw him punching buttons in a rapid sequence. Alyson was by his side.

  “Vin, for God’s sake,” Alyson said, standing beside him.

  “No choice,” Vin Drake said, and he hit the final button.

  For Peter Jansen,groggy from his beating, everything happened fast. The hexagonal floor sank beneath him, and he descended some ten feet into the multiple jaws of some huge electronic apparatus that was all around him, and very close, almost touching his skin. The jaws were actually wired armatures, painted at intervals with red and white stripes. The air smelled strongly of ozone and there was a loud electronic hum. The hairs on his skin were raised up. A synthesized voice said, “Don’t move, please. Take a deep breath…and hold it!” There was a loud clank!, unnerving and mechanical, and then that electronic hum returned. A brief wave of nausea. He sensed he had shifted somehow, within the apparatus.

  “You may breathe normally. Stand by.”

  He took a breath, let it out slowly.

  “Don’t move, please. Take a deep breath, and hold it!”

  Another clank!Another hum. A ripple of nausea, stronger than before.

  He blinked his eyes.

  Now he was sure things had changed. Before, he had been looking at stripes at about the midpoint of the jaws. But now he was looking at stripes much lower down. He was shrinking. The jaws buzzed and moved closer toward him. Of course they would do that, he thought, the magnetic field would be strongest at small distances. The smaller the better.

  The synthetic voice: “Take a deep breath, and hold it!”

  When he looked upward again, he saw that he was really very much smaller. The top of the jaws, ten feet above, seemed now as high as a cathedral ceiling. How tall was he?

  “Don’t move, please. Take a deep breath, and—”

  “I know, I know…” Peter’s voice was shaking.

  “Don’t speak. You risk serious injury. Now: take a deep breath and hold it!”

  One final clank, a grinding sound, a final spasm of dizzying nausea—but now the jaws moved away from him, and he felt the floor beneath his feet begin to vibrate as it rose upward. He saw light from above shining down, and felt a cool breeze.

  And then he was flush with the rest of the floor, and the vibration stopped. He was standing on a polished black expanse stretching away in all directions. In the distance he saw Erika and Jenny, both looking around, dazed. And still farther away, Amar and Rick, and Karen. But how far away were they, actually? Peter couldn’t be sure, because he himself was no more than half an inch tall. Dust motes and flecks of dead cellular debris rolled across the floor, came to rest against his knees, like tiny tumbleweed.

  He looked down at this tumbleweed in stupefaction. He felt slow, dull-witted, stupid. The reality of the situation gradually dawned on him. He look
ed across the floor at Erika and Jenny. They seemed as shocked as he felt. Half an inch tall!

  A crunching sound made him turn; he faced the tip of an enormous boot, the sole as tall as he was. Peter looked up and saw Vin Drake crouched down on one knee, looming above him, his face enormous, his exhalations a stiff, noxious wind. And then Peter heard a deep rumbling that reverberated throughout the room like thunder.

  It was the sound of Vin Drake laughing.

  It was difficult to hear, with all the echoes and reverberations from these two enormous people. The sounds made his ears ache. They seemed to move and speak slowly, almost in slow motion. Alyson Bender crouched down alongside Drake, and together they stared at Peter. Alyson said, “What—are—you—doing—Vin?” The words boomed and rolled, and seemed to slur together into a mishmash of sounds, too deep to make out without difficulty.

  Vin Drake just laughed. Apparently he found the situation amusing. But the man’s laughter propelled gusts of stinking breath toward Peter, and he recoiled from the odor of garlic, red wine, and cigars.

  Drake glanced at his watch. “It’s—after—hours,” he said, and smiled. “ Pau— hana,—as—they—say—here—in—Hawaii.—Means—work—is—done.”

  Alyson Bender stared at him.

  Drake tipped his head from side to side, as if he had gotten something stuck in his ear; it seemed to be a habit. The students heard his voice, rolling out: “After—work—comes—play.”

  Chapter 10

  Nanigen Animal Facility

  28 October, 9:00 p.m.

  V in Drake produced a clear plastic bag. With surprising gentleness, he picked up Peter Jansen and dropped him in the bag. Peter slid down the plastic surface, came to rest at the bottom. He got to his feet, and watched as Vin went around the room, picking up each of the graduate students in turn, dropping them in the bag. Last of all he picked up the Nanigen man from the control room. They heard the man call out, “Mr. Drake! What are you doing, sir?”

  Drake didn’t seem to hear the man, and didn’t seem to care.

  As each person tumbled down among the others in the bag, nobody got hurt. Apparently they now had too little mass to cause damage. “We’re almost weightless,” Amar commented. “We must weigh no more than a gram or so. Like a tiny feather.” Amar’s voice was cool, composed. But Peter thought he detected a tremor of fear.

  “Well, I don’t care who knows it, I’m scared,” Rick Hutter blurted.

  “We all are,” Karen King admitted.

  “I think we’re in shock,” Jenny Linn said. “Look at our faces. Circum-oral pallor.” Blanched skin around the lips was a classic sign of fear.

  The Nanigen man kept saying, “There’s been some mistake.” He couldn’t seem to believe what Drake had just done.

  “Who are you?” someone asked him.

  “My name is Jarel Kinsky. I’m an engineer. I operate the tensor generator. If Mr. Drake would just—just give me a chance to talk with him—”

  “You’ve seen too much.” Rick Hutter cut him off sharply. “Whatever Drake does to us he’s going to do to you as well.”

  “Let’s take an inventory,” Karen King snapped. “Quick—what weapons have we got?”

  But they got no further; the bag was tossed around, throwing them into a tangle.

  “Uh-oh,” Amar said, struggling to sit up. “What’s happening now?”

  Alyson Bender pushed her face very close to the plastic bag; she was looking carefully at the individuals inside, apparently worried about them. Her eyelashes flicked against the plastic. The pores in the skin of her nose were alarmingly large, great pink pockmarks.

  “Vin—I—don’t—want—them—harmed—Vin.”

  That drew a smile from Vin Drake. Speaking slowly, he said, “I—wouldn’t—dream—of—harming—them.”

  “You realize,” Karen King said, “that that man is a psychopath. He is capable of anything.”

  “I realize it,” Peter said.

  “That’s just not true about Mr. Drake,” Jarel Kinsky said. “There is a reason for this.”

  Ignoring him, Karen said to Peter, “We should have no illusions about what Drake intends at this point. We’re witnesses to his confession, that he killed your brother. Now he’s going to kill us all.”

  “Do you think so?” Danny Minot said plaintively. “We shouldn’t jump to—”

  “Yes, Danny, I do think so. Maybe you’ll be first.”

  “It’s just so hard to imagine—”

  “Ask Peter’s brother about—”

  At that moment, Vin picked up the plastic bag and walked quickly into the hallway. He was simultaneously arguing with Alyson Bender, but their words were too difficult to decipher; it just sounded like thunder rumbling.

  They walked past several labs, and then Drake entered one. Even inside the plastic bag, they could immediately detect the difference in this lab.

  A sharp, acrid odor.

  Wood chips and feces.

  Animals.

  “This is an animal lab,” Amar said. And they could see, through the distortion of the plastic bag, that there were rats, hamsters, and lizards and other reptiles.

  Vin Drake set the bag down on top of a glass tank. Now he was talking, apparently directing his remarks at them, but they could not understand what he was saying. They looked from one to another. “What’s he saying?” “I don’t understand.” “He’s crazy.” “I can’t make it out.”

  Jenny Linn had turned her back on the group; she was entirely focused on Drake. She turned to Peter and said, “It’s you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s going to kill you first. Wait just a minute.”

  “What… ?”

  She unzipped her belt pack, revealing a dozen slender glass tubes, with rubber bumpers at each end. “My volatiles.” It was impossible to miss the devotion; these tubes represented years of work. She pulled one out. “I’m afraid it’s the best I can do.”

  Peter shook his head, not understanding. She uncorked the tube and in a single quick motion, poured it over his head and down his body. There was a pungent odor; then nothing. He said, “What is it?”

  Before she could answer, Vin Drake thrust his hand into the bag, and gripping Peter by the leg, lifted him out upside down. Peter yelled and waved his arms.

  “It’s hexenol,” she said. “From wasps. Good luck.”

  “Now—now—young—Master—Peter,” Drake said, his voice booming. “You’ve—caused—me—a—great—deal—of—trouble.” He held Peter close to his face, squinted at him. “Worried? Bet—you—are.”

  Drake turned on his heel; the quick movement was dizzying for Peter; and then he slid the glass top of a tank open a fraction of an inch, and dropped Peter through the slot. He slid it shut, leaving the bag with the people in it on top of the tank.

  Peter fell, landing in sawdust.

  Alyson Bender said, “Vin, I didn’t agree to this, this wasn’t what we discussed—”

  “The situation has changed, obviously—”

  “But this is unconscionable.”

  “Tell me about your conscience,” Drake said scornfully, “later.”

  She had agreed to help him eliminate Eric, after Eric had threatened to destroy Nanigen. She had thought she loved Vin Drake and maybe she still did love him. Vin had been incredibly good to her, advanced her career, paid her unlimited amounts of money, while Eric had acted so badly toward Vin…Eric had betrayed Vin. But the others were only students…this situation was going out of control. Even so, she felt paralyzed. The situation had developed too fast. She didn’t know how to stop Drake.

  “There is nothing cruel about a predator,” Drake said, standing before the snake tank. “It is extremely humane. That black-and-white striped creature on the other side of the glass is a banded krait from Malaysia. Its bite, for a creature Peter’s size, will be almost immediately fatal. He’ll hardly feel a thing. Slurred speech, difficulty swallowing, paralysis of the eyes, and then comple
te paralysis of the body in a matter of moments. He may possibly still be alive when the snake ingests him but, ah, he probably won’t care…”

  Drake placed his index finger against his thumb, and flicked the plastic bag. It caused the micro-humans inside the bag to be flung around. Shouting and swearing with terror and confusion, they tumbled upon one another, while Drake peered at them. “They’re quite lively,” he commented to Alyson. “I assume the krait will accept them. If not, there’s also the cobra and the coral snake.”

  She looked away.

  “It’s essential, Alyson,” he said. “Their bodies have to be ingested. There can’t be any…evidence.”

  “But that’s not all of it,” she said. “What about their car, their hotel rooms, plane tickets—”

  “I’ve got a plan for all that.”

  “Do you?”

  “Trust me. I do.” He stared at her. “Alyson,” he said, after a long moment, “are you saying you don’t trust me?”

  “No, of course not,” she said quickly.

  “I hope not. Because without trust, we’re nothing. We are in this together, Alyson.”

  “I know.”

  “Yes, I know you do.” He patted her hand. “Ah, I see young Peter has dusted himself off, and here comes the krait, looking for his meal.” Slithering black and white stripes, partially hidden in the sawdust. Black tongue flicking in and out.

  “Now watch closely,” Drake said to her. “It happens fast.”

  Alyson had turned away. She couldn’t watch.

  Peter got to his feet and brushed himself off. The fall hadn’t hurt him, but he still felt the effects of Drake’s punches and kicks, and his shirt was stuck to his chest with drying blood. He was waist-deep in sawdust, in a glass cage. The cage had a small branch with some leaves on it, otherwise it was empty.

  Except for the snake.

  From where he stood, he could only see a few dark-gray and white bands. Probably a banded krait, Bungarus candidus. From Malaysia or Vietnam. As a rule, kraits ate other snakes, but he could not count on this one to be fussy. He saw the coils of black and white move and, with a soft hissing sound, disappear. The snake was sliding forward.