Fantastic Voyage - By Isaac Asimov Page 0,19

degrees below normal; sixteen crucial degrees, slowing metabolism to about one-third normal; cutting the oxygen needs to one-third; slowing the heartbeat, the rate of blood flow, the scale of life, the strain on the clot-blocked brain. -And making the environment more favorable for the ship that was soon to enter the jungle of the human interior.

Carter moved back toward Reid, "All set, Don?"

"As near as can be managed, considering that this was improvised overnight."

"I doubt that very much."

Reid flushed, "What's that supposed to mean, general?"

"No improvisation was needed. It's no secret to me that you've been laying the groundwork for biological experiments with miniaturization. Have you been planning, specifically, the exploration of the human circulatory system?"

"Not specifically, no. But my team has been working on such problems as a matter of course. That was their job."

"Don . . ." Carter hesitated, then went on tightly. "If this fails, Don, someone's head will be needed for the governmental trophy room, and mine will be the handiest. If this succeeds, you and your men will come out of it smelling like lilies-of-the-valley. Don't try to push that too far if it happens."

"The military will still have first call, eh? Are you telling me not to get in the way?"

"It might be sensible not to. -Another thing. What's wrong with the girl, Cora Peterson?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"Your voice was loud enough. I heard you just before I came into the conference room. Do you know of any reason why she shouldn't be on board."

"She's a woman. She may not be reliable in emergencies. Besides... "

"Yes?"

"If you want the truth, Duval assumed his usual I-am-the-law-and-the-prophets manner, and I automatically objected. How far do you trust Duval?"

"What do you mean, trust?"

"What's your real reason for sending Grant along on the mission? Who's he supposed to keep his eye on?"

Carter said in a low, husky tone, "I haven't told him to keep an eye on anyone. -The crew should 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 naivete, 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 blood-stream. On the other hand, after one hour any miniaturized germs in his blood-stream 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 semi-circular bubbles, the whole made of some milk-white glassy material.