by Isaac Asimov
Konev said, "We had no choice and we were not counting on playing games with white cells."
Boranova, her face expressionless, her voice toneless, said, "If the project fails, I will take full responsibility."
Kaliinin looked up and said, "Natalya, assigning blame will not help us. Right now, we have no choice. We must go ahead. Let us move on, miniaturize if we have to, and find some likely cell to enter."
"Any cell?" said Konev in a stifled fury, and addressing no one. "Any cell? What good will that do?"
"We might find something useful anywhere we go, Natalya," said Kaliinin.
When Konev made no response, Boranova said, "Is there any objection to that, Yuri?"
"Objection? Of course there's objection." He did not turn, but his very back seemed stiff with anger. "We have ten billion neurons in the brain and someone is suggesting that we wander among them blindly and choose one at random. It would be an easier task to drive along Earth's roads in an automobile and randomly choose some human being on the wayside in the hope that he might be a long-lost relative. Much easier. The number of human beings on Earth is a little more than half the number of neurons in the brain."
"That is a false analogy," said Kaliinin, carefully turning her face toward Boranova. "We are not engaged in a blind search. We are looking for Pyotr Shapirov's thoughts. Once we detect them, we need only move in the direction in which the thoughts strengthen."
"If you can," said Morrison, shaking his head. "If your single forward gear happens to be carrying you in the direction in which the thoughts weaken, what do you do then?"
"Exactly," said Konev. "I had plotted out a course that would have taken us directly to an important junction in the particular neuronic network that is related to abstract thought - according to Albert's researches. The bloodstream would have carried us there and whatever tortuous path it took, the ship would have followed. And now -" He lifted both his arms and shook them at the unresponsive Universe.
"Nevertheless," said Boranova, her voice strained, "I don't see that we have any choice but to do what Sophia suggests. If that fails, we must find a way out of the body and perhaps try again another day."
"Wait, Natalya," said Morrison. "There just may be another way to remedy the situation. Is it at all possible for one of us to get outside the ship and into the bloodstream?"
43.
Morrison did not expect an affirmative answer. The ship, which had seemed to him earlier to be a marvelous example of high technology, had now shrunk in his imagination to a stripped-down scow of which nothing at all could be expected.
It seemed to him best, from any practical standpoint, to do as Kaliinin had suggested - to try any brain cell they could reach. But if that failed, it would mean getting out of the body and trying again, as Boranova had just said, and Morrison did not feel he would be physically capable of going through this again. He would try any wild scheme to prevent that.
"Is it possible to get out of this ship, Natalya?" he asked again as she looked at him, dazed. (The others were no more responsive.) "- Look, don't you understand? Suppose you want to collect samples? Do you have a dredge, a scoop, a net? Or can someone get outside and go scuba diving?"
Boranova finally seemed to overcome her surprise at the question. Her heavy eyebrows lifted into an attitude of wonder. "You know, we do. One diving suit for reconnoitering, the plans say. It should be under the back row seats. Under here, in fact."
She unclasped herself and went into a slow float, then managed to pull herself into a horizontal position, her light cotton clothing billowing.
"It's here, Albert," she said. "I presume it has been checked - I mean, against gross errors. There would be no leaks, no obvious flaws. I don't know that it's been field-tested."
"How could it be?" said Morrison. "I take it this is the first time the ship - or anything - has been in a bloodstream."
"I imagine it must have been checked in warm water adjusted to the proper viscosity. I blame myself for not checking on this, but of course there was no thought at any time of anyone leaving the ship. I had even forgotten the suit existed."
"Do you at least know if the suit has an air supply?"
"Indeed it does," said Boranova with sonie asperity. "And it has a power supply that makes it possible for it to have a light of its own. You mustn't think of us as utter incompetents, Albert. -Though," she said with a rueful shrug, "I suppose we - or, at least, I - have given you some reason to think so."
"Does the suit have flippers?"
"Yes, on both hands and feet. It is meant for maneuvering in fluid."
"In that case," said Morrison, "there is perhaps a way out."
"What are you thinking of, Albert?" asked Kaliinin.
Morrison said, "Suppose we miniaturize a bit further so that the ship can turn easily without scraping the capillary walls. Someone then gets into the suit, moves outside the ship - assuming you have an air lock of some sort - and, propelling himself by means of the flippers, turns the ship. Once the ship is turned, the person gets back into the ship, which is now facing in the correct direction. The motor is started and we push our way back against the feeble capillary current to the joining with the arteriole and thus back to our original path."
Boranova said thoughtfully, "A desperate remedy, but our condition, too, is desperate. Have you ever done any scuba diving, Albert?"
"Some," said Morrison. "That's why I thought of this."
"And none of us have - which is why we didn't think of it. In that case, Albert, unclasp yourself and let us get this suit on you."
"On me?" Morrison sputtered.
"Of course. It is your idea and you're the one with experience."
"Not in the bloodstream."
"No one has experience in the bloodstream, but the rest of us don't even have it in water."
"No," said Morrison savagely. "This thing is your baby - you four. I've done the thinking that got you out of the white cell and I've just done the thinking that could get you out of your present fix. That's my share. You do the doing. One of you."
"Albert," said Boranova. "We're all in this together. In here, we are neither Soviets nor Americans; we are human beings trying to survive and to accomplish a great task. Who does what depends on who can do what best, and nothing more."
Morrison caught Kaliinin's eye. She was smiling very slightly and Morrison thought he could read admiration in that smile.
Groaning softly at the folly of being influenced in so childish a manner by a hunger for admiration, Morrison knew he would agree to this madness of his own suggestion.
44.
Boranova had the suit out. Like the ship itself, it was transparent, and, except in the head portion, it lay wrinkled and flat. To Morrison, it looked unpleasantly like a life-sized caricature of a human being drawn in outline by a child.
He reached out to touch it and said, "What is it made of? Plastic wrap?"
Boranova said, "No, Albert. It is thin, but it is not weak and it is exceedingly tough and inert. No foreign material will cling to it and it should be perfectly leakproof."
"Should be?" echoed Morrison sardonically.
Dezhnev interrupted. "It is leakproof. I seem to recall it was tested some time ago."
"You seem to recall it."
"I blame myself for not having checked it personally in going over the ship, but I, too, forgot its existence. There was no thought -"
Morrison bitterly exclaimed, "I'm sure your father must have told you once that self-blame is a cheap penalty for incompetence, Arkady."
Dezhnev replied, raspingly, "I am not incompetent, Albert."
Boranova cut in, "We will have our fights when this is all over. Albert, there is nothing to worry about. Even if there were a microscopic leak, the water molecules in the plasma outside are far larger in comparison to the suit than they would be under normal conditions. A leak in a normal suit might let in normal water molecules, but that same leak in a miniaturized suit would not allow those s
ame water molecules, now giants in comparison, to enter."
"That makes sense," muttered Morrison, looking for solace.
"Of course," said Boranova. "We can insert a standard oxygen cylinder right here - small size, but you won't be out there for long - an absorption canister for carbon dioxide here, and a battery for the light. So, you see, you will be equipped."
"Just the same," said Konev, turning to look at Morrison dispassionately, "you had better do it as quickly as possible. It's warm out there - thirty-seven degrees Celsius - and I don't think the suit has a cooling mechanism."
"No cooling mechanism?" Morrison looked at Boranova questioningly.
Boranova shrugged. "It is not easy to cool an object in an isothermal medium. This entire body, which is as large as a mountain to us, is all at a constant temperature of thirty-seven. The ship itself can be cooled by means of the microfusion engines. We can't build an equivalent device into the suit, but then, as we keep saying, you won't be out for very long. - Still, you had better take off the suit you're wearing now, Albert."
Morrison demurred. "It's not heavy, just a thin layer of cotton."
"If you perspire with it on," said Boranova, "you will be sitting in wet clothes when you return to the ship. We have no spare clothing we can ofrer you."
"Well, if you insist," Morrison said. Then he removed his sandals and tried to strip his one-piecer off his legs, something which proved surprisingly difficult in his nearly weightless state.
Boranova, noting his discomfort, said, "Arkady, please help Albert into the suit."
Dezhnev worked his way, with difficulty, over the back of his seat to where Morrison floated, in a cramped posture, against the hull of the ship.
Dezhnev helped Morrison into the legs of the suit one at a time, though the two, working together, were scarcely less clumsy than Morrison alone had been. (Everything about us, Morrison thought, is designed to work in the presence of gravity.)
Dezhnev maintained a running commentary as they struggled. "The material of this suit," he said, "is precisely that of the ship itself. Entirely secret, of course, though, for all I know, you have a similar material in the United States - also secret, I am sure." He paused on a small note of inquiry.
"I wouldn't know," muttered Morrison. His bare leg worked its way into a sheath of thin plastic. It didn't stick to his leg, but moved smoothly along, yet it somehow gave the impression of being cold and wet without, in reality, being either. He had never encountered a surface quite like that of the plastic suit and he didn't know how to intepret the sensation.
Dezhnev said, "When the seams close, they become virtually a single piece of material."
"How do they open again?"
"The electrostatics can be neutralized once you're back in the ship. For now, most of the exterior of the suit has a mild negative charge, balanced by a positive one on the inner surface. Any portion of the suit will cling to any positively charged area on the ship's surface, but not so strongly that you can't pull loose."
Morrison said, "What about the rear end of the ship where the engines are?"
"You need not be concerned about them. They are working at minimum power for our cooling and illumination and any particles emerging from them will pass through you without noticing your presence at all. The oxygen cylinders and waste absorption work automatically. You will produce no bubbles. You need only breathe normally."
"One must be grateful for some technological blessings."
Dezhnev frowned and said darkly, "It is well-known that Soviet spacesuits are the best in the world and the Japanese are second."
"But this is not a spacesuit."
"It is modeled on one in many ways." Dezhnev made as though to pull the headpiece down.
"Wait," said Morrison. "What about a radio?"
Dezhnev paused. "Why would you need a radio?"
"To communicate."
"You will be able to see us, and we will be able to see you. Everything is transparent. You can signal to us."
Morrison drew a deep breath. "In other words, no radio."
Boranova said, "I am sorry, Albert. It is really only a very simple suit for small tasks."
Morrison said sourly, "Still, if you do a thing, it's worth doing well."
"Not to bureaucrats," said Dezhnev. "To them, if you do a thing, it's worth doing cheaply."
There was one advantage of irritation and annoyance, thought Morrison; it did tend to wipe out fear. He said, "How do you plan to get me out of the ship?"
Dezhnev said, "Right where you're standing, the hull is double."
Morrison turned sharply to look and, of course, went floundering. He could not seem to remember for three seconds running that he was essentially weightless. Dezhnev helped him control his body at some cost to himself (We must look like a pair of clowns, Morrison thought.)
Morrison found himself staring, at last, at the indicated portion of the hull. Now that his attention was drawn to it, it did seem faintly less transparent than the other portions, but that might well have been his imagination.
Dezhnev said, "Hold still, Albert. My father used to say: 'It is only when a child has learned to hold still that it can be considered a creature of sense.'"
"Your father was not considering zero-gravity conditions."
"The air lock," said Dezhnev, ignoring Morrison's comment, "is modeled on the type we have in our lunar surface enclosures. The inner layer of the lock will peel back, then move around you and seal. Most of the air between the layers will be sucked out - we can't afford to waste air - which will give you a strange feeling, no doubt. Then the outer layer will peel open and you will be outside. Simple! - Now, let me close your helmet."
"Wait! How do I get back?"
"The same way. In reverse."
Now Morrison was closed in completely and a definite claustrophobic sensation helped unsettle him, as the coldness of fear began to wipe out the saving sensation of anger.
Dezhnev was pushing him against the hull and Konev, having managed to turn about in his seat, was helping. The two women remained calmly in their seats and were staring intently.
Morrison did not for a moment feel that they were staring at his body; he wished they were, in fact. That would be relatively benign. He was absolutely certain they were watching to see if the air lock would work, if his suit would work, if he himself would remain alive for more than a few minutes once he was outside the ship.
He wanted to cry out and call off everything, but the impulse to do so remained only an impulse.
He felt a slippery motion behind him and then the whipping of a transparent sheet before him. It was like the seat belt clasping itself around his waist and chest, but here the sheet enclosed him entirely, head to toe, side to side.
It clung to him more and more tightly, as the air between was pumped out. The material of his suit seemed to strain outward as the air inside it pushed against the developing vacuum outside.
And then the outer layer of the hull behind him whipped away and he felt a soft thrust that sent him tumbling outward and into the blood plasma within the capillary.
He was out of the ship and on his own.
Chapter 11. Destination
Going there may be most of the fun - but only if you get there in the end.
— Dezhnev Senior
45.
Immediately, Morrison felt the enveloping warmth and gasped. As Konev had said - the temperature was 37 degrees Celsius. It was the heat of a sweltering summer day and there was no escape. No shade, no breeze.
He looked around, getting his bearings. Clearly, Boranova had miniaturized the ship further while he had clumsily clambered into the suit. The tiled wall of the capillary was farther away. He could see only a bit of it, for between himself and the wall was a huge cloudy object. A red corpuscle, of course. Then a platelet went slipping between the red corpuscle and the wall, but very slowly.
All of them - red corpuscle, platelet, himself, the ship - were moving along with the
small creeping current within the capillary, if one judged by the slow drifting motion of the tilings in the wall.
Morrison wondered why he felt the Brownian motion as little as he did. There was indeed the sensation of movement and the other objects in sight appeared to tremble. Even the tile marks of the capillary walls seemed to shift somehow, in a rather peculiar manner.
But there was no time to be keenly analytical. He had to get things done and get back within the ship.
He was a meter or so from the ship. (A meter? Purely subjective. How many micrometers - how many millionths of a meter was he separated from the ship in real measurements? He didn't pause to try to work out an answer to the question.) He twiddled his flippers to get back to the ship. The plasma was distinctly more viscous than seawater - unpleasantly so.
The heat continued, of course. It would never stop while the body he was in remained alive. Morrison's forehead was getting moist. - Come, he had to get started.
His hand reached out to the place where he had left the ship, but it touched nothing. It was almost as though it were pushing into a soft rubbery cushion of air, although his eyes told him there was nothing between that portion of the hull of the ship and his suited hand except, at best, a film of fluid.
A moment of thought and he saw what was happening. The outer skin of his suit carried a negative electric charge. So did that portion of the hull he was touching. It was repelling him.
There were other portions of the hull, however. Morrison slid his hands along until he was aware of touching the plastic. That was not in itself enough, however, for his hands moved along the area as though it were infinitely slippery.
And then, almost with a click, his left hand froze. It had passed a region of positive charge and remained in place. He tried to pull free first by a gentle backward push and then more frantically. He might as well have been riveted to the spot. He felt farther along with his right hand. Anchor that and he might be able to pull his left hand free.
