They passed a darkened necklace of pinkish spheres, then a group clustered like grapes. As Devlin maneuvered close to the crowded gaseous balloons, Tyler prepped her mass spectrograph. “If we sample used air from within the lungs, I can determine how the alien metabolizes what it breathes, which elements it uses, which it discards as exhaust.”
Aiming carefully, Tomiko shot the sampling snorkel at the grape cluster. The flexible tube spun out, jiggling with random motion, and punctured a thin wall. She tugged on the hose, making sure it had penetrated firmly.
Pointedly left out of the scientific work, Freeth sank deep into thought, his chin in his hands. His brow furrowed and his fingers moved as he silently ticked off possibilities to himself.
“Mr. Freeth, you look like something profound is on the tip of your tongue,” Devlin said.
“I'm trying to decide if the alien could have intentionally implanted those nanomachines within its own body, or if they're an outside infestation.” He raised a finger. “Just look at the evidence. Remember those pedicels on the skin and how ferociously they attacked us? The Mote isn't much bigger than those nanomachines. What if the pedicels are this species' biological defenses against an outside nanoinvasion?”
Tomiko operated pumps to draw a sample of air into a sealed receptacle, deflating one of the alveoli. The sound of whispering wind echoed through the enclosed ship. “Here you go, Dr. T.”
“Are you suggesting those devices are infectious machines?” Tyler said, looking up from calibrating the mass spectrograph. “Freeth, you're getting carried away with your imagination.”
“No, I'm not. Remember how the xenozoans came after us, too? Our ship couldn't possibly be a food source for a microorganism, yet they still attacked. Why?” He stood up. “What if those pedicels were developed to prevent foreign nanomachines from infecting the alien's body? And maybe the xenozoans are a second line of defense against anything that manages to get through.”
“Whoa, you're painting a pretty grim picture of our alien's home world, Mr. Freeth,” Devlin said. “I don't think I'd want to visit there.”
“Such natural defenses would take thousands of years to develop,” Tyler said. “Impossible.”
“Still doesn't explain the nanocritters already inside, and why they were dormant… until Major Devlin goosed them.” Tomiko worked to detach the sampling snorkel and reeled it back in using the ship's automated systems.
Tyler looked down at the mass spectrograph and began her analysis.
Freeth cleared his throat. “Well, if the alien intentionally planted the devices inside its cellular structures, it must have had a reason for doing it.” He grew more animated as his ideas became more preposterous. “Given sufficiently sophisticated nanotechnology, a species would be able to do gene splicing on themselves… call it micro-remodeling, or interior decorating. After reprogramming their DNA to any new pattern, they could tailor their bodies to whatever standards of beauty or strength they prefer. They could prevent deterioration from aging. They could delete an appendix or facial whiskers or funny-shaped earlobes… even alter sexual organs or eliminate gender differences.”
“Some of us like the gender differences,” Tomiko said.
Tyler shook her head in exasperation. “Freeth, where do you get such strange ideas?”
“You invited him along for his strange ideas, Doc,” Devlin pointed out, and she didn't look pleased about the reminder.
Freeth paid no attention to her scorn, letting it run off him just like the words of any heckler on any talk show where he'd appeared. “In my line of work, Dr. Tyler, I'm accustomed to using my imagination instead of being trapped by what I've memorized from biology books. Believe me, if you're going to investigate extraterrestrials, you need to be willing to see not just what you already know, but what is possible.” He drew himself tall. “Maybe you should try reading science fiction instead of just dry medical journals for a change.”
Devlin spun the impellers in reverse and took the Mote back into the capillaries. “You'll have to do your atmospheric analysis on the fly, Doc. We're moving on.”
Chapter 28
Mission clock: 1:45 remaining
If Dr. Sergei Pirov had been taking written notes, he would have punctuated every sentence with an exclamation point. Despite his personal uncertainty and trembling hands, his concentration never wavered from the task before him once he began touching the alien body.
He owed too much to Director Hunter and to Deputy Foreign Minister Garamov—both of whom were watching now—to do less than his best work.
The extraterrestrial lay uncovered inside its open lifepod, the most amazing specimen Pirov had ever seen. He rattled off observations into the suit microphone that were picked up and captured on audio tape.
Sujatha moved close to him, taking high-resolution photographs of every square centimeter of the unearthly figure. Intent and methodical, the Bengali doctor worked his way lower, down the torso to the exposed pelvic area. “Most unusual. Look, Dr. Pirov, sir—this creature appears to have no genitalia, no reproductive organs whatsoever. At least not where we would expect them to be located.”
“That is impossible.” Pirov moved to get a closer look at the smooth patch of skin between the alien's spindly legs. “But… every higher-order being has sexual development.”
“Perhaps the species reproduces by other means.” Sujatha raised his bushy eyebrows. “By budding? Or cloning? Or perhaps this is a sterile mule, an engineered organism designed specifically for space travel.”
“Yes, perhaps. Perhaps.” Pirov could feel an ache in his back and neck, a weary tremor in his fingers. “And where are the excretory outlets? No creature would evolve naturally along these lines.” This fact alone would be fodder for numerous scientific debates. “How can we hope to explain it all in only a few hours?” He bit back a groan of disappointment. “Come, let us learn what we can.”
Gathering the nerve to poke and prod further, Pirov assessed the muscle tone, the texture of the grayish skin. He touched the wide eyelids, the smooth skin over the cranium, then separated the lips to reveal tiny round teeth like kernels of corn. “No incisors, no canine teeth. Our visitor appears to be a vegetarian.”
He felt overwhelmed by how much there remained to do, how much he needed to see. At the same time, he wanted to be back in his laboratory office, studying the results of the analyses. As he grew older, Pirov preferred interpreting data to obtaining it in the first place.
Sujatha applied an electrode thermocouple to the skin. “Body temperature is sixty degrees Fahrenheit.”
Pirov looked up from the facial sensory organs. “Not likely its normal range. Now that the pod has opened, the specimen is equalizing with the ambient environment. I do not expect it to remain at the same temperature.”
He counted the alien's fingers (four on each hand) and toes (three, in a streamlined hooflike configuration). He examined the tendons in the thin neck, running his fingers along the jawline.
The Bengali doctor continued to take readings at probe points around the slender body. “Most unusual. The body temperature appears to be rising faster than can be explained by simple warmth from the room.” He showed Pirov the thermocouple screen. “Something is causing it to heat up. From within.”
The Russian ran his thick gloves along the rubbery skin, trying to pick up details. “I wonder what is going on inside there…”
With a sense of wonder that overwhelmed even his anxiety about the political fallout from his decisions, the Russian Deputy Foreign Minister watched the succession of images, close-ups, and large-scale anatomy diagrams compiled by Pirov and Sujatha.
Showing considerably less interest, Congressman Durston puckered his lips into a scowl and scratched his squarish beard. “Director Hunter, if that alien should awaken and attack us, what are your defensive options here in the facility?” He looked sidelong at the Marine guards, dismissing them as insufficient. “You've had enough funding to install top-of-the-line systems
.”
Trying to imagine how the scrawny gray alien could possibly turn into a wild juggernaut, Hunter kept his expression carefully neutral. Years ago, he had formed an opinion of benevolent extraterrestrials from repeatedly watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind with his daughter. He simply couldn't picture the delicate, ethereal alien leaping out of its pod, overpowering both doctors, and breaking through the sealed walls.
“As you can see, Congressman, the doctors are inside an armored chamber designed for the most stringent containment situations, proof against the ebola virus or even nerve gas. The foot-thick doors are sealed and locked from outside, the windows are made of reinforced, unbreakable Lexan. No item among the equipment and instruments inside could be used to breach the seal.”
“Well, what about that laser drill?” Durston said. “The one they used to burn a hole into the pod?”
“As a fail-safe mechanism, it was designed to require a new focusing rod after one use. The lasing core needs to be replaced before it can be fired again.” Hunter managed a smile at the Congressman. “You see, sir, we can be paranoid, too.”
Garamov looked at his counterpart. “Congressman Durston, the bigger question will be how to decontaminate and seal the specimen again, so that I can transport it back to Russia.”
“Unexpected things still happen,” Durston insisted. “What if, in spite of all your plans, an infectious agent gets loose in that chamber? What if someone tries to break free? What if—”
Hunter cut him off with a raised hand. “In such a worst-case event, we have a burst energy annihilation routine, which I can trigger at the last possible moment. A pulse of high-intensity radiation will flash-melt everything inside, disintegrating all possible threats.”
“I did not know about this,” Garamov said.
“But as a last resort only,” Hunter insisted.
“Why, naturally.” Durston's close-set eyes gleamed as if he were eager to see the destructive system in action. “So those are the expensive precautions our money has bought.”
Thinking about such drastic measures, Hunter could not help worrying about Team Proteus. The terrible static and distortion had prevented any communication for more than half an hour. For all his piloting skill, Marc Devlin didn't know where he was going or what he would encounter. Normally, Hunter could find ways to mitigate dire circumstances, but he felt isolated and helpless outside the Class IV room, out of contact with the Mote. Tired of sitting still, he paced the observation deck.
Sujatha looked up at the three men. “Director Hunter, sir, I request permission to make a small incision. Dr. Pirov and I would like to look at the tissue beneath the skin. We can also observe blood coagulation and—”
“Absolutely not,” Garamov said without the slightest hesitation. “No physical damage to the alien.”
The Bengali doctor looked from Garamov's face to Hunter's. “It would only be a scratch, sir.”
“That will be too much.” The Deputy Foreign Minister looked over at the Director, prepared to insist, but Hunter deferred to the man.
“It's best to be conservative, Dr. Sujatha.”
“I concur,” Pirov said, surprising his colleague. “This being's spacecraft has already been destroyed. Perhaps he is an emissary come to open relations with Earth. Or an independent explorer … or a criminal, an exile? No one can tell.” He looked away, hiding in the shadows of his anti-contamination hood. “We should exercise extreme caution.”
Hunter wondered what would happen if the extraterrestrial died. Would comrades come to avenge him, using weapons never before seen on Earth— outside of Marc Devlin's science-fiction movies, that is? He tried to be an optimist, but he had dealt with too many crisis situations in his career. He knew the worst was bound to happen, good intentions notwithstanding.
Nevertheless, no matter how peaceful or harmless this extraterrestrial visitor might seem to be, the interior of its body was probably a ruthless and hostile environment.
And Team Proteus was somewhere inside.
Chapter 29
Mission clock: 1:36 remaining
Cruising through the alien's circulatory system, Devlin focused on covering as much ground as possible before they had to search for an exit. They had seen no further sign of the nanomachines, but the miniaturization field would begin to degrade in another hour and a half.
Not much time, and so much left to discover.
When the Mote finally did encounter a distributed blood-pumping substation, Arnold Freeth beamed and blushed so much that even Devlin was embarrassed for him. “I was right.” He looked over at Dr. Tyler, as if she would at last forgive him for his false credentials, or at least acknowledge his contribution to their speculations.
But she remained aloof, interested only in studying the heartlike organ. “Let's just figure out what this is. No need to be smug about it.”
The major blood vessels converged at an asteroid-sized mass of stringy muscle fibers. The biological pump appeared to be woven from ropes of cells as strong as steel cables. A trifold valve slowly opened and shut ahead of them, regulating the sluggish flow of blood.
Devlin threw the impellers into reverse to hold the ship against the lethargic current that drew them toward the trapdoor opening. As he held the Mote steady, the sub-heart clenched and relaxed in a ponderous rhythm so slow that it barely kept blood flowing.
External sonic receptors picked up the heavy vibrations of the beating muscle, like a pounding kettledrum. The bloodstream vortex added turbulence, jostling the ship from side to side.
Spherical blood cells collided with the craft, then recoiled to smash into each other, crowding toward the beating sub-heart. Ahead, the overlapping trifold valves closed again and blocked the way into the first chamber. Each expansion of the tough muscle drew blood into the pumping station, and the subsequent contraction ejected it at higher velocity out the other side.
Pressed against the window, Tyler captured every detail with still images and live video, dictating her own comments and speculations. Hypnotized by the slow beating of the heart subsystem, she even flashed a wonder-filled smile at the UFO expert, then caught herself. She came to the cockpit doorway. “Major Devlin, the contractions are slow and regular, without exerting a great deal of force. I don't think it would pose an excessive danger to us if the Mote proceeded into the main chamber itself. It would be a remarkable opportunity to study what's going on here.”
Though ostensibly in command of the mission, Devlin was supposed to follow the suggestions of the medical specialist. “Roger that. We're not much bigger than a couple of blood cells anyway, so we can fit through.” He looked over at Tomiko for her opinion.
The security specialist shrugged. “No problem. Garrett would have charged right in without even bothering to pause.”
He frowned, not wanting to be reminded of the injured pilot back in the Proteus infirmary. “Captain Wilcox would've wrecked my ship before this mission was over.”
Tomiko smiled at him in satisfaction, as if she'd detected the hint of jealousy in his voice. “Well? Let's move it.”
“On our way.” He slowed the reverse impellers and let the Mote drift forward with the increasing flow. “Next stop, Freeth Pumping Module Number One.” He wrestled with the controls to steady them through the turbulence as they rushed toward the opening valve.
Drawn in with a gulp of blood, the miniaturized vessel shot through the opening flaps and into a cavern bounded by knotted muscular walls. Caught in a violent eddy, the Mote spun around as the carrier fluid pooled within the chambers.
Large, flexible spheroids crashed into each other, bounced apart, and bobbled toward the exit valve, lining up for the next pumping beat that would eject them back into the circulatory system. Devlin struggled to keep the craft in place, shining bright spotlights to illuminate the immense cardiac grotto. “Make your observations, Doc. I don't know how many heartbeats I can hold us here.”
Turbulence jostled the Mote as crimson muscle walls
rushed toward them with the next contraction. The trapped blood swirled, jetting toward the exit valve on the opposite side of the chamber.
Just then the spotlights glinted off geometric shapes, caught a flurry of mechanical movement. More nanomachines.
A pair of purplish blood cells collided with the Mote. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Devlin managed to keep the beams on the frenzy of microscopic devices built from carbon-and-metal lattices. The nanocritters bristled with mechanical arms and legs, articulated joints and pincers.
“Whoa, hundreds of them,” he said with a whistle. “Maybe thousands.”
Bafflingly busy, the frenetic micro-robots swarmed the interior walls of the sub-heart muscle, an army working with cell layers and membranes, adding, stitching, rearranging.
Tomiko stared. “Ever see bees in a honeycomb, crawling around on hive business?”
“Let's hope these don't have stingers,” Devlin said. “They're everywhere.”
Freeth couldn't tear himself away from the side window. “It might not be anything sinister. Nano-robots could be programmed to carry a person's DNA blueprint and act as scouts, checking cells in the host body to eliminate any mutation, any disease or cancer.”
“Objectively speaking those machines do look like they could be repairing the sub-heart wall.” Dr. Tyler seemed reluctant to give the UFO expert too much credit. “I guess if Freeth spouts out enough crazy ideas, some of them are bound to be right.”
He ignored the back-handed compliment. “Who knows what the alien suffered during its interstellar journey? Not to mention being shot down.” Freeth paced from one side window to the other, trying to see through the flurry of blood cells. “My guess is that it used these nanomachines to put itself into stasis before the journey, to keep it alive with the absolute minimum of energy and resources. Then the machines shut themselves down.”
Fantastic Voyage : Microcosm Page 17