Micro

“You have not solved the problem of bends,” Dr. Catel answered in a bland voice. “You planned to send them into the micro-world at considerable risk to their lives. Or am I conjecturing?”

Drake ignored him and paced the room. “The ringleader is Peter Jansen,” he went on, speaking rapidly. “He’s the brother of our deceased vice president, Eric Jansen. Peter seems to irrationally blame Nanigen for his brother’s death. He’s looking for payback. He’s trying to steal our corporate secrets. He may be planning to sell our technology-”

“To whom?” Catel asked sharply.

“Does it matter?”

Catel’s eyes narrowed. “Everything matters.”

Drake didn’t seem to hear him. “A Nanigen employee is involved in the spying,” Drake went on. “A control-room operator named Jarel Kinsky.”

“Why do you think so?” Catel asked.

Drake shrugged. “Kinsky has disappeared, too. I think he’s in the micro-world, in the Waipaka Arboretum. Where he’s serving the students as a paid guide. What they’re doing, I think, is trying to find out how we operate in the field and what we’re discovering.”

Dr. Catel pinched his lips together but said nothing more.

“You want me to start a rescue-?” Don Makele began.

Drake cut him off. “Too late. They’re dead by now.” Drake gave his security chief a sharp look. “Nanigen has been attacked on your watch, Don. You didn’t seem to notice. Is there anything you want to explain about that?”

Don Makele’s jawline tightened. He was wearing an Aloha shirt. He had an ample belly, but his bare arms, sinewy and massive, were fatless, and Drake saw how his security man’s arms went rock-tense. Don Makele was an ex-Marine intelligence officer. A security failure like this-a spy ring operating under his nose-was unforgivable. “I offer my resignation, sir,” he said to Drake. “Effective immediately.”

Drake smiled and stood up, and put his hand on Don Makele’s shoulder, feeling the moisture soaking the man’s rayon shirt. It pleased him to see how a few well-chosen words could make an ex-Marine break into a sweat. “Not accepted.” Drake’s eyes narrowed, and he got a careful look. He had humiliated his security chief, and now the man would be eager to please. “Go to Waipaka Arboretum and collect the supply stations, Don. All of them. Bring them back here. They need to be cleaned and refurbished.”

That would prevent any survivors from taking refuge in a station.

Dr. Catel had picked up his attache case and was moving toward the door. He glanced at Drake and gave him a nod, and left without saying another word.

Vin Drake understood exactly what Dr. Catel’s nod meant. Clean up this mess quickly and the Davros Consortium won’t hear about it.

He went over to the window and looked out. As always, the trade winds were blowing across the mountains, endlessly lofting into mist and showers. There was nothing to worry about. For humans without weapons and protective gear, survival time in the micro-world was measured in minutes to hours, not in days. Speaking to himself in a murmur, he said, “Nature will take its course.”

Chapter 16

Station Echo 29 October, 10:40 a.m.

The seven graduate students gathered at the entrance of the tent. A sign over the tent’s door said, SUPPLY STATION ECHO. PROPERTY OF NANIGEN MICROTECHNOLOGIES. They were in a state of shock, filled with horror over the brutality of Kinsky’s death. They were also extremely surprised at how fast they had run. Danny Minot had lost his tassel loafers. The shoes blew off his feet while he’d made a jaw-dropping dash that would have shamed an Olympic sprinter. Danny stood there in muddy, bare feet, shaking his head. And they had seen Karen King fighting the ants. Her twists and leaps, soaring through the air.

It was clear they could do things in the micro-world they couldn’t have dreamed of before.

They investigated the supply station quickly, as a raiding column of ants could show up at any moment. The tent, stocked with various boxes, sat atop a concrete floor. In the center of the floor, there was a round steel hatch. The steel hatch was operated with a wheel lock, like a bulkhead door of a submarine. Peter Jansen spun the wheel and lifted up the hatch. A ladder went down into darkness. “I’ll check it out.” He put the headlamp on his head and switched it on, and descended the ladder.

He ended up standing in the middle of a dark room. As he swung his headlamp around, the beam fell across bunks and tables. Then he spotted a bank of power switches on the wall. He threw them, and the lights came on.