Micro

In answer, Rick turned his head around slowly. “I can smell it. Hydrogen cyanide. Also known as prussic acid. That whiff of bitter almonds…can you smell it? Cyanide-a universal poison, it’ll kill practically anything, and fast. Cyanide-a favorite of Cold War spies. Get this-there’s an animal around here that makes cyanide. It’s probably hiding under a leaf. Probably asleep.”

The others stared, while Rick set out through the super-jungle, stopping occasionally to sniff the air, following his nose. He started turning over leaves, dragging them with both hands. The smell grew stronger; it tickled their noses now, once Rick had pointed it out to them. He stuck his head under a leaf. “Got it!” he whispered.

Under the leaf, a brownish, oily, jointed carapace gleamed, along with many curved legs. “That’s a millipede,” Rick said. “I’m just an ignorant botanist, but I know these guys make cyanide.”

Erika moaned. “Don’t! It’s a very big animal. It’s dangerous.”

Rick chuckled. “A millipede?” He turned to Karen King. “Hey-Karen! What’s the behavior of this animal when it’s threatened?”

Karen King smiled. “Millipedes? They’re scaredy cats.”

“Wait! Are you sure it’s not a centipede?” Danny quavered, remembering that Peter had said a centipede can deliver a nasty sting.

“Nah, this baby isn’t any centipede,” Karen said, kneeling and looking under the leaf. “Centipedes are predators. A millipede doesn’t eat meat, it eats rotten leaves,” she explained. “It’s a peaceful animal. Doesn’t even have a sting.”

“What I thought.” Rick hauled the leaf off the millipede, revealing it. The millipede lay curled up and seemingly asleep. It was a cylindrical animal with segmented armor and at least a hundred legs. In relation to the micro-humans, the millipede appeared about fifteen feet long, akin to the biggest boa constrictors. It breathed gently, making whistling noises through holes in its carapace; a millipede’s version of snoring.

Rick drew his machete. “Wake up!” he cried, and slapped the millipede with the flat of the blade.

The animal thrashed suddenly. The humans backed away, and the odor grew stronger. The millipede curled its body into a tight spiral, a defensive posture. Holding his nose, Rick darted forward and whacked the animal again. He didn’t want to hurt the millipede, he wanted to frighten it. The trick worked. A pungent smell of almonds mixed with a nasty, bitter stench filled the air, and blobs of an oily liquid oozed from pores in the millipede’s armor. Rick opened a clean plastic jar and quickly put on his gloves, apron, and goggles.

The millipede wasn’t going anywhere. It remained curled up, apparently frightened.

Wearing his gear, Rick advanced and scooped some of the liquid into the jar, until he’d collected about a cup of the stuff. “It’s an oil. It’s full of cyanide,” he explained. He dumped the oil into the jar that held his curare goo, and stirred the mess with a stick. “I scared the cyanide out of the poor bastard,” he said, holding up the jar of curare, which reeked of lethal chemicals. “And now,” he added, “it’s time to start hunting.”

Chapter 20

Nanigen Headquarters 29 October, 4:00 p.m.

Vin Drake stood before a window that looked into the tensor core. The window was bulletproof, and it gave the scene in the chamber the appearance of a fish tank. Inside the chamber, the hexagons of the size-translation tubes were set flush with the plastic floor. Two men walked around the core: Telius and Johnstone.

They were suiting up. They put on segments of lightweight Kevlar armor, vests, arm coverings, greaves for the legs. The armor was tough enough to turn away the jaws of a soldier ant. Each man carried a. 600 caliber Express gas rifle. The gun was powered by a pressurized gas tank. It fired a heavy steel needle tipped with a broad-spectrum super-toxin. Long range, total stopping power. The super-toxin was equally effective on insects, birds, and mammals. The gun had been designed especially for the protection of humans in the micro-world.

“Wait for the hexapod,” Drake said.

Telius nodded and searched the floor with his eyes as if he was looking for a coin he’d dropped. Telius was a man of few words.

Drake went to a door marked RESTRICTED AREA. Under the sign there was a symbol that looked vaguely like a biohazard symbol, and a word: MICROHAZARD.

This was the entry door that led from the tensor core directly to Project Omicron. No sign on the door advertised its name, of course.