Fantastic Voyage: Microcosm (17 page)

Chapter 27

Mission clock: 1:52 remaining

Piloting the ship faster than the flow of blood, Devlin careened into indigo and crimson spherical cells. The flexible globules bounced against the solid hull with wet-sounding thuds, then recoiled into the soft arterial walls.

It felt like cruising with a powerful motorboat through a slow-moving biological Amazon. This stream would carry them toward the alien's primary organs—and away from the mysterious nanomachines. Other than that, Devlin had no idea where they were going.

“That was weird,” Freeth said.

“It's an
alien,
remember?” Tyler said sarcastically.

The UFO expert smiled with a moment of self-deprecation. “Thank you for reminding me.”

After following the main channel for several minutes, the blood vessel disgorged them into a lumpy forest of tissue, foaming gelatinous bubbles and spheres that extended on branches like rampant fungus growths in a complex cave. Under the glow of the ship's front spotlights, the place looked like an eerie wonderland.

“The lungs! Now we're getting somewhere.” Tyler tapped the observation window. “Those nodules must be alveoli, tiny sacks filled with oxygen or carbon dioxide.”

“Or whatever the alien breathed on its own world,” Freeth said.

Tyler ignored him. “Capillaries touch the alveoli, and gas exchange occurs through the membrane barrier, where blood cells absorb oxygen and deposit the waste product of cellular respiration, which is then exhaled through the mouth or nose.”

Frustrated, Freeth chided her again, showing his own impatience. “We don't
know
any of that. Please try to think beyond the human model. For example, fish breathe through gills that take in dissolved oxygen from circulating water. Insects don't even have lungs. Jellyfish and earthworms have no respiratory systems at all—their cells breathe directly through the skin. And every one of those diverse examples evolved right here on Earth. Believe me, this extraterrestrial could be vastly different from what you're hypothesizing.”

“Maybe you've got a point, Freeth,” Tyler admitted, as if plucking a splinter from her thumb. She pondered the alveolar jungle outside the window. “It's subtle, but there's already something strikingly unusual here. In a human body, blood is pumped through the heart first and then into the lungs, where it receives oxygen before being routed back to the heart for distribution through the arterial system.”

Freeth brightened as he understood the implications. “And we've reached the lungs without finding any sort of blood-pumping chamber first. Now there's a major difference in anatomy. On the other hand, who says extraterrestrials have to follow the same blueprint?”

“Thank you for continuing to point that out.” Tyler regarded him coldly, annoyed at his constant reassessments of her conclusions. “Tell me, what would your explanation be, Freeth? I'm sure you could publish it in
True UFO Experiences,
or some equally respectable journal.”

He didn't rise to the bait. “Well… what if the alien doesn't have a single central heart pump, but maybe half a dozen substations, distributed at strategic points throughout the body?” Eyes bright, Freeth was on a roll now. “Redundant backups. Think of it—if a human gets shot in the heart, he's dead. But with distributed pumping stations, the alien could lose one, maybe even a couple of hearts, and still survive.”

Tyler looked at the UFO expert as if he'd gone mad.

“Got to admit, it makes engineering sense, Doc,” Devlin said from the cockpit, as the ship drifted among the curved alveolar bubbles. “I think you should call them Freeth Pumping Modules.”

Finally, in a brusque tone, Cynthia Tyler said, “I suppose it's possible. I'll consider adding the conjecture as a footnote to one of my papers.”

As the vessel picked a route through the spongy mass of lung tissue, Tyler returned to her analytical station. “Major Devlin, we've already got a breakdown of the atmospheric composition we encountered when we first entered the lifepod. Would it be possible to fire our sampling snorkel into one of these alveoli? That way I can run a comparative analysis.”

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.