be about through in the sterilization corridor by now.”
Grant sniffed at the faintly medicinal odor in the atmosphere and was grateful for the opportunity of a quick shave. No use not looking his best with a lady on board. The CMDF uniform wasn’t bad, either; one-piece, belted and an odd cross between the scientific and the dashing. The one they had found for him bound him slightly under the armpits, but he’d only be wearing it for an hour, perhaps.
In single file, he and the others of the crew passed down the corridor in dim light that was rich in ultra-violet. They wore dark goggles against the dangers of that radiation.
Cora Peterson walked immediately ahead of Grant so that he silently deplored the darkness of the lenses before his eyes and the manner in which they dimmed the interesting style of her walk.
Wanting to make conversation, he said, “Is this walkthrough really sufficient to sterilize us, Miss Peterson?”
She turned her head briefly and said, “I think you need have no masculine uneasiness.”
Grant’s mouth quirked. He had asked for that. He said, “You underestimate my naiveté, Miss Peterson, and I am unfairly run through by your sophistication.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
The door at the end of the corridor opened automatically and Grant, as automatically, closed the gap between them and offered his hand. She evaded it and stepped across at the heels of Duval.
Grant said, “No offense. But my meaning was that we aren’t actually sterile. Microbe-wise, I mean. At best, it is only our surfaces that are sterile. Inside, we teem with germs.”
“For that matter,” Cora responded, “Benes isn’t sterile, either. Microbe-wise, I mean. But every germ we kill is one less germ we might introduce. Our germs will be miniaturized with us, of course, and we don’t know how such miniaturized germs will affect a human being if released in his bloodstream. On the other hand, after one hour any miniaturized germs in his bloodstream will expand to their normal size and that expansion might be harmful for all we know. The less Benes is subjected to unknown factors, the better.”
She shook her head. “There’s so much we don’t know. This really isn’t the way to experiment.”
“But we have no choice, do we, Miss Peterson? And may I call you Cora, by the way, for the duration?”
“It makes no difference to me.”
They had entered a large round room, glassed in at all sides. It was floored completely in hexagonal tiles some three feet across, roughened into close-packed semicircular bubbles, the whole made of some milk-white glassy material. At the center of the room was a single tile like the rest, except that it was in deep red.
Filling much of the room was a white vessel some fifty feet in length, horseshoe in shape, with an upper bubble the front of which was glassed in and which was topped by a smaller bubble, entirely transparent. It was on a hydraulic lift and was being maneuvered into the center of the room.
Michaels had moved up next to Grant. “The
Proteus
,” he said. “Our home away from home for the next hour or so.”
“This is a huge room,” Grant said, looking about.
“It’s our miniaturization room. It’s been used for the miniaturization of artillery pieces and small atomic bombs. It can also serve to hold de-miniaturized insects—you know, ants blown up to the size of locomotives for easy study. Such bio-experiments haven’t been authorized yet, though we’ve sneaked in one or two quiet efforts along that line. —They’re putting the
Proteus
over Zero Module; that’s the red one. Then, I suppose, we get in. Nervous, Mr. Grant?”
“And how! And you?”
Michaels nodded in rueful agreement, “And how!”
The
Proteus
had been adjusted onto its cradle now and the hydraulic lifts that had maneuvered it into place were drawn off. A ladder on one side led to the entrance.
The ship gleamed in sterile whiteness from the featureless bluntness
Grant sniffed at the faintly medicinal odor in the atmosphere and was grateful for the opportunity of a quick shave. No use not looking his best with a lady on board. The CMDF uniform wasn’t bad, either; one-piece, belted and an odd cross between the scientific and the dashing. The one they had found for him bound him slightly under the armpits, but he’d only be wearing it for an hour, perhaps.
In single file, he and the others of the crew passed down the corridor in dim light that was rich in ultra-violet. They wore dark goggles against the dangers of that radiation.
Cora Peterson walked immediately ahead of Grant so that he silently deplored the darkness of the lenses before his eyes and the manner in which they dimmed the interesting style of her walk.
Wanting to make conversation, he said, “Is this walkthrough really sufficient to sterilize us, Miss Peterson?”
She turned her head briefly and said, “I think you need have no masculine uneasiness.”
Grant’s mouth quirked. He had asked for that. He said, “You underestimate my naiveté, Miss Peterson, and I am unfairly run through by your sophistication.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
The door at the end of the corridor opened automatically and Grant, as automatically, closed the gap between them and offered his hand. She evaded it and stepped across at the heels of Duval.
Grant said, “No offense. But my meaning was that we aren’t actually sterile. Microbe-wise, I mean. At best, it is only our surfaces that are sterile. Inside, we teem with germs.”
“For that matter,” Cora responded, “Benes isn’t sterile, either. Microbe-wise, I mean. But every germ we kill is one less germ we might introduce. Our germs will be miniaturized with us, of course, and we don’t know how such miniaturized germs will affect a human being if released in his bloodstream. On the other hand, after one hour any miniaturized germs in his bloodstream will expand to their normal size and that expansion might be harmful for all we know. The less Benes is subjected to unknown factors, the better.”
She shook her head. “There’s so much we don’t know. This really isn’t the way to experiment.”
“But we have no choice, do we, Miss Peterson? And may I call you Cora, by the way, for the duration?”
“It makes no difference to me.”
They had entered a large round room, glassed in at all sides. It was floored completely in hexagonal tiles some three feet across, roughened into close-packed semicircular bubbles, the whole made of some milk-white glassy material. At the center of the room was a single tile like the rest, except that it was in deep red.
Filling much of the room was a white vessel some fifty feet in length, horseshoe in shape, with an upper bubble the front of which was glassed in and which was topped by a smaller bubble, entirely transparent. It was on a hydraulic lift and was being maneuvered into the center of the room.
Michaels had moved up next to Grant. “The
Proteus
,” he said. “Our home away from home for the next hour or so.”
“This is a huge room,” Grant said, looking about.
“It’s our miniaturization room. It’s been used for the miniaturization of artillery pieces and small atomic bombs. It can also serve to hold de-miniaturized insects—you know, ants blown up to the size of locomotives for easy study. Such bio-experiments haven’t been authorized yet, though we’ve sneaked in one or two quiet efforts along that line. —They’re putting the
Proteus
over Zero Module; that’s the red one. Then, I suppose, we get in. Nervous, Mr. Grant?”
“And how! And you?”
Michaels nodded in rueful agreement, “And how!”
The
Proteus
had been adjusted onto its cradle now and the hydraulic lifts that had maneuvered it into place were drawn off. A ladder on one side led to the entrance.
The ship gleamed in sterile whiteness from the featureless bluntness
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