Cardenas silenced her by placing a hand on Joanna’s shoulder. “Zimmerman’s an M.D. as well as a Ph.D. And two of his aides are also physicians.”
Zimmerman straightened up. For a moment he gazed down at the unconscious patient, then he turned and went to the door.
Stepping into the observation cubicle where the others waited, he dropped the syringe into the waste recycling can.
“It is done,” he said, his voice loud enough to startle Joanna. “Now we wait.”
“And rest,” Cardenas said. “You look like you could use a nice nap, Willi.”
In truth, his fleshy face looked ravaged.
Greg spoke up, “We should all get some sleep.” Turning to Zimmerman, he asked, “How long before we see some results?”
The old man blinked his pouchy eyes. “Twelve hours. Maybe more. Maybe a little less.”
“Nothing’s going to happen for eight to ten hours, at least,” Cardenas said briskly. “So let’s all get a decent sleep.”
Greg agreed. I’ll get the people on duty to call if there’s any change in his condition.”
Joanna said, “I can sleep here, on the chair.”
“No,” Greg said firmly, taking her by the arm. “You sleep in your quarters, on a bunk. Doctor’s orders.”
Reluctantly, Joanna allowed her elder son to lead her out of the observation room and toward the suite that Anson had vacated for her. She almost felt grateful to Greg for his forceful tenderness.
Small as viruses, millions upon millions of nanomachines flowed through Doug’s blood stream like an army of repair personnel eager to get to work. Blind, deaf, without the intelligence of an amoeba, they were tuned to the chemical signatures that cells emit In their world of the ultrasmall, where a bacterium is as gigantic and complex as a shopping mall, they were guided by the shapes of the molecules swarming around them.
Built to seek out specific types of molecules, they quickly spread through the enormous labyrinthine ways of Doug’s failing body. With receptors barely a thousand atoms long they touched and tested every molecule they came in contact with. Hardly any of them were of interest to the nanomachines; they merely touched, found that the molecule did not fit precisely into their receptor jaws, and left the molecule behind. Like a lock seeking its proper key, each nanomachine blindly searched the teeming liquid world within Doug’s wasting body.
When they did find a molecule that nested properly in their receptors, they clamped onto it and tore it apart into its individual atoms: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen and the rarer metals and minerals. Then other nanomachines seized the freed atoms and combined them into new molecules, new nutrients for the cells that were damaged and dying.
Deep into the cells they penetrated, into the nucleus where the huge double spiral DNA molecules worked as templates for building vital proteins. Here was where the most crucial damage had been done. The links between the two intertwining spirals, the base pairs that were the genes themselves, had been heavily damaged by the ionizing radiation. Where the nanomachines saw a break in this vital linkage, where base pairs had been broken or mismatched, the nanomachines rebuilt the bases and linked them correctly. Like vastly complex three-dimensional jigsaw puzzles, the DNA molecules were put together properly by the busily hurrying nanomachines, much as Doug’s own natural enzymes were valiantly trying to do. Together, the polymerases and the nanomachines worked frantically to repair the massive DNA molecules.
They worked with blinding speed, although time meant nothing to them. In this nanometer universe a thousandth of a second stretched like years and decades. In microseconds they repaired damaged cells and then flowed onward, seeking, testing, destroying damaged areas, rebuilding molecules for the growth of healthy new cells. DNA repair was more intricate, more demanding. It took whole tenths of seconds to repair a damaged DNA molecule. Millions of cells and DNA molecules were repaired each minute. But there were so many billions more to reach.
Killifer was not accustomed to being a hero. He was surprised to see that Jinny Anson and more than a dozen others were waiting for him at The Pit when he led his weary team out of their Jobbers. Anson pounded him on the back and insisted on taking him to The Cave for a drink. She even provided the booze.
“You did damned fine out there,” Anson said, leaning back in her chair, grinning across the table at Killifer.
Unshaven, grimy, Killifer relished the glow of the rocket juice that laced his coffee. And the glow of her approval.
“Yep,” Anson said, “now I can turn over the job to Greg Masterson and leave on schedule and get myself married.”
Shocked, Killifer blurted, “Married?”
“The Dragon Lady wanted me to stay on until the expedition got back. So now you’re back and I can head for San Antone with a clear conscience.”
I’ll be damned,” Killifer said.
Anson’s expression sobered. “Shame about Brennart, though.”
“Yeah.”
“What went wrong with his hopper, do you think? Why’d it die out there?”
Shifting nervously in his chair, Killifer said, “Radiation must’ve knocked out the electrical system. Something like ithat.”
“Somebody’ll have to check it out when you go back there,” said Anson.
“Yeah. Right”
“But we’ve got the polar region, that’s what’s really important.”
“How’s the Stavenger kid?”
She shrugged. “They’re working on him.”
“Is he gonna pull through?”
With a shake of her head, Anson replied, “Damned if I know. They’ve dragooned some high-priced talent here to try nanotherapy on him, but nobody knows if it’ll work.”
Killifer was silent for a moment ’And, uh, the astronomer…’ Don’t look too anxious, he warned himself. “What’s her name?”
“The Korean? Rhee. Bianca Rhee.”
“Yeah. How’s she doing?”
“Okay, I guess, Why’re you so interested in her?”
I’m not,” he said quickly. “Just — she flew out with Stavenger, I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”
“She’s probably on duty right now. Check the astronomy dome if you want to see her.”
“Yeah,” Killifer said. “Maybe I will. After I clean up some.”
Anson grinned lopsidedly. “Do I detect a romance?”
“Naw,” Killifer said. Then wished he hadn’t.
It made no difference. Anson, her mind turning toward her own marriage, said, “Don’t be coy, Jack. You’re a hero now. You can have your pick of the love-starved women of Moonbase, I betcha.”
Killifer grinned at the idea. Yeah, he told himself. I’m a big friggin’ hero. As long as nobody finds out what I did to Brennart and Doug Stavenger.
She wasn’t at the astronomy dome. The place was empty. Nothing there except a half dozen display screens and a computer humming to itself.
Killifer slipped into the empty chair and used the computer to find where Rhee’s quarters were. He phoned; no answer.
Maybe I can duck in there, he thought, and find the cement cover. Then when we go back to Mt. Wasser I can stick it back onto the hopper and nobody’ll ever know what happened.
He headed for Rhee’s quarters.
Bianca Rhee was at the infirmary, staring through the observation room’s window at Doug’s inert form, still swathed in the light blue cooling blankets. The medic on duty told her that Doug wasn’t expected to come out of his hypothermic coma for days. But with oriental patience, Rhee sat as immobile as he was and watched over him.
The accordion-fold door was locked but Killifer got past it easily enough, using his plastic ID card to spring the bolt. Rhee’s one room looked as neat as a real-estate model. Everything in place. Bed, desk, bureau: standard issue, same as every other apartment in Moonbase. The only signs of individuality were a set of framed photographs on the bureau, family from the looks of mem, and a delicate small lacquered vase with an imitation flower in it.
Killifer went swiftly through the desk drawers. It wasn’t there. Then the bureau. Nothing but clothes. And a pair of toe shoes, for god’s sake, beat up as hell and just as smelly. The closet Not there either.