Fantastic Voyage: Microcosm (24 page)

Once the microscopic armies flooded into the room, they would dismantle chairs, tables, equipment, anything to reproduce themselves. An unstoppable, invisible army.

Tyler sounded guilty and tired. “It appears that we're too late.”

“Don't jump to conclusions. Now that we're out of the body, we can send a clear signal to Felix. Maybe Project Proteus can come up with some counter-measures.” Devlin glanced at the mission chronometer again. “We start growing in four minutes.”

“Then at least we'll be too big for the nanocritters to bother us,” Freeth said. “That'll be a relief.”

“Time to use your imagination again, Freeth.” Tyler turned to him, happy to point out something that the UFO expert hadn't realized. “Once we reach our normal size, the nanomachines will infest
us.”

Chapter 38

Mission clock: 7 minutes remaining

As time ran out, the creature that had been Dr. Sergei Pirov became more calculating. And much more dangerous. It would take so little to set in motion the unstoppable invasion.

Even with his brute strength, his muscles and bones reinforced by nanotech modifications, he was not able to break free of the chamber. Armored walls enclosed him, maddened him, prevented him from doing what he
must
do.

Entirely transformed now, his brain buzzed with the need to complete the instructions programmed into him. He had to unleash the replicating nanomachines so the inhabitants of this planet could be subsumed.

It must be done.

Depthless black eyes, designed for the light of a different sun, scrutinized his resources as he tried to determine another way out of the chamber prison. Restless and searching, he prowled among the analytical equipment and medical debris strewn around the chamber.

Slowly, his new mind grasped that breaking free from the containment chamber would be more difficult than it had first seemed.

But not impossible.

* * *

Feeling his body change minute by minute, Sujatha surrendered to the inevitable. He worked at the seals and zippers of his useless anti-contamination suit.

With a pause to summon his last shreds of bravery and dignity, he tore the collar seam and removed the flexible hood. As if he were using a napkin at a tea party, he gently set the hood on the floor, its cracked faceplate up. He blinked his grossly enlarged eyes and drew a deep breath.

Now in the open air, weird smells bombarded him, chemical traces that he could not understand, scents processed through altered olfactory sensors. Inhaling through shallow nostrils and a flattened nose, he wanted to breathe fresh mountain air again, Pon-derosa pine trees and meadow flowers, for one last time. He wanted to see the spectacular Sierra Neva-das or his beautiful family—not these armored walls and sterile chrome surfaces. Not the armed Marines waiting to shoot him if he tried to escape.

He squinted in the too-bright lights, unable to cry, unable to speak. He wondered if these alien eyes were even capable of shedding tears. The Pirov creature had stalked away from the window, and Sujatha felt very alone.

When he cleared his throat, he heard a growling noise that did not sound like his voice. He thought he might be able to speak out loud once more, though the nanomachines might send another punitive jolt to incapacitate him if he openly defied them. Still, he wanted the chance to strike another small blow—if he could just think of a way.

With face and head naked, Sujatha looked up to the observation deck. Felix Hunter, his distinguished expression now filled with despair, could not tear himself away from the window. “Director Hunter, sir,” he said, and his voice came out thin and ethereal, “please… contact my wife and daughters. Tell them I love them.”

“Of course,” Hunter said. He placed his hands against the high window.

On trembling legs, Sujatha stood. He noticed only a blurred reflection of himself in the shatterproof windows. When he stepped forward to look, the startled Marines backed away and trained their rifles on him. Seeing their terrified faces, he understood all he needed to know.

He turned to Hunter again. “But sir, please do not tell them… what really happened to me.” He hoped Hunter would find a way to let them know he had ended his life as a hero, or at least a faithful scientist.

If the world itself survived.

Fastidiously, Sujatha pulled off his polymer gloves. His new fingers were long and smooth; somehow, he had acquired an extra joint in each one. When he bent one finger, concentrating on muscle control, the digit curled like a monkey's prehensile tail.

He watched his old fingernails flake off, one by one.

Oddly fascinated, he touched the surface of an equipment table and felt the cool metal, sensing his nerve responses. Heightened neural receptors covered the pads that had once swirled with his personal fingerprints. Now though, his fingertips were completely smooth.

One more step in erasing his identity.

With deep-seated fear, Sujatha touched his face, felt the smooth planes, ran his fingers along the bridge of his nose, which seemed smaller. When he brushed around his eyes, a shower of tiny hairs fell off, his remaining eyebrows and lashes. As he touched the back of his head, dark hair sloughed off to reveal the smooth skin of a bulbous cranium, an ovoid skull.

A deeply human moan of despair came out of his throat.

He remembered how his wife had loved to run her hands through his hair, and how he had kissed her. But now his lips were papery and dry, his face emotionless and alien.

His daughters would run screaming if they saw him now.

“Soon I may… not be responsible for my actions, Director, sir,” Sujatha said, already feeling the compulsions, so difficult to resist.

His vision lost focus, and the chamber walls shimmered with optical haloes and flares. His modified eyes were not yet fully integrated, making it hard to recognize the open lifepod, the deactivated laser drill, the rotary bone-cutting saws, battery-powered laser scalpels, and medical instruments that were strewn on the floor.

The Pirov-alien picked up tools, inspected them, played with the buttons, trying to understand or remember how the instruments functioned. He cocked his head, ransacking the storehouse of knowledge left inside his brain after Sergei Pirov's original personality had been erased.

Pirov hefted a heavy-duty bone-cutting saw, a powerful device that could have been used to crack open the extraterrestrial's skull, if Hunter had given them permission to conduct a full autopsy. With long, smooth fingers, Pirov flicked it on. The diamond-edged rotary blade whirled, a silver crown of thorns that sparkled in the light.

He stared with huge black eyes and then, with fluid movements that demonstrated that he now had complete control over his transformed body, the Pirov-alien prowled over to the control panel that operated the sealed doors. As the bone saw buzzed, he pressed it against the metal wall. The sawblade whined and sparks flew.

If Pirov cut through the controls, perhaps he could crack open the airlock and emerge into the unprotected atmosphere of Earth. It would only take one breath, one brush of his hand…

Sujatha could never allow him to do that.
I am still responsible for some things. I must do what I can… while I can.

Calling upon his last shred of humanity, Sujatha swayed on his feet, recovering his balance on limbs that no longer functioned the way they'd been born to. He lurched toward the pile of medical devices the Russian doctor had scattered during his rampage. Sujatha still recognized the tools he had used during years of medical practice.

The Pirov-alien had access to all that knowledge in his once-human brain . … but only if he specifically searched for the information. It would simply be a matter of time before he realized this. The transformed Russian turned his back to Sujatha and continued his work with a grinding shriek against the metal circuitry plate.

The agitated Marines moved back and forth, waiting for emergency orders. In the observation deck, Hunter seemed to be arguing with Congressman Durston, who demanded that he trigger the full-scale annihilation routine at once.

Sujatha stared up at the Director, feeling deep sorrow but doubting anyone could read his non-human expressions. He no longer saw Dr. Trish Wylde outside the window.

He picked up a hand-held surgical laser from the floor. His long, many-jointed fingers wrapped around it like gripping tentacles. He knew how the laser's controls worked. He
remembered.

Before he could be possessed by an alien imperative, Sujatha stumbled forward, adjusting the laser scalpel to its highest power and deepest cut. He staggered headlong on awkward-jointed legs until he fell into the Pirov-alien. Without saying a word, not daring to hesitate, he rammed the laser against the Russian doctor's back—and powered on the beam.

Smoking flesh crackled as red-hot light cut through Sergei Pirov's spine. Not daring to think about what he was doing, Sujatha ripped the line upward, slicing a deep incision the length of his former comrade's back.

The alien screamed as blackish blood boiled and sprayed through the seared edges of the wound. The laser scalpel burned deep enough to sever arteries and any other organ it encountered. The scalpel beam split the ribs, chopping vertebrae, opening Pirov like an elk gutted by a hunter.

It took all of Sujatha's remaining strength.

Convulsing, the Russian-alien dropped the bone-cutting saw. It spun, bouncing around on the floor with a wild jet of sparks that reminded Sujatha of the fireworks his girls liked to ignite on the Fourth of July.

His limbs jittering, his body already dead, the Pirov-alien collapsed onto Sujatha, twitching and kicking. The cutting laser had severed him nearly in two. An inhuman gurgle came from the Russian's spindly throat. A flow of thick saliva curled out of his lipless mouth as he lay smoking on the floor, huge black eyes dull and unseeing.

Desperate, Sujatha stared at the laser scalpel in his hand. With a few quick slashes he could chop apart the still-dormant alien pilot in the open lifepod, then turn the cutter on himself. That would take care of the other problem.

But even as he considered that option, paralyzing pain screamed through him. His muscles spasmed, his lips pulled back to expose clenched teeth. He dropped the laser scalpel and it rolled away into the clutter of dumped instruments. He couldn't move, couldn't extend a finger to pick up the scalpel. He had surprised them when he'd attacked Pirov, but now the nanomachines froze his muscular controls, holding him hostage.

Buzzing swarms raced through his body, finishing the transformation. Sujatha could barely think. His mind was a constant roar of static now. He couldn't even see clearly. The lights were so bright.
So bright.
Gasping, groping for words, he looked up at the VIP observation deck.

He saw Director Hunter again, watching him in helpless horror. He thought he saw tears streaming down the man's face, but he couldn't be certain with his alien-skewed vision.

Sujatha drew a deep breath full of foul tastes and strange odors. His mouth worked, his throat constricted, and he tried to make a sound. If only he could speak one last time, convey his message. A final plea.

“Director, sir, I beg you. Destroy everything before it is too late.”

Vasili Garamov lurched out of his seat and bent, retching, over a metal wastebasket. Durston sat with his eyes wide, his normally florid face pale, but set with a grim satisfaction.

Hunter hesitated, looked at the chronometer. “I… can't. Team Proteus still has a few more minutes. I have to believe they can pull off a miracle.”

Durston swung a fist into his open palm. “Don't be foolish, Director. Cut your losses.”

After the last message from Team Proteus, Hunter knew deep inside that Marc and his crew could very well have been the first casualties of the nanomachine threat. He had let his son-in-law down, just as he'd let Kelli down. Too often he'd made promises that he had no ability to keep.

I promised them they'd get out safely.

Garamov came back, looking shaky. He brushed a hand across his lips and nodded, staring at the open lifepod below, at the transformed researchers. “We dare not take additional risks. I give you full authorization. I… will deal with my government later. Destroy everything while we still can.”

Hunter glanced back and forth between the diplomats, saw the chaos in the chamber below, then stared at the chronometer. If he didn't act fast enough, and a few stray nanomachines escaped, the entire mountain facility would have to be vaporized.

Congressman Durston drew a deep breath. “Be realistic, Hunter, when that other doctor's transformation is complete, the alien in him will try to escape.” He squinted down at the smoking corpse on the floor. “But, unlike Dr. Pirov, there won't be anyone in there to stop
him.”

Hunter looked into the sealed chamber, searching for Sujatha's last shreds of humanity. But he saw no glimmer.

He could find no excuse to wait any longer. He
knew
what he had to do.

Garamov sagged in defeat. “Just vaporize the room and be done with it.”

With the heavy heart of a caring executioner, Hunter moved to the control panel. Using his private authorization codes, he prepared the sterilization burst, powering up the generators that would release the ionization blast. The final option for Project Proteus. “Sorry, Marc. I don't have any choice.”

A new alarm rang through the facility, warning of the impending sterilization routine. “Systems are charging.”

When released, a blast of high-intensity gamma rays and extreme high voltage mixed with a wash of plasma fire would melt every single thing inside the containment chamber—the people, the miniaturized Team Proteus, the alien specimen itself, and all of the microscopic nanomachines.

Pulsing alarms echoed off the stone walls; all nonessential personnel evacuated to a reasonable distance from the sterilization burst. Hunter looked at the scarlet light on the control panel, indicating the readiness of the fail-safe routine. He drew a deep breath.

“Mr. Durston and Mr. Garamov, these gentlemen will take you to a place of safety.” Hunter placed the two diplomats into the care of the Marine guards, who ushered them out of the observation deck.

Below, at floor level, he himself would stand behind thick lead shields with the last few Marines. And watch the end of it all.

He had a final moment of peace, to think … or perhaps it was best
not
to think. Too much time to regret what he knew he had to do. “I'm sorry, Marc. I'm so sorry, Kelli.”

“Fifteen seconds,” one of the technicians shouted.

The room itself would be cauterized, incinerated, all evidence destroyed. All threats neutralized.

Sujatha dragged himself back to his feet, swaying. He looked over at the corpse of the man/alien he had murdered.

“I… I'm sorry, Dr. Sujatha.” Hunter's voice sounded hollow over the intercom speakers. His legs felt wooden when he stood, ready to run. He wouldn't have much time to get clear once he set the irrevocable process in motion.

Just then the system light blinked
Ready
. He reached forward to press the “commit” button.