With a loud thump, the miniaturized glass tube was set down inside the autoclave, originally designed to sterilize items passing in or out of the containment room. Then a sound like a reverberating gong clapped through the hull—the outer door of the transfer chamber being sealed.
The chronometer on the panel clicked down the time remaining before the miniaturization field began to lose its integrity. Four hours, fifty-five minutes to complete their mission.
With a rumble like a series of far-off explosions, disinfectant mist sprayed down upon the outer capsule wall in raindrops the size of asteroids. But the Mote remained high and dry. Her external hull and everything aboard had already been sterilized before the initial miniaturized process.
“We're wasting so much time before we even start,” Cynthia Tyler said, looking to Freeth as a kindred spirit. “We won't have enough time to explore the alien's biosystems as it is. You and I are going to have to work overtime.”
The inner hatch of the autoclave opened, and Devlin could see the shadowy shape of a gargantuan gloved hand reaching toward them like King Kong grabbing Fay Wray.
“Dr. Pirov is extracting you manually,” Hunter said.
“All conditions optimal, Felix,” Devlin said. “Team Proteus is ready to proceed.”
The Director paused, as if pushing aside all second thoughts. “Prepare for insertion into the alien's lifepod.”
Chapter 15
Mission clock: 4:52 remaining
Fully suited inside the isolation chamber, Dr. Sergei Pirov breathed hard inside his flexible helmet. Moving slowly, he worked the autoclave latch, broke the seal, and opened the heavy interior door.
Within the supply portal a transparent cylinder as long as his gloved finger rested on a little stand that had once been a full-sized metal cart. Inside the glass tube, beyond the limits of his vision, hovered the miniaturized vessel and the team of specialists ready to explore the alien's biosystems. Though he couldn't actually see the smaller-than-a-dustspeck exploration team, he tried to scrutinize them through his curved faceplate.
Pirov frowned, not at all envying his colleague Cynthia Tyler for the chance to see what no living human had ever witnessed.
He fumbled for the cylinder, but the tiny droplets of disinfectant mist made the glass tube slippery. Inside the cumbersome suit, he felt even less self-assured than usual. He almost dropped the tube, but somehow held on.
Despite the assurances of Dr. Sujatha, Pirov knew he didn't belong here, either. Other members of Project Proteus—Trish Wylde, in particular—were better qualified, but the old Russian doctor had been working on miniaturization techniques for four decades. Director Hunter felt obligated to give him important tasks, especially with Vasili Garamov coming to observe the mission.
That was not the way decisions should be made.
He focused his concentration and carried the reduced cylinder across the equipment-crowded floor toward where Sujatha peered boyishly into the alien's lifepod. The Bengali doctor's eyebrows were thick and bushy, a forest above eager brown eyes and a comfortable, well-worn face.
They both looked like spacemen in their blue anti-contamination suits—bulky arms, legs, and boots. Every seam was coated and sealed with polymer tape. Tubes from a breathing apparatus fed compressed air into the flexible hood attached at the collar. The air echoed in Pirov's ears, hissing from tanks on his back, permeated with a dry, metallic smell.
He moved with careful steps past trays of sterilized surgical equipment, battery-powered laser scalpels, sample tubes, and portable chemical analysis decks. His sleeves were so padded he could barely bend his elbows. He wouldn't be nimble enough to complete an appropriate dissection of the specimen, and he was glad it wasn't supposed to come to that.
He misjudged a corner, brushed a rotary bone saw from its tray, and knocked it onto the floor. The sound startled him and he froze, careful not to drop the glass tube. The shock of impact would kill every member of Team Proteus. What was he doing? Sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Gentle, Sergei. We must be kind to the people in there. They have a hard task ahead of them.” Sujatha gently slid the miniaturized cylinder out of his hands and carried it over to the lifepod. “Here, I will insert it into the cradle.”
Behind the observation windows above, Director Hunter sat in front of his bank of controls, watching. Pirov liked the Director very much—the man had been helpful and supportive when he, Pirov, had been brought over to the United States—but now Hunter's scrutiny intimidated him. He could feel the Director's intent gaze and made sure he followed appropriate procedures. Cameras were mounted all around the room, recording every movement he made, for the sake of documentation and history. No mistakes.
“I apologize for giving them a rough ride.” Trying to catch his breath, Pirov moved to one side of the alien lifepod and prepared for the next step.
The micro-explorers grasped the arms of their chairs as violent motion rocked the vessel from side to side. Devlin wrestled with the impeller controls, trying to dance with the attitude jets.
“Proteus, we're encountering turbulence here,” Devlin broadcast to the outside. At their size, the momentum from the departing signal made the Mote lurch backward.
Tomiko said, “Hey, Felix, this cylinder isn't a snowglobe.”
“Dr. Pirov got a little too jittery moving you across the room,” Hunter's voice came through the panel. “He offers his apologies.”
Their high-frequency transceiver allowed them to send burst messages to the outside world and constantly scan for incoming messages, but at an extreme energy cost. Once they entered the extraterrestrial body, Devlin was concerned that the strange scan-blocking interference would hinder direct communication. They would find out soon enough.
He leaned back in his seat, mentally gearing up to make his way across an unexplored biological wilderness. No doubt Dr. Tyler had already outlined half-a-dozen research papers she intended to write. In uncovering totally new microscopic territory, he wondered fleetingly if he could plant some flags or name any alien landmarks after himself. “Devlin's Duct,” for instance. What the heck, maybe Cynthia would throw him a bone.
“Dr. Sujatha is preparing the laser drill now,” Hunter said. “Insertion into the lifepod should occur in less than ten minutes.”
Pirov glanced up again at the VIP observation deck, but he still saw no sign of the Russian Deputy Foreign Minister. Once miniaturized, Team Proteus had a limited amount of time, and they could not wait for their diplomatic audience.
Worried and intent, Hunter swiveled in his chair. With the intercom muted, he picked up the phone, argued into it, but remained firm. He hung up and continued to stare at Pirov, his expression interested. “Please continue, doctors. We will have to bring our visitors up to speed whenever they arrive.”
Absorbed in his own activities, Rajid Sujatha stood by the multiple-jointed arm of the precision laser drill. Using slow, step-by-step manipulations, he maneuvered the angular elbows and the precise point into position. “Now preparing to test, Director, sir.” With deep brown eyes he studied the displays and calibrated the gauges, then glanced through the broad windows to the standby laser drill outside in the corridor.
Rated for only a single use without replacement, the tiny lasing component would burn out once it was used at full power to drill an appropriate hole through the lifepod glass. If needed, a second component could be sent through the autoclave, but that would waste an hour. The big spare machine in the outer corridor provided little more than reassurance, since it would take an inordinate amount of time to bring the second laser drill through the anti-contamination barriers.
Sujatha would have only this one opportunity.
Uttering a barely audible prayer, he fired a low-wattage laser pulse through the misty lifepod window. Reflections and interferometry measured the glass thickness with absolute precision. He rattled off numbers from the readout, “Calibration complete.”
Pirov stepped back and let hi
m work, relieved that his colleague knew what he was doing.
“Locking down gyros and bearings.” Through gloved fingers, the Bengali doctor adjusted the controls, fixing the big laser drill in place. “Setting burst intensity at—”
“Please,” Pirov interrupted, feeling too much anxiety, “we must not waste time.”
Sujatha made a wry expression through his faceplate. “Tension and impatience pave the way for mistakes.” He went about his preparations just as slowly as before. “I have three young daughters, you know. Children teach a person more patience than meditation or schooling.”
“Unfortunately, I never had children,” Pirov said. He had been divorced for years. His state-sponsored marriage to a Soviet official journalist had given him no sons, no love, and no regrets when it was over. Now Pirov devoted himself to Project Proteus, grateful to be doing something he cared about. Anxious to be useful, he locked the end of the glass cylinder into a cradle with a hair-fine hollow needle already attached at the end.
Like a proud father, Sujatha studied his laser apparatus. “Firing now. This one is for real, Director, sir.” He pushed the power button.
A burst of intense red light struck the curved surface of the lifepod, burning a precise needle-width hole. Before Pirov's eyes could adjust, the beam switched off, its drilling work completed after tunneling a hole precisely 99.99% of the way through the cloudy window material.
A curl of smoke spiraled up from the shaft, difficult to see without close inspection. Sujatha stepped back the power in the laser and then shone the calibration beam into the hole again. “Within tolerances. One micron of material remains on the inner edge.” He turned to the old Russian doctor. “Time to insert Team Proteus, Dr. Pirov.”
Sujatha flicked controls on the laser drill, then stepped back with a sigh. “Laser component no longer functional, as we feared, sir.” He powered down the big machine. “No opportunity for us to drill a second hole. Team Proteus will have to make do with what they have.”
“It'll be fine, Doctor,” Hunter said over the intercom.
Pirov moved the cradle containing the syringe and the miniaturized Mote. The microscopic vessel was so small, he couldn't even see a fleck inside the cylinder. He shuddered as he thought that he might have been inside there. Some people wanted glory; some opted for safety.
He used his gloved fingers to guide the hair-fine shaft into place. He tried to get a better grip without fumbling and accidentally pricked the fabric at the end of one gloved finger. Just a scratch.
Pirov cursed his clumsiness and hoped the Director hadn't seen. Thankfully, Garamov wasn't there yet. He felt embarrassed, but it was a minor thing, and he didn't bother to report it. No one even noticed his brief pause. Instead, Pirov finished threading the needle into the laser-drilled hole and raised the cylinder into position.
“It is in,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Tell Major Devlin that it is up to him now.”
Once the Mote had successfully traversed the needle shaft and entered the drill hole, Sujatha would cover the opening with quick-drying epoxy before Team Proteus breached the inner containment.
With a crackle from the short-wavelength transmitter, Devlin sent an update. “Impellers at half thrust. Proceeding forward, down the hole.”
Motionless and rubbery, the oval, peaceful face of the alien seemed to stare at Pirov through the lifepod window, as if wondering what these humans were up to.
Team Proteus was on its way.
Chapter 16
Mission clock: 4:37 remaining
The miniaturized Mote shot along the hair-fine hollow needle like a bullet through the barrel of a gun. The ship's forward lights splashed their beams along the pitted metal shaft.
“On our way, with plenty of room to maneuver.” Devlin corkscrewed the ship, testing impeller and rudder controls, delighted with the freedom. Everyone else hung on. Arnold Freeth searched in vain for a barf bag.
“Now you're showing off like Garrett always did,” Tomiko said.
Devlin's grin dissolved into mock dismay. “You mean Captain Wilcox flew my ship in a reckless manner?”
Leaving the tip of the needle behind, they plunged into the wider drill hole in the armored glass-like substance. The translucent material reflected ambient light like a glacier with shimmering walls of blue and gray.
“Withdraw the needle,” Devlin transmitted to the outside. The communication burst jostled and slammed the tiny ship, but he managed to keep from scraping against the glass walls. He picked up speed, heading through the thick glass barrier.
With a loud scraping noise, the needle cylinder retreated like a locomotive pulled backward through a tunnel. Behind them, seen through the thickness of the misty lifepod window, a shadow covered the entrance hole with a smear of epoxy to maintain the pod's atmospheric integrity until the ship came back out. Outside in the containment chamber, Dr. Sujatha applied a “pinger” to the drill hole, a small location transponder so that the Mote could find their return passage. Less than five hours from now.
They had a lot to accomplish in the meantime.
The precision laser drill had left a micron-thick wall on the inner surface of the pod window—the only thing that stood between them and direct contact with the alien environment. It came up fast, a giant roadblock in front of them.
“Whoa!” Devlin slammed the impeller engines into reverse as the tunnel came to an abrupt dead end. With the backwash of furiously turning turbines, the vessel rocked from side to side. Behind him in the main compartment, the hastily added medical CD-ROMs clattered out of their storage rack, and three long sampling poles crashed to the deck. “Sorry,” he said quietly, leaving the others to wonder if he was talking to the crew or to the ship itself.
Tomiko gripped the weapons controls with a wry smile. “Let me take care of this little speed bump.” Using the ship's forward lasers, she scribed a circumferential opening large enough to accommodate the Mote. Then, setting the laser cannons to full power, Tomiko let out a whoop as she fired. Vaporized material sprayed thick droplets into the air.
As the lifepod's atmospheric pressure equalized with the hairfine shaft, the Mote's stabilizer fins scraped against microscopic irregularities in the walls. Debris spanged off the windshield and side hull. Devlin winced as he imagined all the superficial scratches and dents. “So much for my low insurance rates.”
Steady again, the vessel hovered at the threshold, impellers humming. The giant open emptiness lay ahead of them. Hardened glass had dripped into microscopic stalactite forms at the rim of the opening. Devlin turned around in the cockpit and looked at the eager crew. “Everybody ready?”
“We've got a lot of work to do,” Dr. Tyler answered for herself and the unusually silent Freeth.
“Okay, let's move it,” Tomiko said.
He eased the impellers forward and guided the Mote through the freshly blasted opening and into an enclosed alien sky…
At the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Devlin had spent many clear flying days in a long-winged glider, accumulating cockpit hours above the wooded Front Range. Once the glider's tow cable disengaged from the powered lead aircraft, Devlin had loved to drift along, snug in utter silence within the cockpit, flowing with the wind.
He'd been qualified as a pilot on dozens of different craft, but preferred to study aerodynamics and engine design. He loved to develop useless devices and wacky “better mousetrap” gizmos, built from automobile parts, leftover pieces from model kits, strange components he found on dusty shelves in hardware stores. Even with all of his engineering degrees and military citations, Devlin was proudest of his two trophies from the Rube Goldberg Championship for Delightful and Ridiculous Contraptions.
Back then, that wet-behind-the-ears cadet had never dreamed he'd one day guide a miniaturized craft into the seemingly gigantic body of an extraterrestrial being…
Ready to start exploring, Devlin descended through the open sky within the lifepod. Unable to keep the grin off his face,
he caressed the control panels, whispering compliments to his ship, while glancing at the guardian-angel snapshot of Kelli.
Tomiko worked the external controls and took readings. “Weather report: Ambient air temperature, fifteen degrees Celsius. That's about fifty-nine Fahrenheit, chilly but not unpleasant.”
Devlin looked down at the plain of naked gray-green skin. “And our alien friend isn't even wearing a windbreaker.”
In the back, Dr. Tyler unbuckled her crash restraint and went to the analytical equipment, switching on the control panels. “I'm going to use the intake valve to draw a sample of capsule atmosphere so I can run a compositional analysis. Give me a hand, Mr. Freeth? Once we learn what this specimen breathes, we can determine more about its physiology.” She looked over at the UFO expert for confirmation.
Freeth, though, pressed his face against the opposite window, staring like a tourist. His skin had a chalky look, and his composure seemed ready to crumble. “This is real. After all the time I've waited, all I've believed… and now this is real. I can't believe it. This is real.”
From her analytical station, Cynthia Tyler scratched her kinky blond hair. “Why do you sound so surprised, Mr. Freeth? After your alien dissection video, this must be familiar territory for you… though not on this scale.”
Freeth avoided answering while Tyler drew an air sample through the intake tubes and squirted the captured gas into a mass spectrometer. At the lab console, she waited for the jagged trace to sketch across the diagnostic screen before she read off the spectrographic results. “Atmospheric analysis shows a composition relatively similar to Earth's, mostly nitrogen, fifteen percent oxygen, and a higher partial pressure of carbon dioxide.”
As if anxious to contribute to the mission, Freeth offered his tentative opinion. “It could mean the alien's home planet has a higher concentration of greenhouse gases, perhaps leading to global warming.”
Fantastic Voyage : Microcosm Page 10