Micro

“Can be done to living organisms. Yes, we shrank that egg in a tensor field. The chicken fetus inside the egg wasn’t affected by the dimensional change. It hatched normally, as you can see. This proves that even highly complex biological systems can be compressed in a tensor field and still carry on the normal functions of life.”

“What are those other things in the picture?” Karen asked.

In the video, the floor under the giant chicken appeared to be splattered with tiny dots. Some of the dots were moving, some not.

“Those are the other chicks. We dimensionally shifted the whole brood,” Drake said. “Unfortunately they’re so small the mother has stepped on some of her babies without knowing it.”

There was a brief silence. Amar was the first to speak. “You’ve done this to other organisms?”

“Of course,” Drake answered.

“That means…people?” Amar said.

“Yes.”

“Those little robot diggers we saw in the arboretum,” Amar went on. “You’re telling us you don’t actually program intelligence into them.”

“We don’t need to.”

“Because you have human beings run them.”

“Yes.”

“Human beings who have undergone a dimensional change.”

“Holy shit,” Danny Minot burst out. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No,” Drake said.

Somebody burst out laughing. It was Rick Hutter. “Scam,” Rick muttered. “Guy’s selling worthless stock to fools.”

Karen King didn’t believe it, either. She said, “This is bullshit hype. No way. You can do anything with video.”

“It’s existing technology,” Drake said calmly.

Amar Singh said, “So you’re saying you can cause a dimensional change in a human being as great as ten to the minus three.”

“Yes.”

“Which means that someone six feet tall would be, uh, seventy-two inches…seven-hundredths of an inch tall.”

“That’s correct,” Drake said. “Slightly less than two-tenths of a millimeter.”

“Jesus,” Rick Hutter said.

“And at ten to the minus two,” Drake said, “the person is approximately half an inch tall. Twelve millimeters.”

“I would actually like to see this for real,” Danny Minot said.

“Of course,” Drake said. “And you will.”

Chapter 9

Nanigen Headquarters 28 October, 7:30 p.m.

W hile Drake was talking with the students, Peter Jansen had taken Alyson Bender aside. “Some of us brought samples and compounds to show Mr. Drake.”

“That’s good,” Alyson said to him.

“I’ve got a CD with some of my, uh, research on it,” Peter said. She nodded in response. “It’s a recording. It involves my brother,” Peter added. He hoped to start winding her up, making her nervous. She nodded again and left the conference room; did he see a flicker of alarm in her eyes?

After she’d left, while Drake was still talking, Peter slipped behind the service door and went to the audio panel. He needed some equipment; something to magnify his voice; he did not want Drake or anyone to be able to shut him up or shout him down. Behind the service door there were some drawers; he began opening them, and he found what he wanted. It was a lavalier, a wireless microphone device that would transmit his voice to a loudspeaker. The lavalier was identical to a unit Drake had used during his slide show and talk. The device consisted of a transmitter unit and a throat mike with a wire that ran to the transmitter. He slipped the transmitter into his pants pocket, stuffed the wire and mike in after it.

Drake concluded his presentation on the screens, and the lights went up in the meeting room. “Some of you have brought things to show us,” Drake said, “and we are very eager to see them. Now if-yes, what is it?”

Alyson Bender had come back into the room. She leaned close to Drake, whispered in his ear. Drake stared at Peter as he listened, then looked away. He nodded twice, but said nothing. Finally he turned back to Peter.

“Peter, you have a recording?”

“A CD, yes.”

“What is on that recording, Peter?” Drake didn’t seem upset at all.

“Something that will interest you.” Peter’s heart was pounding.

“Related to your brother?”

“Yes.”

Drake seemed unruffled. “I know this is a difficult matter for you,” he said, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Gently, he added, “Wouldn’t it be easier to talk privately?”

Drake wanted to get him off alone, where nobody could hear what was said. Peter balked. “We can talk here,” he answered. In the conference room with everybody else.

Drake looked concerned. “If I might have a private word with you Peter-Eric was a friend of mine, too. I’ve suffered a loss myself. Let’s step into the next room.”

Peter shrugged and got up, and walked with Vin Drake and Alyson Bender into a smaller adjacent room-it was a prep booth for the conference room. Drake closed the door behind them and with a smooth gesture flipped the door’s lock. Then he spun around, and in the blink of an eye his face had been transformed: it was contorted with rage. He viciously clamped his hand around Peter’s throat and slammed him against the wall. With his other hand, he took Peter’s arm and bent it, holding it in a lock. “I don’t know what your game is, you little bastard-”

“No game-”