Fantastic Voyage II: Destination Brain fv-2

by Isaac Asimov

  Morrison watched a platelet that vanished, now and then, behind the numerous red corpuscles. He wanted to see if it would make contact with the ship and, if it did, what would happen. The platelet, however, did not oblige but remained at a distance.

  It then occurred to Morrison that the platelet appeared to be as large as his hand. How could that be if they were half the diameter of the red corpuscles and the red corpuscles were themselves as large as his hand? His eyes sought out a red call and, sure enough, it seemed considerably larger than his hand.

  He said, troubled, "The objects out there are getting larger."

  "We're still miniaturizing, obviously," called out Konev, apparently annoyed at Morrison's seeming inability to draw the proper conclusion from an observed fact.

  Boranova said, "That's right, Albert. The coronary is narrowing as we progress and we want to keep pace with it."

  "We don't want to get stuck in the pipe," said Dezhnev genially, "by being too fat." Then, as another thought struck him, he added, "You know, Natasha, I've never been this thin in my life."

  Boranova said, unmoved, "You are as fat as ever, Arkady, on the scale of Planck's constant."

  Morrison was in no mood for airy banter. "But how far do we miniaturize, Natalya?"

  "Down to molecular size, Albert."

  And all of Morrison's apprehensions surged up again.

  39.

  Morrison felt foolish at his failure to realize at once that they were still miniaturizing and, at the same time, bitterly resentful at Konev for making it plain he recognized that folly. The trouble was that all these others had been living and thinking miniaturization for years and he himself, a newcomer to the concept, was still trying to cram it into his reluctant brain. Couldn't they sympathize with his difficulties?

  He studied the red corpuscles moodily. They were distinctly larger. They were wider across than his chest and their boundaries were becoming less sharp. Their surfaces quivered, as though they were canvas bags full of syrup.

  He said in a low voice to Kaliinin, "Molecular size?"

  Kaliinin looked quickly at him, then turned away and said, "Yes."

  Morrison said, "I don't know why that should bother me, considering the small size to which we have already miniaturized, but there's something rather frightening about being as small as a molecule. How small a molecule, do you suppose?"

  Kaliinin shrugged. "I don't know. That's up to Natalya. A virus molecule, perhaps."

  "But this sort of thing has never been tried."

  Kaliinin shook her head. "We're charting unknown territory."

  There was a pause and then Morrison said uneasily, "Aren't you afraid?"

  She looked at him furiously, but continued to whisper. "Of course I'm afraid. What do you think I am? It isn't sensible not to be afraid when you have rational reason for it. I was afraid when I was violated. I was afraid when I was pregnant and deserted. I've spent half my life being afraid. Everyone does. That's why people drink as much as they do, to wipe out the fear that grips them." She was virtually hissing through clenched teeth. "Do you want me to be sorry for you because you're afraid?"

  "No," muttered Morrison, taken aback.

  "There's nothing remarkable about being afraid," she went on, "as long as you don't act afraid - as long as you don't let yourself be twisted into doing nothing because of fear, into having hysterics because of fear, into failing -" She interrupted herself in a bitter, whispered self-accusation. "I've had hysterics in my time." Her glance flickered in the direction of Konev, whose back was straight, stiff, and motionless.

  "But now," she went on, "I intend to do my part, even if I am half-dead with fear. No one will tell from my actions that I'm afraid. And that had better be your case, too, Mr. American."

  Morrison swallowed hard and he said, "Yes, of course," but it sounded very unconvincing, even to him.

  His eyes flicked backward, then forward. There was no use whispering in those close quarters. There was no whisper so low it would not be overheard.

  Boranova, behind Kaliinin, was obviously busy with her miniaturization mechanism, but there was a tiny smile on her face. Approval? Contempt? Morrison couldn't tell.

  As for Dezhnev, he turned his head and called out, "Natasha, it is continuing to narrow. Should you hasten the miniaturization?"

  "I'll do what is needed, Arkady."

  Dezhnev's eye caught Morrison's and he winked, with a grin. "Don't believe little Sophia," he said, pretending to whisper. "She is not afraid. Never afraid. She just doesn't want you to be alone with your uneasiness. She has a very soft heart, our Sophia, as soft as her -"

  "Keep quiet, Arkady," said Sophia. "Surely your father must have told you that it is not wise to beat the empty teapot you call your head with the rusty spoon you call your tongue."

  "Ah," said Dezhnev, rolling his eyes, "that was harsh. What my father did say was that no knife could be honed as sharp as a woman's tongue. - But, Albert, seriously, reaching molecular size is nothing. Wait until we have learned to attach relativity to quantum theory and then, with a tiny puff of energy, we will reduce ourselves to subatomic size. Then you will see."

  "What will I see?" said Morrison.

  "You would see instant acceleration. We would simply take off -" He removed his hands from the controls momentarily in order to make a whizzing gesture with them, accompanied by a shrill whistle.

  Boranova said calmly, "Hands on the controls, Arkady."

  "Of course, my dear Natasha," said Dezhnev, "A moment of excusable drama, no more." Then to Morrison, "Instantly we would go at nearly the speed of light, the much faster speed of light under such conditions. In ten minutes we could be across the Galaxy, in three hours at the Andromeda, in two years at the nearest quasar. And if that's not fast enough, we can get smaller still. We have faster-than-light travel, we have antigravity, we have everything. The Soviet Union will lead the way to it all."

  Morrison said, "And how would you guide the flight, Arkady?"

  "What?"

  "How would you guide it?" said Morrison seriously. "As soon as the ship swoops down to the proper sizelessness and masslessness, it will, in effect, radiate outward at hundreds of light-years per second. That means that if there were trillions of ships, they would shoot out in every direction with spherical symmetry - like sunlight. But since there would only be one ship, it would move outward in one particular direction, but in an absolutely unpredictable one."

  "That's a problem for the clever theoreticians - like Yuri."

  Konev had not indicated any interest in the conversation up to that point, but now he snorted loudly.

  Morrison said, "I'm not sure that it's wise to develop the traveling and carelessly assume the steering. Wouldn't your father say: 'A wise man does not build the roof of a house first.'"

  "He might," said Arkady, "but what he once did say was this: 'If you find a gold key without a lock, don't throw it away. The gold is also sufficient.'"

  Boranova stirred in her seat behind Morrison and said, "Enough with the saws and sayings, my friends. - Where are we, Yuri? Are we making progress?"

  Konev said, "In my opinion we are, but I would like the American to support my judgment, or correct it."

  "How can I do either?" snapped Morrison. "I'm strapped in."

  "Then unstrap," said Konev. "if you float a bit, at least you can't float very far."

  For a moment, Morrison fumbled at his seat belt, having forgotten the location of the appropriate contact. Kaliinin's hand moved quickly and he was free.

  "Thank you, Sophia," he said.

  "You will learn," she replied indifferently.

  "Lift yourself so that you can see over my shoulder," said Konev.

  Morrison did so and, inevitably, pushed too hard against the back of the seat ahead. As a result of his insignificant inertia, he moved upward explosively and struck his head against the roof of the ship. Had this happened at the same speed under unminiaturized conditions, he might well have suffere
d the blinding pain of a concussion, but the very lack of mass and inertia that had sent him shooting upward had bounced him back almost once with no sensation of pain and virtually none of pressure. He was as easy to stop as he had been to start.

  Konev clicked his tongue. "Gently. Just lift your hand upward edgewise, turn it slowly, then push it down flatwise, slowly. Do you get it?"

  Morrison said, "I understand."

  He followed Konev's suggestion and moved up slowly. He caught at Konev's shoulder and stopped himself.

  Konev said, "Now, look here at the cerebrograph. Do you see where we are at this moment?"

  Morrison found himself looking at an enormously complex network, with a distinct three-dimensional effect. It consisted of sinuous rills branching outward in such a way as to form an exceedingly intricate tree. In one of the larger branches there was a small red dot, moving slowly and progressively.

  Morrison said, "Can you give me a broader view so that I can place this section?"

  Konev, with another click of his tongue, one that might have signified impatience, expanded the view. "Does this help?"

  "Yes, we're on the edge of the brain." He could recognize the individual convolutions and fissures. "Where do you plan to go?"

  The picture magnified somewhat. Konev said, "We'll curve off here into the interior of the neuronic layer - the gray matter. And where I'd like to head for, by this route" - he named the areas in Russian rapidly and Morrison struggled to translate them in his mind into English - "is this area here which, if I have read your papers correctly, is a crucial node of the neuronic network."

  "No two brains are exactly alike," said Morrison. "I can pin down nothing with certainty, all the more so if the particular brain in question is one I have never studied. Still, I would say the area you're heading for looks hopeful."

  "Good, as far as that goes. And if we get to my destination, will you be able to tell more accurately whether we are at a crossroads where several branches of the network meet or, if not, in what direction and how far such a crossroads might be?"

  "I can try," said Morrison cautiously, "but please remember that I have made no guarantees as to my abilities in this connection. I have not offered you any promises. I have not volunteered -"

  "We know that, Albert," said Boranova. "We ask only that you do what you can."

  "In any case," said Konev, "that's where we're going as a first approximation and we'll get there before long, even though the current is slowing. We are, after all, almost down to capillary size. - Strap yourself in, Albert. I'll let you know if I need you."

  Morrison managed to operate the seat belt without any help, proving that even small triumphs can be sweet.

  Almost to capillary size, he thought, and looked out through the walls of the ship.

  The vessel wall was still at a comfortable distance, but it had changed in appearance. Earlier, the steadily pulsating walls had been rather featureless. Now, however, Morrison could make out no pulsing and the walls were beginning to look faintly tiled. The tiling, Morrison realized, consisted of the cells that made up the thinning walls.

  He could not actually get a clear look at the tiling, either, for the red corpuscles were in the way. They were now soft bags nearly the size of the ship. Occasionally, one ballooned past the ship at close quarters and was pushed elastically inward at the point of contact, without undergoing any visible harm.

  One time a small smear was left behind. Perhaps the contact had been just a little too forceful and a line of miniaturized molecules had been formed against the hull, Morrison thought. The smear lifted off quickly, however, and dissolved in the surrounding fluid.

  The platelets were another story, since by their very nature they were much more fragile than the red corpuscles.

  One made a head-on collision with the ship. Or perhaps it had been slowed by a collision with a red corpuscle so that the ship had overtaken it. The prow of the ship penetrated deeply and the skin of the platelet punctured. Its contents oozed out slowly, mixing with the plasma and then forming into two or three long strings that tangled with each other. They clung to a portion of the ship's hull for quite a time, trailing behind.

  Morrison waited to see any evidence of a clot forming. None did.

  Minutes later Morrison saw, up ahead, a milky fog that seemed to fill the blood vessel from wall to wall, pulsating and undulating. Inside it were dark granules that moved steadily from one side to the other. To Morrison, it looked like a malignant monster and he couldn't help but cry aloud in a moment of terror.

  Chapter 10. Capillary

  If you want to know whether water is boiling, don't test it by hand.

  — Dezhnev Senior

  40.

  Dezhnev turned his head, startled, and said, "It's a white cell, Albert, a leucocyte. It is nothing to be bothered about."

  Morrison swallowed and felt distinctly annoyed. "I know it's a white cell. It just caught me by surprise. It's bigger than I thought it would be."

  "It's nothing," said Dezhnev. "A piece of pumpernickel, really, and no bigger than it should be. We're just smaller. And even if it were as big as Moscow, so what? It's just floating along in the bloodstream as we are."

  "As a matter of fact," said Kaliinin gently, "it doesn't even know we're here - I mean, that we're anything special. It thinks we're a red corpuscle."

  Konev seemed to be addressing the air in front of him in an abstracted sort of way, saying, "White cells do not think."

  A flash of resentment crossed Kaliinin's face, flushing it slightly, but her voice remained even. "By saying 'think,' Albert, I am merely using a figure of speech. What I mean is that the white cell's behavior toward us is that which it would display toward a red corpuscle."

  Morrison cast another look toward the large billowing cell up ahead and decided that, harmless or not, he found its appearance distasteful. He looked with much appreciation at the contrast made by Kaliinin's pretty high-cheekboned face, and wondered why she had never had that little mole under the left corner of her lip removed. Then he wondered if it didn't add just the right trifle of piquancy to a face that might otherwise be considered too pretty to possess character.

  That moment of beside-the-point speculation effectively removed the uneasiness that the white cell's appearance had introduced and Morrison returned, in his mind, to Kaliinin's statement.

  "Does it act as though we're a red corpuscle because we're the right size for it?"

  "That may help," said Kaliinin, "but it's not the real reason. You judge a red corpuscle to be a red corpuscle because you see it. The white cell judges a red corpuscle to be one because it senses the characteristic pattern of the electromagnetic pattern on its surface. White cells are trained - that is just another figure of speech - let us say, adapted - to ignore that."

  "But this ship doesn't have the electromagnetic pattern of a red corpuscle… Ah, but I guess you've taken care of that."

  Kaliinin smiled in gentle self-satisfaction. "Yes, I have. It is my speciality."

  Dezhnev said, "That is it, Albert. Our little Sophia knows, completely in her head" - he tapped his right temple - "the exact electromagnetic pattern of every cell, every bacterium, every virus, every protein molecule, every -"

  "Not quite," said Kaliinin, "but those I forget, my computer can supply. And I have a device here that can use the energy of the microfusion motors to place positive and negative electric charges on the ship in whatever pattern I choose. The ship has the charge pattern of a red corpuscle on itself as best as I can duplicate it, and that is close enough to cause the white cell to react - or, rather, not to react - accordingly."

  "When did you do that, Sophia?" asked Morrison with interest.

  "When we were reduced to the size that would make us a potential object of interest for a white cell or for the immune apparatus generally. We don't want antibodies swarming over us, either."

  A thought occurred to Morrison. "Since we're talking about being reduced in size, why hasn't t
he Brownian motion gotten worse? I should think it would batter us more as we got smaller."

  Boranova put in from behind, "So it would if we were unminiaturized objects of this size. Since we are miniaturized, there are theoretical reasons that prevent Brownian motion from getting very bad. It's nothing to worry about."

  Morrison thought about it, then shrugged. They weren't going to tell him anything they thought might make him too knowledgeable in the matter of miniaturization and what did that matter? The Brownian motion had not grown worse. In fact, it had grown less troublesome (or was he just getting used to it?) and he had no objection to that. That made it, as Boranova said, nothing to worry about.

  His attention shifted back toward Kabinin. "How long have you been training in this field, Sophia?"

  "Since my graduate days. Even without Shapirov's coma, we all knew the time would come when a trip through a bloodstream would become necessary. We've been planning something like this for a long time and we knew that this skill of mine would be needed."

  "You might have planned an automated crewless ship."

  "Someday, perhaps," said Boranova, "we will, but not yet. We cannot, even now, make the automation equivalent to the versatility and ingenuity of a human brain."