stiffly.
“Your assistant apparently does not. If this ship were to be beaten into fragments, Miss Peterson, then when the sixty minutes—no, fifty-nine—are up, each individual fragment, however small, would enlarge to normal size. Even if the ship were dissolved into atoms, each atom would enlarge and Benes would be permeated through and through with the matter of ourselves and the ship.”
Michaels took a deep breath, one that sounded almost like a snort. He went on, “It is easy to get us out of Benes’ body if we are intact. If the ship is in fragments, there will be no way of flushing every fragment out of Benes’ body. No matter what is done, enough will remain to kill him at de-miniaturization time. Do you understand?”
Cora seemed to shrink within herself. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, think of it,” said Michaels. “You too, Owens. Now I want to know again, will the
Proteus
stand up under the Brownian motion? I don’t mean only till we reach the clot. I mean till we reach it, finish it, and
return!
Consider what you say, Owens. If you don’t think the ship can survive then we have no right to go on.”
“Well, then,” interposed Grant, “stop hectoring, Dr. Michaels, and give Captain Owens a chance to talk.”
Owens said doggedly, “I came to no final opinion till I felt the partial Brownian motion we now experience. It is my feeling at the present motion, that we can stand up to sixty full minutes of the full pounding.”
“The question is: Ought we to take the risk on the mere strength of Captain Owens’ feelings?” said Michaels.
“Not at all,” said Grant. “The question is: Will I accept Captain Owens’ estimate of the situation? Please remember that General Carter said I was to make the policy decisions. I am accepting Owens’ statement simply because we have no one of greater authority or with a better understanding of the ship to consult.”
“Well, then,” said Michaels, “what is your decision?”
“I accept Owens’ estimate. We proceed with the mission.”
Duval said, “I agree with you, Grant.”
Michaels, slightly flushed, nodded his head. “All right, Grant. I was merely making what seemed to me a legitimate point.” He took his seat.
Grant said, “It was a most legitimate point, and I’m glad you raised it.” He remained standing, by the window.
Cora joined him after a moment and said, quietly, “You didn’t sound frightened, Grant.”
Grant smiled joylessly. “Ah, but that’s because I’m a good actor, Cora. If it were anyone else taking the responsibility for the decision, I would have made a terrific speech in favor of quitting. You see, I have cowardly feelings, but I try not to make cowardly decisions.”
Cora watched him for a moment. “I get the notion, Mr. Grant, that you have to work awfully hard, sometimes, to make yourself sound worse than you really are.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I have a talen …”
At that point, the
Proteus
moved convulsively, first to one side, then to the other, in great sweeps.
Lord, thought Grant, we’re sloshing.
He caught Cora’s elbow, and forced her toward her seat; then with difficulty took his own while Owens swayed and stumbled in an attempt to make it up the ladder, crying out, “Damn it, they might have warned us.”
Grant braced himself against his chair and noted the Time Recorder reading to be 59. —A long minute, he thought. Michaels had said the time-sense slowed with miniaturization and he was obviously right. There would be more time for thought and action.
More time for second thought and panic, too.
The
Proteus
moved even more abruptly. Would the ship break up before the mission proper had even started?
Reid took Carter’s place at the window. The ampule with its few milliliters of partially miniaturized water, in which the completely miniaturized and quite invisible
Proteus
was submerged, gleamed on the Zero Module, like some rare gem on a velvet cushion.
At least
“Your assistant apparently does not. If this ship were to be beaten into fragments, Miss Peterson, then when the sixty minutes—no, fifty-nine—are up, each individual fragment, however small, would enlarge to normal size. Even if the ship were dissolved into atoms, each atom would enlarge and Benes would be permeated through and through with the matter of ourselves and the ship.”
Michaels took a deep breath, one that sounded almost like a snort. He went on, “It is easy to get us out of Benes’ body if we are intact. If the ship is in fragments, there will be no way of flushing every fragment out of Benes’ body. No matter what is done, enough will remain to kill him at de-miniaturization time. Do you understand?”
Cora seemed to shrink within herself. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, think of it,” said Michaels. “You too, Owens. Now I want to know again, will the
Proteus
stand up under the Brownian motion? I don’t mean only till we reach the clot. I mean till we reach it, finish it, and
return!
Consider what you say, Owens. If you don’t think the ship can survive then we have no right to go on.”
“Well, then,” interposed Grant, “stop hectoring, Dr. Michaels, and give Captain Owens a chance to talk.”
Owens said doggedly, “I came to no final opinion till I felt the partial Brownian motion we now experience. It is my feeling at the present motion, that we can stand up to sixty full minutes of the full pounding.”
“The question is: Ought we to take the risk on the mere strength of Captain Owens’ feelings?” said Michaels.
“Not at all,” said Grant. “The question is: Will I accept Captain Owens’ estimate of the situation? Please remember that General Carter said I was to make the policy decisions. I am accepting Owens’ statement simply because we have no one of greater authority or with a better understanding of the ship to consult.”
“Well, then,” said Michaels, “what is your decision?”
“I accept Owens’ estimate. We proceed with the mission.”
Duval said, “I agree with you, Grant.”
Michaels, slightly flushed, nodded his head. “All right, Grant. I was merely making what seemed to me a legitimate point.” He took his seat.
Grant said, “It was a most legitimate point, and I’m glad you raised it.” He remained standing, by the window.
Cora joined him after a moment and said, quietly, “You didn’t sound frightened, Grant.”
Grant smiled joylessly. “Ah, but that’s because I’m a good actor, Cora. If it were anyone else taking the responsibility for the decision, I would have made a terrific speech in favor of quitting. You see, I have cowardly feelings, but I try not to make cowardly decisions.”
Cora watched him for a moment. “I get the notion, Mr. Grant, that you have to work awfully hard, sometimes, to make yourself sound worse than you really are.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I have a talen …”
At that point, the
Proteus
moved convulsively, first to one side, then to the other, in great sweeps.
Lord, thought Grant, we’re sloshing.
He caught Cora’s elbow, and forced her toward her seat; then with difficulty took his own while Owens swayed and stumbled in an attempt to make it up the ladder, crying out, “Damn it, they might have warned us.”
Grant braced himself against his chair and noted the Time Recorder reading to be 59. —A long minute, he thought. Michaels had said the time-sense slowed with miniaturization and he was obviously right. There would be more time for thought and action.
More time for second thought and panic, too.
The
Proteus
moved even more abruptly. Would the ship break up before the mission proper had even started?
Reid took Carter’s place at the window. The ampule with its few milliliters of partially miniaturized water, in which the completely miniaturized and quite invisible
Proteus
was submerged, gleamed on the Zero Module, like some rare gem on a velvet cushion.
At least
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