by Isaac Asimov
Any atom or portion thereof that he miniaturized in this way would become a point-sized particle with far less mass than an electron. It would take off at nearly the speed of light, pass through matter as though that matter weren't there, and be gone.
Could this be so? It had to be so. Nothing else he could imagine would make sense.
And even as he thought this, Morrison began to push his hands and feet violently against the imprisoning material - and broke loose.
He was no longer glued to the structure. He was an independent body coursing along the intercellular stream.
It didn't stop the ship from being forever out of reach, but he was at least on its trail. (Foolish! Foolish! What good was it to be on its trail? On his own scale, he was dozens of kilometers from the ship - if not scores.)
Another thought struck him and staggered him. He had been miniaturizing atoms to get free, but such miniaturization required an input of energy. Not much at this stage, since there was so little mass to remove, but where would the energy come from?
It had to come from the suit's own miniaturization field. Every atom that miniaturized weakened the field, therefore. How much had he weakened it, then, by getting loose?
And was that why he wasn't feeling the heat? Had the miniaturization of his surroundings soaked up some of the heat as well as of the energy of the miniaturization field? No, that couldn't be so, for he hadn't felt much in the way of heat even before he began breaking loose.
Yet another thought struck him, making his position more desperate still. If he had broken loose from the structure at the expense of the energy of his field - if his field had been weakened - then he would have deminiaturized slightly. Was that the reason for spontaneous deminiaturization?
Boranova had talked of the possibility of such spontaneous deminiaturization. The possibility of that increased, the smaller the miniaturized object was. - And he was now small.
As long as he had been on the ship, he had been part of the overall miniaturization field of the ship. He was part of a molecule-sized object. While he was part of the cytoskeleton of the cell, he was part of an even larger object. But now he was alone, separate, part of nothing beyond himself. He was an atom-sized object.
He was much more likely, now, to deminiaturize spontaneously, except that it wouldn't be spontaneous - it would be the weakening of the field by the miniaturization of surrounding normal objects.
How could he tell if he were deminiaturizing? If he were, the process would proceed at an exponential rate. He would be deminiaturizing slowly at first, but as he grew larger he would affect a larger volume of surrounding material and he would grow larger at a faster rate, then still faster, and finally it would be an explosion and he would die.
But what did it matter if he were deminiaturizing? If he were, then, in a brief time - seconds merely, at most - he would be dead and it would happen too quickly to make any impression upon him. One moment he would be alive and the next moment there would be nothingness.
How could he ask for a better death? Why should he want to know a second earlier that it was going to happen?
Because he was alive and he was human - and wanting to know was what made an object alive and human.
How could he tell?
Morrison stared at the dim glinting around him, at the moving swell of the water molecules, turning and shifting around him in a kind of slow motion as both he and they moved along the intercellular stream.
If he were increasing in size, they should seem to be decreasing, and vice versa.
Morrison stared. They were decreasing in size, getting smaller. Was this death? Or his imagination?
Wait, were the water molecules increasing in size? Swelling? Getting larger? Ballooning? If so, it must follow that he was getting smaller.
Would he shrink to the size of a subsubatomic particle? A subelectron? Would he go streaking off at the speed of light and explode when he was halfway to the moon, dying in a vacuum before he had time to know he was in a vacuum?
No, the molecules were shrinking, not expanding - Morrison closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was going mad. Or was he beginning to experience brain damage?
Better to die, then. Better death altogether than a dead brain and living body.
Or were the water molecules pulsating? Why should they pulsate?
Think, Morrison, think. You're a scientist. Find an explanation. Why should they pulsate?
He knew why the field might weaken - its tendency to miniaturize the surroundings. Why should it strengthen?
It would have to gain energy to strengthen. From where?
What about the surrounding molecules? They had more random heat energy per volume than he had because they were at a higher temperature. Ordinarily, heat should flow from the surroundings into his suit until his suit and he himself would be at blood temperature and he would die of his own inability to rid himself of the heat he had accumulated, as he almost had on his earlier venture outside the ship.
But there was not only the heat energy intensity of his body; there was also the energy of the miniaturization field. And, as he was struck randomly by the water molecules, energy need not flow into him in the form of heat, but in the form of miniaturization activation. The field would grow more intense and he would shrink.
This must be true at all times when a miniaturized object was surrounded by normal objects of higher temperature. The energy might flow from the surroundings to the miniaturized object either as heat or as field intensity. And it must be that the smaller the object, the more intensely miniaturized, the more it was the field that gained the energy and not the object itself.
Probably the ship, too, was pulsating, growing larger and smaller constantly, but to an extent not great enough to notice. Still, that was why the Brownian motion hadn't increased as far as it might have and that was why the air-conditioning could perform its function with less strain. The miniaturization field formed a cushion in both cases.
But he - Morrison, alone in the cell - was much smaller, possessing less mass, and for him the energy inflow went far more into miniaturization than heat.
Morrison's fists clenched helplessly. He let go of the computer and didn't care. Undoubtedly, the others, Boranova and Konev certainly, knew of this and might have explained it to him. Once again they let him go into danger without warning him.
And now that he had worked it out for himself - what good did it do him?
He opened his eyes suddenly.
Yes, there were pulsations. Now that he knew what to expect, he saw them. The water molecules were expanding and contracting in an irregular rhythm as they gave up energy to the field and then extracted energy from it. I
Morrison watched it with a stupefied swaying rhythm and he found himself muttering soundlessly: "Larger, smaller, larger, smaller, larger, smaller."
It could only get so large, he thought. The expansion mirrored his own contraction and there was only so much energy to be pushed into him to power that contraction. The cellular contents had a temperature only so high. On the other hand, they could take large quantities of energy from him, and once they took enough, what was left would go more and more quickly, and he would explode.
Therefore, when the water molecules expanded in size (and he himself was growing smaller) he was safe. He would not grow very small. When the water molecules contracted in size, however (and he himself was growing larger), he was not safe. If the water molecules continued to contract until they were too small to see that meant he would be expanding toward instantaneous explosion.
"Larger, smaller - smaller - stop contracting!"
Morrison let his breath go, for the molecules were expanding again.
Over and over! Each time - would the contraction stop?
It seemed to be playing with him and it didn't matter anyway. No matter if it brought him to the brink of destruction, then snatched him away, and if it did it a million times over, it wouldn't matter. Sooner or later, his air would be g
one and he would die a slow, suffocating death.
Better a quick death, surely.
69.
Kaliinin was screaming. She was the first to realize what had happened and she choked on her words.
"He's gone! He's gone!" she shrieked.
Boranova was unable to stop herself from asking the obvious question. "Who's gone?"
Kaliinin turned wide eyes on her and said, "Who's gone? How can you ask who's gone? Albert is gone."
Boranova stared blankly out at the spot where Morrison had been and now wasn't. "What happened?"
Dezhnev muttered hoarsely, "I'm not sure. We cut a corner closely. Albert, attached to the outside of the ship, introduced an asymmetry, perhaps. I tried to steer the ship away from - from whatever it was, but it didn't respond properly."
"A fixed macromolecular organelle," said Konev, who looked up now after having buried his face in his hands, "scraped him off. We've got to get back to him. He may have the information we need."
Boranova by now clearly understood the situation. She unclasped herself with a quick movement and stood up. "Information?" she said tightly. "Is that what you feel the loss of, Yuri? Information? Do you know what's going to happen now? Albert's miniaturization field is isolated and he's only atom-sized. The chance of his undergoing spontaneous deminiaturization is at least fifty times ours. Given enough time, the chance will become too good. Information or not, we must get him. If he deminiaturizes, he will kill Shapirov and he will kill us."
Konev said, "We're just arguing motivation. We both want him back. The reasons why are secondary."
"We should never have sent him out," said Kaliinin. "I knew it was wrong to do so."
"It is done," said Boranova gruffly, "and we must proceed from that point. Arkady!"
"I'm trying," said Dezhnev. "Don't teach a drunkard to hiccup."
"I'm not trying to teach you anything, old fool. I'm ordering you. Turn around. Back! Back!"
"No," said Dezhnev. "Let this old fool tell you that's ridiculous. Do you want me to make a U-turn and buck the current? You want me to try to force my way upstream?"
Boranova said, "If you just stand still, the stream will bring him to us."
"He is adhering to something. He will not be brought to us," said Dezhnev. "What we must do is turn to the other side of the dendrite and let the return stream carry us back."
Boranova put both hands to her head and said, "I apologize for calling you an old fool, Arkady, but if we go back by the counterstream we'll miss him."
"We have no choice," said Dezhnev. "We lack the energy to try to make our way against the stream we're in."
Konev said, sounding a bit weary but reasonable, "Let Arkady do as he wishes, Natalya. We will not lose Albert."
"How can you know that, Yuri?"
"Because I can hear him. - Or, rather, sense him. - Or, rather, sense Shapirov's thoughts by way of his instrument, bare and uninsulated in the cell."
There was a momentary silence. Boranova, clearly astonished, said, "Are you getting something?"
"Of course. In that direction," said Konev, pointing.
"You can tell the direction?" said Boranova. "How?"
"I'm not sure how. I just feel. It's in that direction!"
Boranova said, "Arkady, do as you were planning."
"I am doing it regardless of what you say, Natasha. You may be captain, but I am navigator with death staring me in the face. What have I to lose? As my old father would say: 'If you are dangling from a rope over an abyss, don't bother snatching at a coin that falls out of your pocket.' - It would be better if I had a real steering mechanism than this system of trying to maneuver three off-center engines."
Boranova had stopped listening. She peered into the darkness uselessly and said, "What is it you hear, Yuri? Shapirov's thoughts tell us - what?"
"Nothing at the moment. It is just noise. Anguish."
Kaliinin muttered, as though to herself, "Do you suppose part of Shapirov's mind knows he's in a coma? Do you suppose part of his mind feels trapped and is clamoring to get out? Like Albert - trapped? Like we ourselves - trapped?"
Boranova said sharply, "We are not trapped, Sophia. We can move. We will find Albert. We will get out of this body. Do you understand, Sophia?" She reached for the other woman's shoulders, her fingers digging deeply.
Kaliinin winced. "Please. I understand."
Boranova turned to Konev. "Is that all you get? Anguish?"
"But strongly." Then, curiously, staring at Boranova, "Do you sense nothing?"
"Nothing at all."
"But it is so strong. Stronger than anything I felt when Albert was in the ship. It was right for him to move outside."
"But can't you make out any actual thoughts? Words?"
"Perhaps I am too far. Perhaps Albert hasn't got his machine properly focused. And you really sense nothing?"
Boranova shook her head decisively and glanced briefly at Kalimin, who said in a low voice (rubbing one shoulder), "I sense nothing, either."
And from Dezhnev came a discontented, "I never get any of these mysterious messages."
"You got 'Hawking.' Albert suggested there might be different brain types as there are different blood types and that he and I might be of the same type. He may be right," said Konev.
Boranova said, "From what direction does the sensation come now?"
"From there." This time Konev pointed much closer to the fore end of the ship. He said, "You are turning, arent you, Arkady?"
"I am," said Dezhnev, "and I'm now fairly close to the doldrums between the two streams. I am planning to edge only slightly into the counterstream so that we head back, but not too quickly."
"Good," said Boranova. "We don't want to miss him. - Yuri, can you judge the intensity? Is it getting stronger?"
"Yes, it is." Konev seemed a bit surprised, as though he had not noticed the rise in intensity until Boranova had mentioned it.
"Is it imagination, do you think?"
"It might be," said Konev. "We haven't really gotten any closer to him. We're just making a turn. It's almost as if he's approaching us."
"Perhaps he's washed off whatever he adhered to or forced himself loose. In that case, the current would carry him to us, if we're forcing a turn and staying essentially in the same place."
"Perhaps."
"Yuri," said Boranova vehemently, "you just concentrate on the sensation. Keep Arkady aware at all times of the direction from which it comes, which means you will have to be pointing toward Albert steadily. - Arkady, as you get closer to Albert, you will have to turn toward the original stream again and get into it as close to his position as possible. Then once we're moving together, it will be easy to drift closer by use of our motors."
"Easy for one who's not controlling the motors," growled Dezhnev.
"Easy or difficult," said Boranova, her formidable eyebrows hunching low, "do it. If not - No, there is no 'If not.' Do it."
Dezhnev's lips moved, but no sound came and silence fell upon the ship - except for the unheard flood of sensation that entered Konev's mind but left the other minds empty.
Konev remained standing, facing in the direction from which it seemed to him the sensation was coming. He muttered once, "Definitely stronger." Then, after several moments, "It seems to me I can almost sense words. Maybe, if he comes close enough -"
His expression grew even more strained, as though it were trying to force the sensation, to cram it into his mind, while taking the noise apart and separating it into words. His finger kept pointing rigidly and he said finally, "Arkady, begin curving back into the doldrums and be ready to plunge into the original stream. - Quickly. Don't let him pass us."
"As quickly as the motors will let me," said Dezhnev. Then, in a lower voice, "If I could maneuver this ship by the same magic with which the rest of you hear voices -"
"Head straight for the membrane," said Konev, ignoring the remark.
It was Kaliinin who saw the spark of light first. "Th
ere he is!" she cried out. "That's the light of his suit."
"I don't have to see it," said Konev to Boranova. "The noise is like a volcanic eruption in Kamchatka."
"Still noise, Yuri? No words?"
"Fright," said Konev, "incoherent fright."
Boranova said, "If I were aware in any way of being trapped in a comatose body, it would be precisely how I would feel. - But how has he come to realize it now? Earlier we did make out words and even quiet and peaceful images."
Dezhnev said, panting a little in the excitement of the chase, which had him unconsciously holding his breath, "It may be something we've done with this ship. We've stirred up his brain."
"We're too small," said Konev with contempt. "We can't even stir up this one cell noticeably."
"We're coming up to Albert," said Dezhnev.
"Sophia," said Boranova, "can you detect his electrical pattern?"
"Faintly, Natalya."
"Well, throw everything you've got into something complementary that will attract him tightly."
"He seems a little large. Natalva."
"He's oscillating, I'm sure," said Boranova grimly. "Once you attach him to the ship, he'll become part of our general miniaturization field and his size will adjust. Quickly, Sophia."
There was a slight bump as Morrison was electronically pulled against the side of the ship.
Chapter 16. Death
Once the sun sets, it grows dark; don't let that catch you by surprise.
— Dezhnev Senior
70.
Morrison could not later recall anything that took place - either just before or just after his return to the ship. Try as he might, he did not remember seeing the ship coming for him at any time, nor did he recall the moment of transfer, nor the removal of his plastic suit.
Going far enough back, he remembered the despair and loneliness of waiting to explode and die. Going far enough forward, he remembered looking up at the concerned face of Sophia Kaliinin bending over him. There was nothing in between.
