Free Isaac Asimov by Fantastic Voyage Page A

won’t, but … Well, how do I talk to you?”
    “Like a fellow member of the crew.”
    “You’re also a young woman.”
    “I know that, Mr. Grant, but what concern is that of yours? It’s not necessary to assure me with every remark and gesture that you’re aware of my sex. It’s wearisome and unnecessary. After this is all over, if you still feel called upon to go through whatever rituals you are accustomed to performing before young women, I will deal with you in whatever fashion seems advisable but for now …”
    “All right. It’s a date, for afterward.”
    “And Mr. Grant?”
    “Yes?”
    “Don’t be defensive about once having been a football player. I really don’t care.”
    Grant swallowed and said, “Something tells me my rituals are going to be tromped on, but …”
    She was paying no attention but had returned to the laser. Grant couldn’t help watching, his hand on the counter, following the minutest movement of her sure-fingered adjustments.
    “Oh, if you could only frivol,” he breathed, and fortunately she didn’t hear him, or, at least, showed no signs of having done so.
    Without warning, she placed her hand on his and Grant found himself starting slightly at the touch of her warm fingers.
    She said, “Excuse me!” and moved his hand to one side, then released it. Almost at once she depressed a contact on the laser and a hair-thin streak of red light shot out, striking the metal disc over which his hand had just been resting. A tiny hole appeared at once and there was the thin odor of metal vapor. Had Grant’s hand remained in place, the thin hole would have been in his thumb.
    Grant said, “You might have warned me.”
    Cora said, “There is no reason for you to be standing here, is there?”
    She lifted the laser, ignoring his offered help and turned toward the storeroom.
    “Yes, miss,” said Grant, humbly. “When near you henceforward I shall be careful where I place my hand.”
    Cora looked back as though startled and rather uncertain. Then, for a moment, she smiled.
    Grant said, “Careful. The cheeks may crack.”
    Her smile vanished at once. “You promised,” she said, icily, and moved into the workroom.
    The voice of Owens came from above. “Grant! Check the wireless!”
    “Right,” called Grant. “I’ll be seeing you, Cora. Afterward!”
    He slipped back into his seat and looked at the wireless for the first time. “This seems to be a Morse code device.”
    Michaels looked up. Some of the grayness had left his face. “Yes, it’s technically difficult to transmit voice across the miniaturization gap. I assume you can handle code.”
    “Of course.” He beat out a rapid message. After a pause, the public address system in the miniaturization room boomed out with a sound level easily heard within the
Proteus:
    “Message received. Wish to confirm. Message reads: MISS PETERSON SMILED.”
    Cora, just returning to her seat, looked outraged and said, “Good grief.”
    Grant bent over the wireless and tapped out: CORRECT!
    The return this time was in code. Grant listened, then called out, “Message received from outside: PREPARE FOR MINIATURIZATION.”

CHAPTER 6

Miniaturization
     
    Grant, not knowing how to prepare, sat where he was. Michaels rose with an almost convulsive suddenness, looking about as though making a last-minute check of all facilities.
    Duval, having put his charts aside, began to fumble at his harness.
    “May I help, doctor?” asked Cora.
    He looked up, “Eh? Oh, no. It’s just a matter of getting this buckle straight. Here we are.”
    “Doctor …”
    “Yes?” He looked up again and was suddenly all concern over her apparent difficulty in expressing herself. “Is anything wrong with the laser, Miss Peterson?”
    “Oh, no. It’s just that I’m sorry I was the cause of unpleasantness between yourself and Dr. Reid.”
    “That was nothing. Don’t think of it.”
    “And thank you for arranging to have me come.”
    Duval said,