Isaac Asimov (17 page)

Other blue-green corpuscles making their way past them turned color likewise. The headlights were picking up only straw color ahead and the color deepened into orange-red in the distance.

“You see,” said Cora, excitedly, “as they pick up the oxygen, the hemoglobin turns into oxyhemoglobin and the blood brightens to red. That will be taken back to the left ventricle of the heart now and the rich, oxygenated blood will be pumped all over the body.”

“You mean we have to go back through the heart again,” said Grant, in instant concern.

“Oh, no,” said Cora. “Now that we’re in the capillary system, we’ll be able to cut across.” She didn’t sound very certain of it, however.

Duval said, “Look at the wonder of it. Look at the God-given wonder of it.”

Michaels said, stiffly, “It’s just a gas exchange. A mechanical process worked out by the random forces of evolution over a period of two billion years.”

Duval turned fiercely, “Are you maintaining that this is accidental; that this marvelous mechanism, geared to perfection at a thousand points and all interlocking with clever certainty, is produced by nothing more than just the here-and-there collision of atoms?”

“That’s exactly what I want to tell you. Yes,” said Michaels.

At which point both, facing each other in belligerent exasperation, looked up with a snap at the sudden raucous sound of a buzzer.

Owens said, “What the devil …”

He flicked at a switch desperately but a needle on one of his gauges was dropping rapidly toward a red horizontal line. He shut off the buzzer and called out, “Grant!”

“What is it?”

“Something’s wrong. Check the manual right over there.”

Grant followed the pointing finger, moving quickly, while Cora crowded behind.

Grant said, “There’s a needle in the red danger zone under something marked TANK LEFT. Obviously, the left tank’s losing pressure.”

Owens groaned and looked behind. “And how. We’re bubbling air into the bloodstream. Grant, get up here quickly.” He was shucking his harness.

Grant scrambled toward the ladder, making room as best he might for Owens to squeeze past on the way down.

Cora managed to make out the bubbles through the small rear window. She said, “Air bubbles in the bloodstream can be fatal …”

“Not this kind,” said Duval, hastily. “On our miniaturized scale we produce bubbles that are too tiny to do harm. And when they de-miniaturize they will have become too well distributed to do harm then either.”

“Never mind the danger to Benes,” said Michaels grimly. “
We
need the air.”

Owen called back to Grant, who was seating himself at the controls. “Just leave everything as it is for now, but watch for any red signal flashes anywhere on the board.”

He said to Michaels as he passed him, “There must be a frozen valve. I can’t think of anything else.”

He moved back and opened a panel with a quick wrench at one end, using a small tool he had removed from the pocket of his uniform. The maze of wires and circuit breakers was revealed in frightening complexity.

Owens’ skilled fingers probed through them quickly, testing and eliminating with an ease and celerity that could only have marked the ship’s designer. He tripped a switch, opened it quickly and let it snap shut, then moved forward to look over the auxiliary controls underneath the windows at the bow of the ship.

“There must have been some damage outside when we scraped into the pulmonary artery, or when the arterial blood-surge hit us.”

“Is the valve usable?” asked Michaels.

“Yes. It was jarred a little out of alignment, I think, and when something forced it open just now, maybe just one of the pushes of Brownian movement, it stayed that way. I’ve realigned it now and it will give no further trouble, only—”

“Only what,” said Grant.

“I’m afraid this has torn it. We don’t have enough air to complete the journey. If this were an orthodox submarine, I’d say we would have to surface to renew the air supply.”

“But then what do we do now?” asked Cora.

“Surface. It’s all we can do. We’ve got to ask to be taken out right now or the ship becomes unmaneuverable in ten minutes and we strangle in five more.”

He moved to the ladder. “I’ll take over, Grant. You get to the transmitter and give them the news.”

Grant said, “Wait. Do we have any reserve air?”

“That was it. All of it. All gone. In fact, when that air de-miniaturizes, it will be much larger in volume than Benes. It will kill him.”

“No, it won’t,” said Michaels. “The miniaturized molecules of the air we’ve lost will pass right through the tissues and out into the open. Very little will be left in the body by de-miniaturization time. Still, I’m afraid Owens is right. We can’t go on.”

“But
wait
,” said Grant. “Why can’t we surface?”

“I’ve just said …” began Owens, impatiently.

“I don’t mean be taken out of here. I mean,
really
surface. There. Right there. We have blood corpuscles picking up oxygen in front of our eyes. Can’t we do the same? There are only two thin membranes between ourselves and an ocean of air. Let’s get it.”

Cora said, “Grant’s right.”

“No, he isn’t,” said Owens. “What do you think we are? We’re miniaturized, with lungs the size of a bacterial fragment. The air on the other side of those membranes is unminiaturized. Each oxygen molecule in that air is almost large enough to see, damn it. Do you think we can take them into our lungs?”

Grant looked non-plussed. “But …”

“We can’t wait, Grant. You’ll have to get in touch with the control room.”

Grant said, “Not yet. Didn’t you say this ship was originally meant for deep-sea research? What was it supposed to do underwater?”

“We were hoping to miniaturize underwater specimens for carriage to the surface and investigation at leisure.”

“Well, then, you must have miniaturization equipment on board. You didn’t pull it out last night, did you?”

“Of course we have it. But only on a small scale.”

“How large scale do we need it? If we lead air into the miniaturizer, we can reduce the size of the molecules and lead them into our air tanks.”

“We don’t have the time for that,” put in Michaels.

“If time runs out, then we’ll ask to be taken out. Until then, let’s try. You’ve got a snorkel on board I suppose, Owens.”

“Yes.” Owens seemed completely confused at Grant’s rapid and urgent sentences.

“And we can run such a snorkel through the capillary and lung walls without harming Benes, can’t we?”

“At our size, I should certainly think so,” said Duval.

“All right then, we run the snorkel from lung to ship’s miniaturizer and lead a tube from miniaturizer to the airreserve chamber. Can you improvise that?”

Owens considered for a moment, seemed to catch fire at the prospect and said, “Yes, I think so.”

“All right then, when Benes inhales there’ll be pressure enough to fill our tanks for us. Remember that time distortion will make our few minutes grace seem longer than it is on the unminiaturized scale. Anyway, we’ve got to try.”

Duval said, “I agree. We must try. By all means.
Now!
”

Grant said, “Thanks for the support, doctor.”

Duval nodded, then said, “What’s more, if we’re going to try this, let’s not try to make a one-man job out of this. Owens had better stay at the controls, but I will come out with Grant.”

“Ah,” said Michaels. “I was wondering what you were after. I see now. You want a chance at exploration in the open.”

Duval flushed, but Grant broke in hastily, “Whatever the motive, the suggestion is good. In fact, we had better all come out. Except Owens, of course. —The snorkel is aft, I suppose.”

“In the supply and storage compartment,” said Owens. He was back at the controls now, staring straight ahead. “If you’ve ever seen a snorkel, you won’t mistake it.”

Grant moved hastily into the compartment, saw the snorkel at once and reached for the packaged underwater gear.

Then he stopped in horror and shouted, “Cora!”

She was behind him in a moment. “What’s the matter!”

Grant tried not to explode. It was the first time he looked at the girl without an appreciative inner comment at her beauty. For the moment, he was merely agonized. He pointed and said, “Look at that!”

She looked and turned a white face toward him, “I don’t understand.”

The laser over the working counter was swinging loose on one hook, its plastic cover off.

“Didn’t you bother securing it?” demanded Grant.

Cora nodded wildly, “I did! I
did
secure it! I swear it. Heavens …”

“Then how could it …”

“I don’t
know
. How can I answer that?”

Duval was behind her, his eyes narrowed and his face hard. He said, “What has happened to the laser, Miss Peterson?”

Cora turned to meet the new questioner. “I don’t know. Why do you all turn on me? I’ll test it right now. I’ll check …”

“No!” roared Grant. “Just put it down and make sure it won’t knock around any further. We’ve got to get our oxygen before we do anything else.”

He began handing out the suits.

Owens had come down from the bubble. He said, “The ship’s controls are locked in place. We won’t be going anywhere here in the capillary anyway. —My God, the laser!”

“Don’t you start,” screamed Cora, eyes now swimming in tears.

Michaels said, clumsily, “Now, Cora, it won’t help if you break down. Later, we’ll consider this carefully. —It must have been knocked loose in the whirlpool. Clearly an accident.”

Grant said, “Captain Owens, connect this end of the snorkel to the miniaturizer. The rest of us will get into our suits and I hope someone shows me quickly how to get into mine. I’ve never tried this.”

Reid said, “There’s no mistake? They’re not moving?”

“No, sir,” came the technician’s voice. “They’re on the outer limits of the right lung and they’re staying there.”

Reid turned to Carter. “I can’t explain it.”

Carter stopped his angry pacing for a moment and jerked a thumb at the Time Recorder, which was reading 42. We’ve killed over a quarter of all the time available and we’re farther from that damn clot than when we started. We should have been out by now.”

“Apparently,” said Reid, coldly, “we are laboring under a curse.”

“And I don’t feel whimsical about it, either, colonel.”

“Nor do I. But what am I supposed to feel in order to satisfy you.”

“At least, let’s find out what’s holding them up.” He closed the appropriate circuit and said, “Contact the
Proteus
.”

Reid said, “I suppose it’s some sort of mechanical difficulty.”

“You suppose!” said Carter, with urgent sarcasm. “I don’t suppose they’ve just stopped for a quiet swim.”

The four of them, Michaels, Duval, Cora, and Grant, were in their swimsuits now—form-fitting, comfortable, and in antiseptic white. Each had oxygen cylinders strapped to the back, a flashlight on the forehead, fins on the feet and a radio transmitter and receiver at mouth and ear respectively.

“It’s a form of skin diving,” said Michaels, adjusting the headgear, “and I’ve never gone skin diving. To have the first try at it in someone’s bloodstream …”

The ship’s wireless tapped urgently.

Michaels said, “Hadn’t you better answer that?”

“And get into a conversation?” said Grant, impatiently. “There’ll be time for talk when we’re done. Here, help me.”

Cora guided the plastic-shielded helmet over Grant’s head and snapped it into place.

Grant’s voice, transmuted at once into the faintly distorted version that comes over a small radio, sounded in her ear, “Thanks, Cora.”

She nodded at him dolefully.

Two by two they used the escape hatch and precious air had to be consumed by forcing blood plasma out of the hatch each time.

Grant found himself paddling in a fluid that was not even as clear as the water one would find on the average polluted beach. It was full of floating debris, flecks and bits of matter. The
Proteus
filled half the diameter of the capillary and past it red blood corpuscles nudged their way along with the periodic easier passage of the smaller platelets.

Grant said uneasily, “If platelets break against the
Proteus
, we may form a clot.”

“We may,” said Duval, “but it won’t be dangerous here; not in a capillary.”

They could see Owens within the ship. He lifted his head and revealed an anxious face. He nodded and moved his hand without enthusiasm, trying to dodge and turn so
as to be visible between and among the endlessly passing corpuscles. He put on the headgear of his own swimsuit and spoke into its transmitter.

He said, “I think I’ve got it arranged here. Anyway, I’ve done my best. Are you ready to have me release the snorkel?”

“Go ahead,” said Grant.

It came out of the special release hatch like a cobra coming out of a fakir’s basket at the sound of the pipes.

Grant seized it.

Michaels said, “Oh, heck,” in a sort of whisper. Then, more loudly, and in a tone that seemed saturated with chagrin, he said, “Consider how narrow the bore of that snorkel is, all of you. It looks as big around as a man’s arm, but how big is a man’s arm on our scale?”