Fantastic Voyage : Microcosm

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Since the last skirmish, Devlin hadn't seen any sign of the pursuing nanocritters, but neither had he heard a word from Project Proteus, despite the continued SOS signal.

  Now the ship traveled with a flow of loose cells, amber fatty globules, and spindly clusters of crystalline growths. Finally, they reached a large fluid-filled sac that sprawled in front of them. Devlin eyed the roadblock in frustration. “Told you I'd get us here safely, wherever here is.”

  Dr. Tyler studied the liquid-swollen membrane, finally sounding confident again. “That's probably a bursa, or some equivalent cushioning sac between bones and a joint. At least it gives us a sense of perspective.”

  “Even if this is a joint, though, we can't tell whether we're in a knuckle joint or the hip socket,” Freeth countered.

  Cynthia Tyler turned to him with a long-suffering expression. “Unfortunately, you're correct. I guess it doesn't tell us much of anything after all.”

  The UFO expert looked at her in surprise. “Believe me, I am trying to help.”

  With no point of reference and no reliable monitoring of the distance and speed traveled during their frantic flight, Devlin could only guess where they were. But he was reluctant to admit he was totally lost. “At least Lewis and Clark had the constellations, the horizon, the direction of sunrise and sunset as referents.” He made a disgusted sound. “I don't even have a functional compass.”

  The Mote plunged into the murky lubricating sac. The yellowish liquid swallowed them like an ocean of spoiled chicken stock. As the ship hummed forward, visibility in the soupy fluid grew even more difficult. Faint ripples distorted the illumination beams.

  “We could put on a blindfold and throw a dart at the map, Marc,” Tomiko suggested.

  “We don't even have a map to throw a dart at.”

  By the time the Mote's spotlights glinted off the geometric constructions of carbon lattices, the predatory nanomachines were already whirring toward them.

  Devlin slammed a fist down onto the smooth control panel, then immediately brushed the surface, by way of an apology. “If I don't know where I'm going, how could they find us?”

  “Those things are making quite an effort to go after one tiny ship,” Tomiko said.

  As Devlin spun the vessel, the attacking nanomachines surrounded them in three dimensions. Tomiko couldn't fire against a whole swarm. “Too many, Marc. We've got to run for it.”

  He could not hide his exasperation as he dove the ship downward in a steep arc through the thick fluid, followed by a wake of churning bubbles.

  The nanomachines swirled like a cloud of gnats, agitated by the unexpected move. They picked up speed and closed in.

  “Maybe it's Arnold they want,” Tomiko teased. “We could throw him overboard and see if it works as a diversion.”

  The UFO expert didn't find the suggestion amusing, but Devlin laughed. “In the movies I've seen, Tomiko, the alien monsters are usually after beautiful Earth women. Want to volunteer?”

  “I'm sure there's a compliment buried somewhere in there.”

  She opened fire and destroyed the two closest microscopic marauders. The hot beams sent froth whirling through the lubricating fluid.

  Ignoring the bubbles erupting all around the Mote, Devlin plowed ahead with his fingers crossed. Molten fragments of exploded nanomachines caromed off the front viewport and clanged against the hull. Then the Mote broke through the cordon with nothing worse than another scratch on the windshield.

  The bursa sea stretched to a distant shore of porous openings that pocked a solid plain of bone. The calcified barricade reminded Devlin of massive reefs. “If we hide in there, at least the critters can't come at us from all sides.” Without hesitation, he headed toward the honeycombed bone. “Just tell me these caves aren't dead ends, Doc.”

  Tyler's expression grew more intense than ever. She answered cautiously. “If this were human bone structure, we might encounter a spongy marrow tissue where red blood cells are made. That would give us room to maneuver.”

  Devlin took her answer as a recommendation and shot toward the nearest passageway into the network of bone. The nanomachines followed in their wake, picking up speed.

  The ship entered a breathtaking gallery of hard white calcium that sparkled under the spotlights. Devlin flew through one tunnel at a breakneck pace, hooked sideways into another, and followed what appeared to be the clearest path. He executed unexpected turns and random jumps, unwilling to slow even in the confined spaces. “I'm not going to relax a single muscle until I get us all out of this body and back to our own size again, safe and sound.”

  “Fine by me,” Tomiko said, holding on to her seat as he dodged through sharp turns and lacy overhanging loops of hard white mineral.

  “We made it into the spongy tissue.” Tyler stroked her hands along the window glass as if tracing the bone structure. “Those calcified walls are called lamellae.”

  “In humans,” the UFO expert said, then sat down, as if realizing he was being a pest.

  Spherical cells swirled around them, gelatinous masses like bumper cars that drifted toward the outflowing blood vessels. “I presume those are newborn erythrocytes—or the equivalent thereof,” Tyler added quickly without looking at Freeth. “Red blood cells are a special case, unlike other cells because they have no DNA. They're just bags of hemoglobin. If the alien uses a similar process, they arise in the red marrow from pluripotential stem cells, which can also create leukocytes or platelets.”

  Freeth seemed pleased that she was trying to be open-minded, or at least covering her bases. “Believe me, I don't want to meet any marauding white blood cells. We're having enough trouble with nanocritters at the moment.”

  Tyler agreed. “A leukocyte wouldn't have the sheer determination those nanomachines are exhibiting.” For the moment, at least, none of the attacking machines had managed to follow them.

  “And a white blood cell couldn't track us, either. It's almost as if—” Devlin stopped in mid-sentence, then groaned. His hands flashed over the comm system controls, shutting down the emergency transmitter. “Our SOS beacon—we've been shouting our location to them everywhere we go.” He rested his forehead in his palm. “The critters must have been homing in on the distress call.”

  Freeth said, “But if Project Proteus was mounting some kind of extraction effort, now they'll have no way of knowing where we are.”

  “And neither do the nanocritters.” Tomiko ran her strong hands up and down the weapons controls, her almond eyes wary. “Personally, I think we're getting the better part of the bargain.”

  Tyler continued to scan the cavernous passages that blurred past. “Terrestrial bones have a long, hollow shaft that contains the yellow marrow. If this alien continues to have similarities to human structure, we should be able to travel a great distance without any obstruction.”

  “Roger that,” Devlin said. Full speed to nowhere.

  “Traveling a great distance is good,” Freeth said. “Dr. Tyler, human bone isn't this porous, is it?” His voice still sounded a bit tentative, as if he feared she would snap at him for asking a question. “To me, that suggests the species came from a planet with lower gravity than ours, or maybe they evolved from birds, which would give them a strong but lightweight skeletal structure.”

  Tyler didn't disagree. “Possible, I suppose. But if so, the alien's bones might break if it tried to walk across a room under Earth gravity.”

  Eager to continue the conversation, Freeth joined her at the window. “Maybe the nanomachines can add metallic atoms to reinforce the bone structure. They could even alter the alien's metabolism and biochemistry to let it breathe different atmospheres and survive under harsh circumstances.”

  Tyler seemed just about to give him a smile of grudging acceptance when nine nanocritters smashed through the gossamer lamellae around them. The relentless tiny machines streaked into the bone tunnel, cutting off the fleeing vessel both from the front and rear. Freeth let out a startled squawk and scr
ambled back from the side window.

  Tomiko fired at the leading nanomachine just as two more attackers rammed the Mote from behind. Devlin put on a burst of speed through a downward-sloping bone passage. A new mechanical attacker crunched into the port hull and slid off, scraping against the bone walls. The spongy calcium catacombs were too cramped for the nanomachines to surround them.

  The Mote rushed through the marrow fluid, recoiling from impacts with newborn blood cells. Devlin shifted course much faster than he had any right to expect his reactions to handle. “And Kelli said I was wasting my time with all those videogames.”

  Think small.

  Targeting carefully with the rear laser cannons, Tomiko looked for an appropriate cluster of lamellae in the crowded bone walls. “Time for a cave-in.”

  She hit the nearest nanocritter with a hard blast. The tiny machine broke apart, spreading a fan of fullerene debris, broken diamond memory circuitry, and dangling buckytube arms with metal-atom tips.

  Tomiko's rapid pinpoint strikes shot out the overhanging arches of bone, shattering curtain after curtain into hard white rubble. Calcium shards broke away and tumbled to mix with the debris of the destroyed nanomachine, creating a microscopic asteroid belt.

  The closest two pursuing devices collided with the wreckage cloud at full speed, like bulls stampeding into a mine field. In seconds, the passage was clogged with broken carbon-lattice bodies and bone fragments.

  “Like a pileup in a demolition derby.” Tomiko sounded immensely pleased with herself. She blew imaginary smoke from her fingertip.

  Ahead, the calcium lace expanded into larger grottoes and passages. They must be approaching the open medullary shaft Dr. Tyler had predicted. Devlin prayed their way would remain clear. The Mote streaked along, leaving a turbulent wake behind it, and no one knew if they were in the alien's leg, or a rib, or its little toe.

  “Free and clear. I'm going to see just how fast this ship can go,” Devlin said as they burst into an open area filled with floating cells shaped like fried eggs. “We've got to make some progress toward getting out of here.”

  At the far end of the bone shaft, they would undoubtedly encounter another crowded labyrinth of red marrow, and no doubt a new pack of nanocritters…

  He couldn't understand why the microscopic machines were so obsessive. Certainly, dismantling the Mote would yield a treasure trove of raw materials for the assembly of a few more nanocritters. But judging by the way the devices were already reproducing, they didn't have any dearth of building blocks. Why do they hold such a grudge?

  In fact, he could think of no reason why the nanomachines didn't see each other as viable meals. Every one of the finished devices must look like a great big assembly kit to all the others. If the voracious machines were programmed to grab any available molecules and build copies of themselves, what stopped them from just attacking each other?

  Devlin blinked in surprise and spoke aloud. “Obviously they have some way to tell the difference.” He craned his neck around, searching for Cynthia Tyler. “Hey, Doc—how does a white corpuscle understand which cells are benign and which ones have foreign proteins that need to be destroyed?”

  “The leukocytes respond to a type of code on the surface of natural cells to distinguish them from foreign objects.” She paused and considered his line of reasoning. “Yes. In a similar fashion, these nanomachines must have some way of determining friend or foe.”

  Devlin sat up straight. After all his years in the Air Force and his training as a fighter pilot, he should have thought of this sooner. “Each one must have a signal generator, like a jet fighter's IFF—the Identify Friend/Foe transmitter. Those devices have got to be sending out ID signals. Otherwise, they'd tear each other apart like hungry sharks.”

  He grinned with relief. In the red marrow approaching at the other end of the long bone, there must be more nanomachines. Waiting to attack the Mote.

  There wasn't much time. Less than an hour remained on the mission chronometer, but now he had an idea that might save his crew.

  “Simple.” Devlin kept his hands on the controls but glanced over at Tomiko. “We just have to fool the nanomachines into thinking that we're one of them.”

  Chapter 34

  Mission clock: 53 minutes remaining

  When Sergei Pirov turned into a wild man, Garamov couldn't believe what he was seeing.

  In a blur, the Russian doctor grabbed Sujatha's protective suit and backhanded him with a resounding crack that sent the Bengali sprawling. Then he went into a frenzy, snarling and screaming as if with some kind of seizure.

  Congressman Durston leaped to his feet. “What the hell is he doing down there?”

  Hunter pounded on the intercom button. “Dr. Pirov!”

  No one could see the old man's altered face inside the hooded suit.

  Garamov yelled into the microphone, this time in Russian. Pirov responded by thrashing about, reversing direction, and hurling himself at the far wall like a rabid dog in a cage.

  “Get that man up here right now,” Durston demanded. “I want to know the meaning of this.”

  “You are welcome to go inside and get him, Congressman,” Garamov said with harsh sarcasm. “He needs medical attention, a sedative at least.”

  “Impossible. They're sealed in the chamber, and I can't let them out.” Hunter spoke rapidly, in control. “This could be a reaction to an extraterrestrial disease. If they're contaminated somehow, we can't risk the contact. No one else goes inside, either. Not until we get some answers about what's going on.”

  Huddled on the floor, Sujatha scrambled like a beetle to find some sort of shelter. “Director Hunter, help me, please.” His faceplate was cracked.

  The old Russian doctor ran amok in the containment room. He grabbed trays and flung them at the thick Lexan windows with a clatter. He knocked over an instrument stand and slammed his body against the armored wall, pounding with gloved fists. The sound from his voice pickup warbled up and down, an inhuman wail without comprehensible words.

  On the control deck, Hunter used his overrides to activate the facility's full alarm and lockdown procedures. “Standby alert.” Magenta lights whirled at corridor intersections in the mountain complex.

  Already sealed, the Class IV chamber became armed, systems in place to prevent unauthorized entry or escape—with deadly force, if necessary. An ominous blinking red light indicated the sterilization-burst device powering up.

  Hunter wasn't prepared to consider that option. Not yet.

  Armed guards rushed to the observation deck, ready to whisk Durston and Garamov to safety. Boots clomping like muffled gunfire, Marines ran along the outside corridors, surrounding the containment chamber at floor level. They held rifles in front of them, their faces stony and grim. A piercing tone signaled that the chamber had reached full emergency status.

  Hunter tried the chamber intercom again. “Sergei Pirov, can you hear me?” He maintained a deep, calm voice. “We can't help you unless you explain what's happening.”

  Unaware of his surroundings, Pirov threw forceps and diagnostic equipment at the unbreakable windows. The instruments bounced off, leaving only nicks on the glass. With the same tools, he could easily have killed Sujatha, but he ignored the other doctor.

  “He is… changed, Director, sir,” the Bengali gasped into his suit microphone. “Dr. Pirov is no longer human.”

  The transformed Russian turned his hooded head and raised his bulky arms, clenching and unclenching gloved fists.

  In the flickering emergency lights and the weird shadows, Hunter could barely make out the old doctor's features, a bizarre distortion, before he turned away and grabbed another tray of instruments. Roaring, Pirov hurled it at the sealed door.

  No longer human?

  Scalpels, battery-powered laser incision tools, a rotary bone-cutting saw, and medical diagnostic equipment clattered and bounced. Then he turned to the massive laser drill and wrestled with its anchor stand, trying unsuccessfully
to uproot the machine from the floor. Sujatha hunched out of the way, trying to avoid the furious, inhuman storm.

  Outside the window, Marines extended their rifles. They flinched uneasily, but dared not fire.

  Lurching over to the chamber's airlock hatch, Pirov worked with the controls, trying to force the locking wheel, but it would not budge. Then he hammered on the armored autoclave door, to no effect.

  Perplexed as well as horrified, Garamov glanced at Hunter in awe. “What is this? Director Hunter, do you have any explanations?”

  “I don't think any of us understands, Vasili.” Out of nervous habit, Hunter brushed down his mustache. More sweat trickled from his forehead.

  Though it had been neutralized by the emergency lockdown, the keypad exit panel still glowed beside the door. The Russian doctor knew the access code, but he hadn't even bothered to enter it. Why would he try the manual release first? It was as if the man had no memory of who or where he was.

  Finally, as if wrestling some sort of control upon himself, Pirov turned to the keypad. Gloved fingers punched buttons with lightning-fast reflexes to enter the code. The panel glowed scarlet, refusing to open the door. Another alarm sounded.

  Pirov canceled the entry and stabbed at the buttons again, his fingers an even faster blur than before. When the system denied him a second time, he flew into a rage and punched the panel. His gloved fist smashed it into a sparking eruption of sizzling wires, burned-out indicator lights, and shards of plastic and metal.

  “Can't we shoot him with a tranquilizer gun?” Durston said with morbid fascination. “He's like a mad elephant.”

  “I'm afraid we didn't install automatic tranquilizer guns as part of our standard security systems, Mr. Congressman.” Hunter was too concerned for his people to pay much attention to Durston's overblown sense of importance. “Funding constraints, you know.”

  Garamov glowered at the congressman. “That man is a highly respected researcher and one of the chief medical experts of Project Proteus, Mr. Durston.”