carotid artery here in the neck, we will be on a reasonably direct route to our destination.” The flowing of the arrow along the line of the red artery, picking its way through the blueness of the veins, made it seem very easy.
Michaels went on, “If, then, the
Proteus
and its crew are miniaturized and injected …”
Owens spoke up suddenly. “Wait a while.” His voice was harsh and metallic. “How far will we be reduced?”
“We’ll have to be small enough to avoid activating the body’s biological defenses. The overall length of the ship will be three micra.”
“How much is that in inches?” interjected Grant.
“Just under a ten-thousandth of an inch. The ship will be about the size of a large bacterium.”
“Well, then,” said Owens. “If we enter an artery, we will be exposed to the full force of the arterial current.”
“Not quite a mile an hour,” said Carter.
“Never mind the miles per hour. We will be moving about 100,000 times the length of our ship each second. That will be equivalent, under ordinary circumstances, to moving 200 miles a second—or something like that. Onour miniaturized scale we’ll be moving a dozen times as fast as any astronaut ever moved. At least.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Carter, “but what of it? Every red blood corpuscle in the bloodstream moves as quickly and the ship is much more sturdily built than the corpuscle.”
“No, it is
not
,” said Owens, passionately. “A red blood corpuscle contains billions of atoms, but the
Proteus
will crowd billions of billions of billions of atoms into the same space; miniaturized atoms, to be sure, but what of that. We will be made up of an immensely larger number of units than the red blood corpuscle and we’ll be flabbier for that reason. Furthermore, the red blood corpuscle is in an environment of atoms equal in size to those that make it up; we will be in an environment made up of what will be to us monstrous atoms.”
Carter said, “Can you answer that, Max?”
Michaels harrumphed. “I do not pretend to be as expert on the problems of miniaturization as Captain Owens. I suspect that he is thinking of the report by James and Schwartz that fragility increases with intensity of miniaturization.”
“Exactly,” said Owens.
“The increase is a slow one, if you remember, and James and Schwartz had to make some simplifying assumptions in the course of their analysis which may prove to be not entirely valid. After all, when we enlarge objects, they certainly do not become
less
fragile.”
“Oh, come on, we’ve never enlarged any object more than a hundred-fold,” said Owens, contemptuously, “and here we are talking about miniaturizing a ship about a million times in linear dimensions. No one’s ever gone that far, or even anything close to that far, in either direction. The fact is that there isn’t anyone in the world who can predict just how fragile we will become, or how well we can stand up to the pounding of the bloodstream, or even how we might respond to the action of a white blood corpuscle. Isn’t that so, Michaels?”
Michaels said, “Well—yes.”
Carter said, with what seemed rising impatience, “It would seem that the course of orderly experiment leading to so drastic a miniaturization has not yet been completed. We’re in no position to carry through a program of such experimentation so we have to take our chances. If the ship does not survive, it doesn’t.”
“That bucks me up,” muttered Grant.
Cora Peterson leaned toward him, whispering tightly, “Please, Mr. Grant, you’re not on the football field.”
“Oh, you know my record, miss?”
“Shh.”
Carter said, “We are taking all the precautions we can. Benes will be in deep hypothermia for his own sake. By freezing him we will cut down the oxygen requirements of the brain. That will mean the heartbeat will be drastically slowed and the velocity of the blood flow as well.”
Owens said, “Even so, I doubt that we
Michaels went on, “If, then, the
Proteus
and its crew are miniaturized and injected …”
Owens spoke up suddenly. “Wait a while.” His voice was harsh and metallic. “How far will we be reduced?”
“We’ll have to be small enough to avoid activating the body’s biological defenses. The overall length of the ship will be three micra.”
“How much is that in inches?” interjected Grant.
“Just under a ten-thousandth of an inch. The ship will be about the size of a large bacterium.”
“Well, then,” said Owens. “If we enter an artery, we will be exposed to the full force of the arterial current.”
“Not quite a mile an hour,” said Carter.
“Never mind the miles per hour. We will be moving about 100,000 times the length of our ship each second. That will be equivalent, under ordinary circumstances, to moving 200 miles a second—or something like that. Onour miniaturized scale we’ll be moving a dozen times as fast as any astronaut ever moved. At least.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Carter, “but what of it? Every red blood corpuscle in the bloodstream moves as quickly and the ship is much more sturdily built than the corpuscle.”
“No, it is
not
,” said Owens, passionately. “A red blood corpuscle contains billions of atoms, but the
Proteus
will crowd billions of billions of billions of atoms into the same space; miniaturized atoms, to be sure, but what of that. We will be made up of an immensely larger number of units than the red blood corpuscle and we’ll be flabbier for that reason. Furthermore, the red blood corpuscle is in an environment of atoms equal in size to those that make it up; we will be in an environment made up of what will be to us monstrous atoms.”
Carter said, “Can you answer that, Max?”
Michaels harrumphed. “I do not pretend to be as expert on the problems of miniaturization as Captain Owens. I suspect that he is thinking of the report by James and Schwartz that fragility increases with intensity of miniaturization.”
“Exactly,” said Owens.
“The increase is a slow one, if you remember, and James and Schwartz had to make some simplifying assumptions in the course of their analysis which may prove to be not entirely valid. After all, when we enlarge objects, they certainly do not become
less
fragile.”
“Oh, come on, we’ve never enlarged any object more than a hundred-fold,” said Owens, contemptuously, “and here we are talking about miniaturizing a ship about a million times in linear dimensions. No one’s ever gone that far, or even anything close to that far, in either direction. The fact is that there isn’t anyone in the world who can predict just how fragile we will become, or how well we can stand up to the pounding of the bloodstream, or even how we might respond to the action of a white blood corpuscle. Isn’t that so, Michaels?”
Michaels said, “Well—yes.”
Carter said, with what seemed rising impatience, “It would seem that the course of orderly experiment leading to so drastic a miniaturization has not yet been completed. We’re in no position to carry through a program of such experimentation so we have to take our chances. If the ship does not survive, it doesn’t.”
“That bucks me up,” muttered Grant.
Cora Peterson leaned toward him, whispering tightly, “Please, Mr. Grant, you’re not on the football field.”
“Oh, you know my record, miss?”
“Shh.”
Carter said, “We are taking all the precautions we can. Benes will be in deep hypothermia for his own sake. By freezing him we will cut down the oxygen requirements of the brain. That will mean the heartbeat will be drastically slowed and the velocity of the blood flow as well.”
Owens said, “Even so, I doubt that we
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