Fantastic Voyage: Microcosm by Kevin J. Anderson Page A

The splattered metal had hardened into a crust, but continued to burn. Tomiko made a snap decision and grabbed the hot crystalline edges with her fingers, blistering her hands as she pried the copper off, exposing the angry wound.
    Wilcox's jumpsuit had charred entirely away, and the burn dug deep into the cocky young captain's thigh muscle. The smell of cooked meat overpowered the sharp tang of hot metal. He moaned, biting back another scream.
    “Come on, be a tough guy, Garrett,” Tomiko said close to his face. “Now's the time to show off for me.” Wilcox grabbed her arm and squeezed it in a death grip.
    Dr. Pirov turned his head from side to side, as if searching for miraculous outside help. He looked as if he wanted to back away. “That wound is too deep, too severe. We should wait until we return to normal size, then we can take him to the Proteus infirmary.” He nodded quickly. “They will know what to do.”
    “Forget that. He needs help right away,” Tomiko said, ready to slap him across the face. “Do something for him now. Come on, you're a doctor.”
    Shaken, Pirov snatched packets from his first-aid kit. “But we have less than five minutes.” He jabbed Wilcox with a morphine syringe. “I never had much of a bedside manner, you see. My instructors told me I could establish more rapport with a dissection cadaver than with living patients.” He spoke quickly, as if to calm himself rather than Wilcox. “That is why I went into anatomy rather than medical practice.”
    Though dazed, Pirov wrapped the gaping burn with all the gauze he carried. Bodily fluids began to soak through the wrappings.
    “See, Garrett. You just needed a little bandage.” Tomiko touched the blond hair at his temple, the streaming sweat on his grayish skin. Imminent shock. The morphine began to take effect.
    “Got to head for the exit point. Doctor P, help me carry him.” She snatched up the captain's discarded laser cutter and tucked it under her arm. If she left the piece of equipment behind, it would grow back to normal size and crush the delicate chip. “No time for caution. Just get to the edge.”
    She and Pirov grabbed Wilcox under each arm, then raised him with their jetpacks. The wounded captain hung like a dead weight between them. They streaked along low to the surface, trying to get enough thrust from the compressed gas to maintain stability as random air currents jolted them. They climbed higher until the convoluted circuit looked like a tiny city seen from an airplane.
    But the paths beneath her began to look smaller, the lines finer. “Growing already. Keep moving.”
    Tomiko could not sense the weakening miniaturization field, but she increased the outflow of gas from her jetpack nozzle. As the team members enlarged, their mass increased proportionately, and the small gas jets could not provide enough lift and propulsion. The tiny packs had been designed only for use at sizes where air resistance meant a lot and gravity counted for little.
    Now, as they grew heavier, the jets couldn't keep up, and Tomiko began to fall. She and Pirov could barely keep Wilcox's boots from dragging along the surface of the ULSI circuit.
    Ahead, beyond the edge of the chip, Tomiko could see the bright, pulsing glow of the miniaturization room, although everything seemed light years away. She could discern no details of the technicians or equipment. Not yet.
    She hoped Director Hunter had a medical team standing by. They had no time to stop and set up a transmission.
    Wilcox finally ceased his writhing and dangled unconscious. “Only a few more minutes, Garrett,” she said, though he couldn't hear.
    At last, jetpacks sputtering, the team members crossed the edge of the circuitry paths. To the Proteus crew outside, they were already visible, the size of small insects.
    Director Hunter said into his voice pickup, unaware of the accident, “Good work, team. We've tested the circuit, and the error in the chip has been corrected.”