Isaac Asimov (26 page)

Michaels lifted his fists almost as though he were ready to accept the challenge. But Duval and Cora had disappeared into the hatch and Michaels, watching them leave, became almost pleading.

“Listen, Grant, don’t you see what’s happening? Duval will kill Benes. It will be so easy. A slip of the laser and who will tell the difference? If you do as I say, we can leave Benes alive, get out and try again tomorrow.”

“He may not be alive tomorrow and we can’t miniaturize for quite a while, someone said.”

“He
might
be alive tomorrow; he’ll certainly be dead if you don’t stop Duval. Other people can be miniaturized tomorrow, even if we can’t.”

“In another ship? Nothing but the
Proteus
can manage, or is available.”

Michaels became shrill. “Grant, I tell you Duval is an enemy agent.”

“I don’t believe that,” said Grant.

“Why, because he’s so religious? Because he’s so full of pious platitudes? Isn’t that just the disguise he’d choose? Or have you been influenced by his mistress, his …”

Grant said, “Don’t finish that sentence, Michaels! Now, listen. There’s no evidence that he’s an enemy agent, and there’s no reason for me to believe that.”

“But I’m
telling
you …”

“I know you are. The fact is, though, I happen to believe that
you
are the enemy agent, Dr. Michaels.”

“I?”

“Yes. I have no real evidence for that either; nothing that could hold up in a law court, but once security is through with you, such evidence will be found, I think.”

Michaels pushed away from Grant and stared at him with horror. “Of course, I see now.
You
are the agent, Grant. Owens, don’t you see? There were a dozen times when we could have gotten out safely, when it was obvious that the mission couldn’t succeed, and wouldn’t. He kept us in here every time. That’s why he worked so hard replenishing our air supply at the lung. That’s why … Help me, Owens. Help me.”

Owens stood irresolute.

Grant said, “The Time Recorder is about to move to 5. We now have three minutes more. Give me three minutes, Owens. You know that Benes won’t live unless we remove the clot in those three minutes. I’ll go out and help them and you keep Michaels immobilized. If I’m not back by the reading of 2, get out of here and save the ship and yourself. Benes will die and maybe we will, too. But you’ll be safe and you can put the finger on Michaels.”

Owens still said nothing.

Grant said, “Three minutes.” And he began putting on his suit. The Time Recorder said 5.

Owens said, finally, “Three minutes, then. All right. But only three minutes.”

Michaels sat down wearily. “You’re letting them kill Benes, Owens, but I’ve done what I could. My conscience is clear.”

Grant worked his way through the hatch.

Duval and Cora swam quickly in the direction of the clot, he carrying the laser, she the power unit.

Cora said, “I don’t see any white cells, do you?”

“I’m not looking for them,” said Duval, brusquely.

He looked thoughtfully ahead. The beam of the ship’s headlight and their own smaller ones were weakened by the tangle of fibers that seemed to encase the clot just on the other side of the point at which the nerve impulses seemed to stop. The wall of the arteriole had been abraded by the injury and was not entirely blocked by the clot which embraced the section of nerve fibers and cells tightly.

“If we can break up the clot and relieve the pressure without touching the nerve itself,” muttered Duval, “we will be doing well. If we leave only a basic scab to keep the arteriole plugged—Let’s see now.”

He maneuvered for position and raised the laser, “And if this thing works.”

Cora said, “Dr. Duval, remember you said that the most economical stroke would be from above.”

“I remember exactly,” said Duval, grimly, “and I intend to hit it precisely.”

He pressed the laser trigger. For the barest moment, a thin beam of coherent light flashed into being.

“It works,” cried Cora, gladly.

“This time,” said Duval; “but it will have to work a number of times.”

For a moment, the clot had stood out in relief against the unbearable brilliance of the laser beam and a line of small bubbles formed and marked out its path. Now the darkness was greater than before.

Duval said, “Close one eye, Miss Peterson, so that its retina will not require resensitization.”

Again the laser beam and when it was over, Cora closed her open eye and opened the closed one. She said, excitedly, “It’s working, Dr. Duval. The glitter is progressing out of sight now. A whole dark area is lighting up.”

Grant was swimming up to them. “How’s it coming, Duval?”

“Not bad,” said Duval. “If I can cut it through transversely now and relieve the pressure on one key spot, I think the entire nerve pathway will be freed.”

He swam to one side.

Grant called after him, “We have less than three minutes.”

“Don’t bother me,” said Duval.

Cora said, “It’s all right, Grant. He’ll do it. Did Michaels make trouble?”

“Some,” said Grant, grimly. “Owens has him under guard.”

“Under guard?”

“Just in case …”

Inside the
Proteus
, Owens cast quick glances outward. “I don’t know what to do,” he muttered.

“Just stand here and let the murderers work,” said Michaels, sarcastically. “You’ll be held responsible for this, Owens.”

Owens was silent.

Michaels said, “You can’t believe I’m an enemy agent.”

Owens said, “I’m not believing anything. Let’s wait for the two-minute mark and if they’re not back, we’ll leave. What’s wrong with that?”

“All right,” said Michaels.

Owens said, “The laser is working. I saw the flash. And you know …”

“What?”

“The clot. I can see the sparkle of the nerve action in that direction where it couldn’t be seen before.”

“I don’t,” said Michaels, peering outward.

“I do,” said Owens. “I tell you, it’s working. And they’ll be back. It looks as though you were wrong, Michaels.”

Michaels shrugged, “All right, so much the better. If I’m wrong and if Benes lives, I could ask for nothing more. Only,” his voice grew tightly alarmed. “Owens!”

“What?”

“There’s something wrong with the escape hatch. That darned fool Grant must have been too excited to close it properly. Or
was
it excitement?”

“But what’s wrong? I don’t see anything.”

“Are you blind? It’s seeping fluid. Look at the seam.”

“It’s been wet here since Cora and Grant got away from the antibodies. Don’t you remember …”

Owens was staring down at the hatch and Michaels’ hand, having closed around the screwdriver Grant had used to open the wireless panel, brought its handle down hard upon Owens’ head.

With a muffled exclamation, Owens dropped to his knees, dazed.

Michaels struck again in a fever of impatience and began jamming the limp figure into its swimsuit. Perspiration stood out on his bald head in great drops. Opening the escape hatch, he thrust Owens into it. Quickly, he let the hatch fill with water then opened the outer door by the panel controls, losing a precious moment searching for it.

Ideally, he should now have flipped the ship to make certain that Owens had been thrown clear, but there was no time.

No time, he thought, no time.

Frantically, he leaped to the bubble and studied the controls. Something would have to be thrown to start the engine. Ah, there! A thrill of triumph surged through him as he felt the distant drumming of the engines begin again.

He looked ahead toward the clot. Owens had been right. A glitter of light was racing down the length of a long nerve process which until then had been dark.

Duval was aiming the laser beam in short bursts now at quick intervals.

Grant said, “I think we’ve just about had it, doctor. Time’s gone.”

“I’m just about done. The clot has crumbled away. Just one portion. Ah … Mr. Grant, the operation has been a success.”

“And we’ve got maybe three minutes to get out, maybe two. Back to the ship, now …”

Cora said, “Someone else is here.”

Grant veered, lunged toward the aimlessly swimming figure. “Michaels!” he cried. Then, “No, it’s Owens. What …”

Owens said, “I don’t know. He hit me, I think. I don’t know how I got out here.”

“Where’s Michaels?”

“On the ship, I sup …”

Duval cried, “The ship’s motors have started.”

“What!” said Owens, startled. “Who …”

“Michaels,” said Grant. “Obviously he must be at the controls.”

“Why did you leave the ship, Grant?” demanded Duval, angrily.

“It’s what I’m asking myself now. I had hoped Owens …”

“I’m sorry,” said Owens, “I didn’t think he was really an enemy agent. I couldn’t tell …”

Grant said, “The trouble is I wasn’t completely certain of it myself. Now, of course …”

“An enemy agent!” said Cora, with horror.

Michaels’ voice sounded. “All of you, back off. In two minutes, the white cells will have come and by that time, I’ll be on the way out. I’m sorry, but you had your chance to come out with me.”

The ship was angling high now, and making a large curve.

“He’s got it under full acceleration,” said Owens.

“And,” said Grant, “I think he’s aiming at the nerve.”

“Exactly what I’m doing, Grant,” came Michaels’ voice, grimly. “Rather dramatic, don’t you think? First, I’ll ruin the work of that mouthing saint, Duval, not so much for the sake of that alone as to do the kind of damage that will call a cohort of white cells to the scene at once. They’ll take care of you.”

Duval shouted, “Listen! Think! Why do this! Think of your country!”

“I’m thinking of mankind,” shouted back Michaels, furiously. “The important thing is to keep the military out of the picture. Unlimited de-miniaturization in their hands will destroy the earth. If you fools can’t see that …”

The
Proteus
was now diving directly for the just-relieved nerve process.

Grant said desperately, “The laser! Let me have the laser!”

He snatched the instrument from Duval, forcing it away. “Where’s the trigger? Never mind. I’ve got it.”

He angled upward, trying to intercept the hurtling ship. “Give me maximum power,” he called to Cora. “Full power!”

He took careful aim and a pencil-wide beam of light emerged from the laser, and flickered out.

Cora said, “The laser gave out, Grant.”

“Here, then, you hold it. I think I got the
Proteus
, though.”

It was hard to tell. In the general dimness there was no way to see clearly.

“You struck the rudder, I think,” said Owens. “You’ve killed my ship.” Behind his mask, his cheeks were suddenly wet.

“Whatever you struck,” said Duval, “the ship doesn’t seem to be handling very well.”

The
Proteus
was shaking now indeed, its headlight flashing up and down in a wide arc.

The ship pulled downward, crashed through the arteriole wall, missed the nerve by a hand’s breadth and lunged downward into a forest of dendrites; catching and breaking free and catching again, until it lay here, a bubble of metal, entangled in thick, smooth fibers.

“He missed the nerve,” said Cora.

“He did damage enough,” growled Duval. “That may start a new clot—or maybe not. I hope not. In any case the white cells will be here. We had better leave.”

“Where?” said Owens.

“If we follow the optic nerve, we can make it to the eye in a minute or less. Follow me.”

“We can’t leave the ship,” said Grant. “It will de-miniaturize.”

“Well, we can’t take it with us,” said Duval. “We have no choice but to try to save our own lives.”

“We can still do something, perhaps,” insisted Grant. “How much time do we have left?”

Duval said emphatically, “None! I think we’re beginning to de-miniaturize now. In a minute or so we’ll be large enough to attract the attention of a white cell.”

“De-miniaturizing? Now? I don’t feel it.”

“You won’t. But the surroundings are slightly smaller than they’ve been. Let’s go.”

Duval took a quick view of his surroundings for orientation. “Follow me,” he said again, and began swimming away.

Cora and Owens followed and, after a last moment of hesitation, Grant followed them.

He had failed. In the last analysis, he had failed because, feeling not entirely convinced that Michaels was an enemy on the basis of some uncertain reasoning, he had vacillated.

He would turn himself in, he thought bitterly, as a jackass unfit for his job.

“But they’re not moving,” said Carter, savagely. They stay there at the clot. Why? Why? Why?” The Time Recorder read 1.

“It’s too late for them to get out now,” said Reid.

A message came through from the electroencephalographic unit. “Sir, EEG data indicates Benes’ brain action is being restored to normal.”

Carter yelled, “Then the operation is a success. Why are they staying behind?”

“We have no way of knowing.”

The Time Recorder moved to 0 and a loud alarm went off. Its shrill jangle filled the entire room with the clang of doom and remained so.

Reid raised his voice to be heard. “We’ve got to take them out.”

“It will kill Benes.”

“If we don’t take them out,
that
will kill Benes, too.”

Carter said, “If there’s anyone outside the ship, we won’t be able to get him out.”

Reid shrugged, “We can’t help that. The white cells may get them or they may de-miniaturize unharmed.”

“But Benes will die.”

Reid leaned toward Carter, and shouted, “There’s nothing to be done about that.
Nothing!
Benes is dead! Do you want to take a chance on killing five more uselessly?”

Carter seemed to shrink within himself. He said, “Give the order!”

Reid went to the transmitter. “Remove the
Proteus
,” he said quietly, then went on to the window overlooking the operating room.

Michaels was only semiconscious at best when the
Proteus
came to rest in the dendrites. The sudden veering that had come after the bright flash of the laser—it must have been the laser—had thrown him against the panel with great force. The only sensation he had from his right arm now was one of frightful pain. It had to be broken.