Tomiko hunched against a gale-force wind that pushed through the tunnel—the positive-pressure flow Director Hunter had applied to keep the nanomachines from spreading outward. She suspected the ruthless alien devices could still fight their way through the tunnel.
She certainly knew how determined those machines were.
Tomiko dug her feet into the rippled side of the tunnel, held the cable taut, and shouted at the top of her lungs to be heard over the microscopic wind. “Arnold, come on over! Let's move it!”
High above, the UFO expert poked his head out of the hatch. Frightened resignation written on his face, he hesitated, then grasped the cable with sweaty palms. Behind him in the airlock. Dr. Tyler looked ready to give him a push if he didn't move faster.
Tomiko held the rope as steady as she could; luckily, at their size, gravity had little effect. Freeth began to work his way down the rope…
Inside the Mote, Devlin swung the sampling spear Tomiko had dropped, using it as a club to batter the nanomachines. The devices looked smaller and smaller, vermin now instead of monsters. His blows dented bead-lattice body cores, bent articulated limbs, smashed optical sensors. But an inexhaustible supply of nanocritters continued to stream down from the full-sized alien bodies. The struggling ship would be completely overwhelmed soon.
Dr. Tyler, looking out an intact window, watched Tomiko grab the UFO expert by the collar and drag him over the rippling glass ledge. She looked strangely relieved to see him safe. “All right. Freeth is secure.”
“Go, Doc!” Devlin pummeled two more nanocritters into lumps of carbon mesh.
With a nod, Tyler wrapped her arms and legs around the cable. As if scorning her instinctive fear, she inched downward, clinging to the cable.
The Mote dropped with a sickening lurch, and Tyler clutched the anchor rope, nearly jarred loose. Her legs dangled free for a moment, but she caught an ankle around the strand again and pulled her knee over the cable. She hung steady, sickly pale and afraid to move. Devlin yelled at her to hurry.
Inside the besieged engine compartment, the stuttering impellers strained to hold the vessel in place, but gusts of air from the pinhole pushed the hulk farther from the glass wall and down. The cable stretched against the anchor hook until it thrummed with the strain. A random swirl of wind shoved the Mote in another direction, closer to the window.
The cable drooped with slack, and Tyler could barely hold on, hanging below the hole now. Slowing her pace with her feet, she tried to scramble up the dangling rope. Standing at the edge of the tunnel, both Tomiko and Freeth reached out for her, calling encouragement.
More nanomachines skittered along the exterior of the doomed Mote. The miniaturized vessel had expanded enough in size that the tiny robots could easily squeeze through gaping rips in the hull, crawling between the support framework. Devlin smashed one after another.
Holding on for dear life, Cynthia Tyler made it halfway across the gap.
Several nanomachines dropped onto the connecting cable from the outer hull of the Mote. In a rush, the devices worked their way along the rope like big spiders climbing a web, scuttling after the medical specialist.
“Faster, Dr. Tyler!” Freeth shouted. “They're coming!”
The doctor looked behind her to see the mechanical monstrosities closing the distance. With slippery palms, she hauled herself higher, toward the tunnel. The glass wall and the safety of the opening looked very far away.
A draft snatched the Mote upward again. One hand slipped, and Tyler dangled, barely holding on until she secured her grip again and pulled herself along.
Tomiko reached out, but her arms could not reach the other woman's. “Just a little farther!”
“Come on, please, come on!” Freeth shouted, his face agonized.
One of the Mote's engines failed at last, its impeller turbine torn out, and the mangled vessel tilted at a horrible angle. Inside the main compartment, Devlin had to grab a side wall just to maintain his footing on the buckled deck. Wind roared through the holes in the hull.
Another five nanocritters broke into the ship.
More attacking devices dropped away and snagged the anchor cable, as if they knew it was their link to the tunnel, their escape route outside. Three nanomachines raced up the rope in the opposite direction, back toward the Mote's airlock.
Back toward Devlin.
Trapped inside, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. But when he looked out through the bottom hatch, he saw another six nanomachines clambering toward him, claw arms clacking.
To his dismay, he watched their claws work at the cable, chewing, cutting. Severing it. “No!” he shouted.
Strands of the anchor rope parted, and the tether broke away from the crippled Mote. The long cable fell from the ship, leaving him stranded aboard.
Now he had no way to get across…
As the severed rope dropped away, Tyler swung like a wrecking ball into the vertical wall. Dozens of the dog-sized nanocritters climbed after her from the ragged end of the tether.
Feet slipping, Tyler scrambled unsuccessfully against the pitted glass surface. She seemed to be only a few meters from her destination.
“Pull her up, Arnold. Move it!” Tomiko worked with Freeth to haul on the rope, bringing the doctor closer to the ledge. She looked up with agonized sorrow, knowing Marc Devlin was lost aboard his ship.
Then the nanocritters reached Tyler. One grasped her right foot with a sharp pincer claw. She kicked, trying to break free, and then a second nanomachine skittered onto her back, clawing with sharp metal limbs, hacking at her skin the way they had at the Mote's hull.
Tyler screamed and cursed as blood flowed from slashes in her skin. But she held on.
Lying flat on the glass floor and reaching down for her, Arnold Freeth cried out in earnest determination, “Grab my hand! My hand!”
Tyler tried to climb up, keeping her grip, but even more nanomachines crawled over her body, cutting, chewing, stabbing. Blood soaked her Proteus uniform, and her right leg dangled limp.
Her slippery fingers brushed Freeth's, tried to lock, but she lost her grip. In a reflexive show of bravery that surprised even him, Freeth lunged, managed to grab her wrist, and held tight. “Believe me, I'm not going to let go.”
The loose cable dangled below her. Vicious devices continued to climb toward the exit tunnel.
Tyler's face twisted with agony from a hundred shades. The nanomachines, ferocious mechanical pitbulls, tore at her flesh, vivisecting her. Other devices scrambled to her head, trying to climb higher. “Can't … let them get … up there!”
“You can make it!” Freeth pulled on her wrist, determined not to let go.
Tyler's eyes flashed with fear, then decision. “Once again, Freeth… we disagree.”
As the nanomachines crawled over her shoulders, intent on escaping the containment chamber, Tyler used her last strength to yank her slick hand free from Freeth's grasp.
She closed her eyes and intentionally loosened her grip on the cable, taking with her all the nanomachines that clung to her body.
“No!” He reached for her, but Tomiko held him back.
As she let herself slide downward, Dr. Tyler stripped away most of the remaining devices on the cable like beads popping off a broken necklace. Then she and the nanomachines fell away into the infinite distance, dropping out of sight…
Not letting herself think about what she had just seen, Tomiko kicked the grappling hook away from the glass ledge. The severed cable tumbled down the rugged crystalline wall, carrying with it the last two nanomachines.
Then she looked across to watch the Mote falling apart in the sky.
On board, Devlin swung his spear and kicked at the hordes of nanomachines. He had seen Dr. Tyler plummet to her death, and he knew he would be next. Air currents shook the buckling deck; the ship's entire ceiling was gone now. The second impeller engine sputtered. The Mote would soon plummet to the far-distant floor.
Far, far above him, the
humongous aliens moved about, still trying to block the team's escape. A backwash breeze slammed the ship and drove the wrecked hulk upward against the glass wall, high above the tunnel.
Devlin tumbled to the deck and reached the crumbling bulkhead just as the last impeller engine died. The Mote began to scrape down the rough glass, grinding against ledges and scratches.
As the wreckage fell, bouncing on capricious breezes, he saw the tunnel rushing toward him. He grabbed the widest hull opening and leaped out, pushing away with all of his strength. He sailed across the gap as the magnificent ship tumbled away.
Watching in despair and then surprise, Tomiko reacted in a flash. Devlin nearly missed the edge of the tunnel, but she fell flat on her stomach and caught his hands in a stunt that would have made her father proud.
Freeth grabbed for her legs and kept her from slipping as she took Devlin's weight with her arms.
Kicking out, Devlin swung against the uneven surface, trying to get purchase with his feet. With wiry strength, Tomiko hauled him up into the shaft.
Panting, flushed with adrenaline, Devlin watched the Mote break apart into debris. Its engines fell out; laboratory equipment tumbled through gaps in the floor plates. The dead miniaturized ship tumbled slowly until it vanished far below, where Dr. Tyler had gone.
Devlin leaned back, his muscles quivering with shock and exhaustion. He could not afford to mourn the losses until later. Much later…
Tomiko grasped his shoulder, mercifully saying nothing. He nodded to signal that he was all right.
He looked with dread at the cliff above the tunnel. The impact of the dying vessel against the glass wall had jarred loose a new flood of clinging nanomachines. They had leaped from the wreckage like artificial fleas and now skittered down the pitted surface of the window.
Freeth's muddy eyes were wide, his freckled face milky and pale. He stared out into the open air, as if hoping to catch another glimpse of Cynthia Tyler.
In an instant, Devlin pulled himself together. He was in charge here, and he damned sure wasn't going to let anyone else die. He hauled the UFO expert to his feet. “Hurry! We're already growing.”
Tomiko took the lead as the three of them lurched into a run along the pinhole tunnel through the observation window.
An army of nanomachines rushed after them.
Chapter 42
Mission clock: + 8 minutes
Finally healed and resurrected, the creature that had been Sergei Pirov sucked in a deep breath, stretching his diaphragm, spreading ribs, filling lungs. Alive again. He lay on the cold floor of the containment chamber, legs jittering with random muscle twitches. Nanomachines surged through all the body's damaged systems, completing emergency reconstruction.
The huge, bottomless eyes blinked once, then remained open and staring, seeming to grow even blacker.
Sufficiently repaired to return to the all-consuming task, his alien body rolled over, leaving a drying bloodstain on the floor. The pool of blood itself seemed alive, writhing… shrinking as the tiny devices used organic material for their own purposes.
Pirov made no sound of pain or exultation as the burn scar faded along his spine, the skin cells fizzing and foaming in an organic froth. The flow of discolored fluids leaking from his wounds slowed, then stopped.
He was ready to continue the fight.
Slowly, Pirov rose to his feet, refamiliarizing himself with his own muscles. Though eerily silent, the three identical aliens communicated with each other through signals and complex codes, formulating a combined plan. Together, they would break out of the chamber.
With long, steady strides the Pirov-alien went to join his companions—to join the struggle, to do more damage.
In front of where the laser drill had punched through the glass, the original alien pilot lurked as a sentry. The extraterrestrial creature stood so close to the unbreakable Lexan window that Felix Hunter could see the contours of bones and musculature, the smooth skin that was infested with furiously replicating microscopic invaders.
Hunter's mind raced. We will all look like that, if a single nanomachine escapes.
At the beginning of their journey, Team Proteus had entered through pores in that placid-looking skin, eager to explore in the name of science. Now Hunter wished he'd never attempted the scheme, never listened to Vasili Garamov's idea to use the miniaturization project. There had been too little time to plan, too many uncertainties.
But if he hadn't brought the lifepod here, if Garamov had simply delivered the crashed lifepod into the hands of curious Russian scientists without proper precautions, a local medical examiner in Azerbaijan would have cracked open the lifepod and made a routine inspection of the body, probably wearing nothing more than latex gloves and a cotton breathing mask. The examiner, far out of his depth, would have released the nanomachines… and the infestation/invasion scenario would already be playing itself out.
The battle for Earth would have been lost.
Still, Hunter had had no business sending Marc Devlin and his team on such a risky, unpredictable mission. They'd had no idea what dangers they might encounter inside an alien body, where they would go, how they would respond to unpredictable hazards, and survive…
Now, the Sujatha-alien and the resurrected Pirov moved to the door-control panel. The two of them went back to work where the Russian doctor had been trying to cut an opening with the battery-powered rotary bone saw.
Sujatha bent to the floor and picked up the discarded laser scalpel with which he had—temporarily—slain Sergei Pirov. He flicked on the burning red knife, trying to use the cutting tool for another purpose entirely.
Out in the corridor, Trish Wylde waited beside Hunter, desperate for some signal from Team Proteus. “How much longer can we wait?”
Magenta alarm beacons continued to flash. The last of the technicians and scientists had ducked into their designated shelters. The control lights for the annihilation sequence glowed ready, waiting for the final code that would unleash a sterilizing blaze. Beside Hunter and Wylde, a few remaining Marine guards stood stony-faced, as if they knew they might be on a suicide assignment.
He stared at the digital chronometer on the wall, his eyes burning. “Come on, Marc!”
The Sujatha-alien paused with the laser scalpel in his hand, as if he had momentarily forgotten how the instrument worked. Then he applied the hot beam to the armored wall. Though designed to burn incisions through flesh and bone, not metal, the laser scalpel heated the armor plate, finally burning through the first layer. Smoke and sparks spurted upward. With infinite patience, he moved a centimeter at a time.
Beside him, the Pirov-alien picked up his bone-cutting saw again and powered on the motor. The whir sounded like a dentist drilling teeth. He applied the spinning diamond blade to the control panel, slicing circuits, apparently hoping he could hot-wire the dead systems.
One of them would soon cut through. The imprisoned aliens needed only to create the tiniest breach— enough for the microscopic nanomachines to escape.
One of the Marines said, “We need to get behind the lead shields, sir.”
“Not until I hear from Major Devlin.” Even to his own ears, he sounded stubborn and foolish.
The Mote's beacon had cut off, so the Proteus technicians could no longer locate the miniaturized ship. Hunter had no way of knowing where the vessel was, or if the crew had survived. It seemed like such a long shot.
Pirov pushed the bone-cutter harder against the wall, chopping deep scars into the tough alloy plates.
“Sir, if we don't trigger the sterilization blast in time—”
“Not until I hear from Major Devlin.”
With sweat running down the sides of his tanned face, Hunter hunched in front of the tiny pinprick. A desk fan roared next to the borehole, blowing air to stall the oncoming nanomachines. On one finger he held a lump of epoxy, ready to cover the hole as soon as he saw the signal flash.
“Marc, please hurry,” he whispered through clenche
d teeth.
Team Proteus must be almost through. They had to be on their way. How could he give up now, when his crew was on the verge of being safe?
With an angry shout, Congressman Durston strode red-faced into the corridor outside the chamber, followed by the Russian Deputy Foreign Minister and two flustered guards. “Why haven't you pushed the button, Director? This delay is unconscionable!”
“Congressman, you must get behind the barricades!” One guard actually tugged on Durston's arm, but the man yanked his elbow away.
Pale-faced and jittering, Garamov looked frantic for a cigarette. The crisis had actually forced him into an alliance with the congressman. “You know we cannot hesitate, Director Hunter. You are playing with the lives of every person on Earth. This hesitation is madness.”
Hunter had no legitimate arguments, no defense against their demands. “You should have stayed in your protected room, gentlemen. Get behind those lead barricades and prepare.” He swallowed hard. “I have transferred the detonation sequence to my command console here.”
Inside the chamber, Sujatha had succeeded in cutting the first layer off the wall plating. He dropped it to the floor with a clatter and methodically began to work on the next section.
The Pirov-alien extracted a handful of wires and began to cross-connect them, ignoring the sparks around his fingers.
“So order the blast!” Durston yelled as Garamov and a Marine guard pulled him toward the lead shielding.
With a sick feeling, Hunter knew the diplomats were right. Everything was about to fail. He had given Devlin and his crew their best chance.
Sujatha peeled away yet another thin section of the armored plating, then used the laser to cut deeper.
“Sorry, Marc.” Hunter reached forward to seal the hole.
Chapter 43
Mission clock: + 10 minutes
Helping each other in a mad rush, the three survivors of Team Proteus raced along the tunnel. Their panting breath echoed in the narrow space, accompanied by the rush of wind from outside.
Fantastic Voyage : Microcosm Page 26