Fantastic Voyage: Microcosm by Kevin J. Anderson Page A
Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science Fiction - Adventure, Life on other planets
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project the original image at any size. Counter-intuitively, the complete information was stored in every part of that hologram; a sliver cut from the overall piece could project the entire image.
“And what does that have to do with miniaturization technology?” Devlin had asked.
Cutter had scratched his unruly hair. “It seemed an interesting analogy.”
Quentin, tall and lantern-jawed, had furrowed his brow when Devlin asked, “But what happens to the mass when we miniaturize? If we shrink a ship down to the size of a cell, why don't we still have several tons worth of matter? Where does it go? Is there some sort of mass sink?”
The lantern-jawed physicist cleared his throat. “An imaginary-space quantum reservoir where all the mass goes? Intriguing idea.” Quentin looked toward the armored walls at the far end of the chamber. “Recent theoretical extrapolations suggest that mass is a tensor property, not a scalar. Therefore, a simple four-by-four space-time transformation can yield a zero or infinitesimally small mass.”
“Fine theory. And how do you perform a four-by-four space-time transformation on a real object?”
“Why with our apparatus, of course.”
Devlin wondered if he should duck while the physicist vigorously waved his hands. “Roger that. So what you're saying is it all functions by magic?”
Quentin scratched his heavy jaw and quoted Clarke's Law. “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
After that, Devlin had stopped asking questions.
With a glance at his watch, he closed the engine cowlings and backed out to the main compartment. Soon the team would regroup for miniaturization and insertion into the alien capsule. His heart fluttered with excitement rather than anxiety.
Devlin patted the cockpit controls again. “Let's get ready to dance, baby. You and me. We'll make them all proud.”
Chapter 12
Time to mission: 1:00 hour
Politics.
Felix Hunter enjoyed challenges as much as the Project scientists, but his battles were fought in a political arena, not a technical one. Engrossed in their own pieces of the puzzle, the Proteus crew never saw all the troubleshooting Hunter did from the battleground of his office.
He spent hours on secure phones, facing teleconferences, sending faxes and documents over scrambled lines. He had to smooth the feathers of ambassadors, industrial leaders, and world-class scientists—all of whom had agendas of their own.
No wonder his wife preferred to stay by herself at their house in Carmel, dabbling with watercolors and interior design. Their marriage was like a pair of old slippers, a bit ragged but too comfortable to discard. Helen had never much cared for the overblown elegance of upper-crust diplomatic functions. After losing their only daughter, Hunter and his wife had both withdrawn into private interests. Instead of retiring to the California coast with her, Hunter had chosen to helm a major classified project.
Hunter sat back at his desk, a clunky old army-issue monstrosity painted seafoam green. He could have arranged for extravagant mahogany furniture, an ambassadorial relic to flaunt his status. Years ago, in his Washington, D.C., offices, he'd bowed to such ostentation. His priorities and preferences had changed since then. Here, deep in the mountain, the metal desk reminded him of the scientific glory days of the 1950s and '60s, when people had believed technology would solve the world's problems. Hunter wanted to recapture that sense of infinite possibilities…
Few things, however, were as dull or as tedious as sifting through treaties, agreements, regulations. Taking a heavy breath, Hunter opened the immense volume he'd taken from the document room, the Code of Federal Regulations. There, exactly as Arnold Freeth had claimed, under Title 14, Aeronautics and Space, he found the lengthy and convoluted guidelines that theoretically applied in this situation. Trust the government to write a regulation
“And what does that have to do with miniaturization technology?” Devlin had asked.
Cutter had scratched his unruly hair. “It seemed an interesting analogy.”
Quentin, tall and lantern-jawed, had furrowed his brow when Devlin asked, “But what happens to the mass when we miniaturize? If we shrink a ship down to the size of a cell, why don't we still have several tons worth of matter? Where does it go? Is there some sort of mass sink?”
The lantern-jawed physicist cleared his throat. “An imaginary-space quantum reservoir where all the mass goes? Intriguing idea.” Quentin looked toward the armored walls at the far end of the chamber. “Recent theoretical extrapolations suggest that mass is a tensor property, not a scalar. Therefore, a simple four-by-four space-time transformation can yield a zero or infinitesimally small mass.”
“Fine theory. And how do you perform a four-by-four space-time transformation on a real object?”
“Why with our apparatus, of course.”
Devlin wondered if he should duck while the physicist vigorously waved his hands. “Roger that. So what you're saying is it all functions by magic?”
Quentin scratched his heavy jaw and quoted Clarke's Law. “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
After that, Devlin had stopped asking questions.
With a glance at his watch, he closed the engine cowlings and backed out to the main compartment. Soon the team would regroup for miniaturization and insertion into the alien capsule. His heart fluttered with excitement rather than anxiety.
Devlin patted the cockpit controls again. “Let's get ready to dance, baby. You and me. We'll make them all proud.”
Chapter 12
Time to mission: 1:00 hour
Politics.
Felix Hunter enjoyed challenges as much as the Project scientists, but his battles were fought in a political arena, not a technical one. Engrossed in their own pieces of the puzzle, the Proteus crew never saw all the troubleshooting Hunter did from the battleground of his office.
He spent hours on secure phones, facing teleconferences, sending faxes and documents over scrambled lines. He had to smooth the feathers of ambassadors, industrial leaders, and world-class scientists—all of whom had agendas of their own.
No wonder his wife preferred to stay by herself at their house in Carmel, dabbling with watercolors and interior design. Their marriage was like a pair of old slippers, a bit ragged but too comfortable to discard. Helen had never much cared for the overblown elegance of upper-crust diplomatic functions. After losing their only daughter, Hunter and his wife had both withdrawn into private interests. Instead of retiring to the California coast with her, Hunter had chosen to helm a major classified project.
Hunter sat back at his desk, a clunky old army-issue monstrosity painted seafoam green. He could have arranged for extravagant mahogany furniture, an ambassadorial relic to flaunt his status. Years ago, in his Washington, D.C., offices, he'd bowed to such ostentation. His priorities and preferences had changed since then. Here, deep in the mountain, the metal desk reminded him of the scientific glory days of the 1950s and '60s, when people had believed technology would solve the world's problems. Hunter wanted to recapture that sense of infinite possibilities…
Few things, however, were as dull or as tedious as sifting through treaties, agreements, regulations. Taking a heavy breath, Hunter opened the immense volume he'd taken from the document room, the Code of Federal Regulations. There, exactly as Arnold Freeth had claimed, under Title 14, Aeronautics and Space, he found the lengthy and convoluted guidelines that theoretically applied in this situation. Trust the government to write a regulation
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