Isaac Asimov (22 page)

Knowing what to look for, Grant could now see what was happening. A bacterium, moving blindly through a cloud of hovering antibodies, seemed to attract them, to pull them in to itself. In moments, its wall had grown fuzzy with them. The antibodies lined up side by side, their spaghetti strand projections entangling.

Grant said, “Some of the antibodies seem indifferent. They don’t touch the bacterium.”

“The antibodies are specific,” said Michaels. “Each one is designed to fit the mosaic of a particular kind of bacterium, or of a particular protein molecule. Right now, most of the antibodies, though not all, fit the bacteria surrounding us. The presence of these particular bacteria has stimulated the rapid formation of this particular variety of antibody. How this stimulation is brought about, we still don’t know.”

“Good Lord,” cried Duval. “Look at that.”

One of the bacteria was now solidly encased in antibodies which had followed its every irregularity, so that it seemed to be exactly as before, but with a fuzzy, thickened boundary.

Cora said, “It fits perfectly.”

“No, not that. Don’t you see that the intermolecular bindings of the antibody molecules produce a kind of pressure on the bacterium. This was never clear even in electron microscopy which only shows us dead objects.”

A silence fell upon the crew of the
Proteus
, which was now moving slowly past the bacterium. The antibody coating seemed to stiffen and tighten and the bacterium within writhed. The coating stiffened and tightened again, then again, and suddenly the bacterium seemed to crumple and give way. The antibodies drew together and what had been a rod became a featureless ovoid.

“They killed the bacterium. They literally squeezed it to death,” said Cora, with revulsion.

“Remarkable,” muttered Duval. “What a weapon for research we have in the
Proteus
.”

Grant said, “Are you sure we’re safe from the antibodies?”

Michaels said, “It seems so. We’re not the sort of thing for which antibodies are designed.”

“Are you sure? I have a feeling they can be designed for any shape, if properly stimulated.”

“You’re right, I suppose. Still, we’re obviously not stimulating them.”

Owens called out, “More fibers ahead, Dr. Michaels. We’re pretty well coated with the stuff. It’s cutting down our speed.”

Michaels said, “We’re almost out of the node, Owens.”

Occasionally, a writhing bacterium slammed against the ship, which shuddered in response, but the fight was thinning out now, the bacteria clearly the losers. The
Proteus
was bumping and nudging its way through fibers again.

“Right ahead,” said Michaels, “One more left turn and we’re at the efferent lymphatic.”

Owens said, “We’re trailing the fibers. The
Proteus
looks like a shaggy dog.”

Grant said, “How many more lymph nodes on the course to the brain?”

“Three more. One may be avoidable. I’m not quite sure.”

“We can’t do that. We lose too much time. We won’t make it through three more like this. Are there any—any short cuts?”

Michaels shook his head. “None that won’t create problems worse than those we now face. —Sure, we’ll make it through the nodes. The fibers will wash off, and if we don’t stop to look at bacterial warfare, we can go faster.”

“And next time,” said Grant, frowning, “we’ll meet a fight involving white cells.”

Duval stepped over to Michaels’ charts and said, “Where are we now, Michaels?”

“Right here,” said Michaels, watching the surgeon narrowly.

Duval thought a moment and said, “Let me get my bearings. We’re in the neck now, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

Grant thought: In the neck? Right where they had started. He looked at the Time Recorder. It said 28. More than half the time gone and they were back where they had started.

Duval said, “Can’t we avoid all nodes, and actually take a short cut, too, if we turn off somewhere around here and make straight for the inner ear? From that to the clot is no distance at all.”

Michaels wrinkled his forehead into a washboard and sighed. “On the map that looks fine. You make a quick mark on the chart and you’re home safe. But have you thought what passing through the inner ear means?”

Duval said, “No. What?”

“The ear, my dear doctor, as I needn’t tell you, is a device for concentrating and amplifying sound waves. The slightest sound, the
slightest
sound outside, will set up intense vibrations in the inner ear. On our miniaturized scale those vibrations will be deadly.”

Duval looked thoughtful. “Yes, I see.”

Grant said, “Is the inner ear
always
vibrating?”

“Unless there is silence, with no sound above the hearing threshold. Even then, on our scale, we’ll probably detect some gentle motions.”

“Worse than Brownian motion?”

“Perhaps not.”

Grant said, “The sound has to come from outside, doesn’t it? If we pass through the inner ear, the throbbing of the ship’s engine or the sound of our voices won’t affect it, will it?”

“No, I’m sure it won’t. The inner ear isn’t designed for our miniaturized vibrations.”

“Well, then, if the people out there in the hospital room maintain complete silence …”

“How will we get them to do so?” demanded Michaels. Then, almost brutally, “
You
demolished the wireless so we can’t get in touch with them.”

“But they can track us. They’ll find us heading for the inner ear. They’ll understand the need for silence.”

“Will they?”

“Won’t they?” said Grant, impatiently. “Most of them there are medical men. They have an understanding of such matters.”

“Do you want to take that kind of chance?”

Grant looked about. “What do the rest of you think?”

Owens said, “I’ll follow any course that’s set for me, but I’m not going to set it for myself.”

Duval said, “I’m not sure.”

Michaels said, “And I
am
sure. I’m against it.”

Grant looked briefly at Cora, who sat in silence.

“All right,” he said. “The responsibility is mine. We’re heading for the inner ear. Set the course, Michaels.”

Michaels said, “Look here …”

“The decision is made, Michaels. Set the course.”

Michaels flushed and then shrugged. “Owens,” he said, coldly. “We’ll have to make a sharp left turn at the point I am now indicating …”

Carter lifted his coffee cup absently. Drops of liquid slipped off and landed on his pants leg. He noticed that but paid it no attention. “What do you mean, they’ve veered off.”

“I should guess they felt they had spent too much time in the lymph node and didn’t want to go through any more of them,” said Reid.

“All right. Where are they going instead?”

“I’m not positive yet, but they seem to be headed for the inner ear. I’m not sure that I approve of that.”

Carter put down his cup again and shoved it to one side. He had not placed it to his lips. “Why not?” He glanced quickly at the Time Recorder. It read 27.

“It will be difficult. We’ll have to watch out for sound.”

“Why?”

“You can figure it out, can’t you, Al? The ear reacts to sound. The cochlea vibrates. If the
Proteus
is anywhere near it, it will vibrate, too, and it may vibrate to destruction.”

Carter leaned forward in his seat, staring at Reid’s calm face. “Why are they going there, then?”

“I suppose because they think that’s the only route that will get them to destination fast enough. Or, on the other hand, they may just be crazy. We have no way of telling since they cannibalized their wireless.”

Carter said, “Are they in there yet? In the inner ear, I mean?”

Reid flicked a switch and asked a quick question. He turned back. “Just about.”

“Do the men down there in the operating room understand about the necessity for silence?”

“I suppose so.”

“You
suppose
so. What good is supposing?”

“They won’t be in it long.”

“They’ll be in it long enough. Listen, you tell those men down there … No, too late to take a chance. Get me a piece of paper and call in someone from outside. Anyone. Anyone.”

An armed security man came in and saluted.

“Oh, shut up,” said Carter, wearily. He didn’t return the salute. He had scribbled on the paper in block letters: SILENCE! ABSOLUTE SILENCE WHILE
PROTEUS
IS IN EAR.

“Take this,” he said to the security man. “You go down into the operating room and show it to each man. Make sure he looks at it. If you make any noise I’ll kill you. If you say one word, I’ll disembowel you first. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, but looked confused and alarmed.

“Go ahead. Hurry. —And take off your shoes.”

“Sir?”

“Take them off. You walk into that room on stocking feet.”

They watched from the observation room, counting the interminable seconds until the stockinged soldier walked into the operating room. From doctor to nurse to doctor he went, holding up the paper and jerking a thumb up toward the control room. Person after person nodded grimly. None budged from his or her spot. For a moment, it seemed a mass paralysis had gripped everyone in the room.

“Obviously they understand,” said Reid, “Even without instructions.”

“I congratulate them,” said Carter, savagely. “Now listen, you get in touch with the various guys at controls. No buzzers must sound, no bells, no gongs, nothing. For that matter, no flashing lights. I don’t want anyone to be startled into as much as a grunt.”

“They’ll be through in a few seconds.”

“Maybe,” said Carter, “and maybe not. Hop to it.”

Reid hopped to it.

The
Proteus
had entered a wide region of pure liquid. Except for a few antibodies flashing by now and then, there was nothing to be seen except the glitter of the ship’s headlights making its way through the yellow-tinged lymph.

A dim sound below the threshold of hearing rubbed over the ship, almost as though it had slid against a washboard. Then again. And again.

Michaels called out, “Owens. Put out the cabin lights, will you?”

The exterior leaped into greater clarity at once. “Do you see that?” Michaels asked.

The others stared. Grant saw nothing at all.

“We’re in the cochlear duct,” said Michaels. “Inside the little spiral tube in the inner ear that does our hearing for us. This one does Benes’ hearing for him. It vibrates to sound in different patterns. See?”

Now Grant saw. It was almost like a shadow in the fluid; a huge, flat shadow whipping past them.

“It’s a sound wave,” said Michaels. “At least, in a manner of speaking. A wave of compression which we somehow make out with our miniaturized light.”

“Does that mean someone is talking?” asked Cora.

“Oh, no, if someone were talking or making any real sound, this thing would heave like the granddaddy of all earthquakes. Even in absolute silence, though, the cochlea picks up sounds; the distant thud of the heartbeat, the rasp of blood working through the tiny veins and arteries of the ear and so on. Didn’t you ever cup your ear with a shell and listen to the sound of the ocean? What you’re listening to mainly is the magnified sound of your own ocean, the bloodstream.”

Grant said, “Will this be dangerous?”

Michaels shrugged. “No worse than it is —If no one talks.”

Duval, back in the workroom and bent over the laser once more, said, “Why are we slowing? Owens!”

Owens said, “Something’s wrong. The engine is choking off and I don’t know why.”

There was the slowly intensifying sensation of being in a down-dropping elevator as the
Proteus
settled lower in the duct.

They hit bottom with a slight jar and Duval put down his scalpel. “Now what?”

Owens said anxiously, “The engine is overheating and I had to stop it. I think …”

“What?”

“It must be those reticular fibers. The damned seaweed. It must have blocked the intake vents. There’s nothing else I can think of that would be causing this.”

“Can you blow them out?” asked Grant, tensely.

Owens shook his head. “Not a chance. Those are intake vents. They suck inward.”

“Well, then, there’s only one thing to do,” said Grant.
“It has to be cleaned off from the outside and that means more skin diving.” With furrowed brow, he began to clamber into his diving outfit.

Cora was looking anxiously out the window.

She said, “There are antibodies out there.”

“Not many,” said Grant, briefly.

“But what if they attack?”

“Not likely,” said Michaels, reassuringly. “They’re not sensitized to the human shape. And as long as no damage is done to the tissues themselves, the antibodies probably will remain passive.”

“See,” said Grant, but Cora shook her head.

Duval, who had listened for a moment, bent down to look at the wire he was shaving, matching it against the original wire thoughtfully, and then turning it in his hands slowly to try to gauge the evenness of its cross-section.