Fantastic Voyage - By Isaac Asimov Page 0,66

If he had a microscope could he see the individual atoms? No, Michaels had said those would fuzz into nothing no matter what he could do.

He lifted the antibody molecule. It clung tightly at first then gave, sucking free. Neighboring molecules, clinging to it, pulled loose, too. An entire patch came free and Grant swung it away, batting at it. They remained together and came back, seeking a place to cling to again.

They had no brains, not even the most primitive, and it was wrong to think of them as monsters, or predators, or even fruit-flies. They were merely molecules with atoms so arranged as to make them cling to the surfaces that fit theirs through the blind action of inter-atomic forces. A phrase came back to Grant from the recesses of memory - "Van der Waals forces." Nothing more.

He kept pulling at the fuzz on Cora's back. She cried out, "They're coming, Grant. Let's get into the hatch."

Grant looked back. They were finding their way, sensing their presence. Links and chains of them were swooping high above the lip of the precipice and coming down in the general direction like blinded cobras.

Grant said, "We've got to wait . . ." The light turned green. `.'All right. Now." He whirled at the wheel, desperately.

The antibodies were all about them, but making chiefly for Cora. For her they had already been sensitized and there was far less hesitation now. They clung and joined, spanning her shoulders and making their woolly pattern across her abdomen. They hesitated over the uneven three-dimensional curve of her breasts as though they had not figured that out yet.

Grant had no time to aid Cora in her ineffectual clutchings at the antibodies. He pulled the hatch door open, thrust Cora into it, antibodies and all, and followed after her.

He pushed forcefully against the hatch door while antibodies continued to pour in. The door closed upon their elasticity but the basic wiriness of hundreds of them clogged the door at the end. He bent his back against the pressure of that wiriness and managed to turn the wheel that locked the door in place. A dozen little balls of wool, so soft and almost cuddly when viewed separately and in themselves, wriggled feebly in the crack where the hatch door met the wall. But hundreds of others, untrapped, filled the fluid about them. Air pressure was pushing the fluid out and the hissing filled their ears but at the moment, Grant was concerned only to pull the antibodies loose. Some were settling on his own chest, but that didn't matter. Cora's midriff was buried in them, as was her back. They -had formed a solid band about her body from breast to thigh.

She said, "They're tightening, Grant."

Through her mask he could see the agony in her face, and he could hear the effort it took her to speak.

The water was sinking rapidly, but they couldn't wait. Grant hammered at the inner door.

"I - I - can't brea-" gasped Cora.

The door opened, the fluid it "still held pouring into the main body of the ship. Duval's hand thrusting through, seized Cora's arm and pulled her in. Grant followed.

Owens said, "Lord help us, look at them." With an expression of distaste and nausea, he started plucking at the antibodies as Grant had been doing.

A strand tore, then another, then still another. Half-laughing, Grant said, "It's easy, now. Just brush them off."

All were doing so now. They fell into the inch or so of fluid on the floor of the ship and moved feebly.

Duval said, "They're designed to work in body fluid, of course. Once they're surrounded by, air, the molecular attractions alter in nature."

"As long as they're off Cora..."

Cora was breathing in deep, shuddering gasps. Gently, Duval removed her head-piece, but it was to Grant's arm she clung as she suddenly burst into tears.

"I was so scared," she sobbed.

"Both of us were," Grant assured her. "Will you stop thinking it's a disgrace to be frightened. There's a purpose to fear, you know." He was stroking her hair slowly. "It makes the adrenalin flow so that you can swim that much faster and longer and endure that much more. An efficient fear-mechanism is good basic material for heroism."

Duval pushed Grant impatiently to one side, "Are you all right, Miss Peterson?"

Cora took a deep breath and said-with an effort-but in a steady voice, "Quite all right, doctor."

Owens said, "We've got to get out of here." He was in the bubble. "We have