Free Fantastic Voyage: Microcosm by Kevin J. Anderson

shut down in the first place. No matter what the cost, Hunter vowed that no micro-explorers would be lost on his watch—not even a rabbit. He hoped.
    The technician slid the board back into place, closed the cover plate, then powered up the system again. He studied the yellow lights until each one turned green. He ran another quick circuit check, then nodded. “All ready to go, sir. Picking up the countdown.”
    The rabbit poked about for a way to escape from the cage. She hopped from one side to the other, trapped. The green lights flickered off again, then came back on, weaker than before.
    The double door swung open into the main chamber, and Major Devlin hurried in, his face flushed. He saw them behind the observation barricade. “Felix! I got your message. What's wrong?”
    The sight of his son-in-law flooded Hunter with relief, followed by a heaviness about what he'd have to ask. “Marc, I'm glad you're here. Did you fetch Mr. Freeth as expected?”
    “Affirmative. Dr. Wylde is running him through the hoops. The Reader's Digest condensed version.”
    Hunter brushed a tanned hand across his forehead. “At least something went as planned today.”
    Devlin's hazel gaze remained intense. “Don't dance around the problem, Felix. What happened to Captain Wilcox? Where does that leave us for the mission, sir?”
    Hunter drew a deep breath. “Garrett had a run-in with some molten metal during this morning's training exercise. Tomiko brought him out, and Doctor Pirov kept him alive. The medics here did what they could, but he'll be a long time healing and will probably need a walking stick for the rest of his life.”
    Devlin's voice was hoarse. “I'll try to find him a stylish one.”
    “Ready for miniaturization!” the first technician announced. “Powering up the system, Director Hunter. All apparatus has stabilized.”
    Hunter leaned forward to the viewing window in the shielded wall. “Are you certain the systems are optimal?”
    “Absolutely, sir.” He tapped the panel again. “Everything checks out.”
    “Be damned sure,” Hunter said. “Another glitch at this stage will cancel our primary mission. We'll never have a second chance at that alien.”
    And Project Proteus would be back to square one.
    Thanks to a slip of the tongue from a drunken ambassador, Hunter had learned of the mothballed miniaturization program years ago. He'd done some digging, using connections he had accumulated for decades. Regardless of its problems, the shrinking process worked and should not have been forgotten.
    Hunter had spent years gathering the people and resources necessary to work the bugs out. The original prototype apparatus had disappeared somewhere along the line, but the blueprints and specs remained. He had scouted funding from various countries to keep Project Proteus alive, and also to muddy (and, he hoped, defuse) the politics of one government having sole access to such breakthrough technology.
    In the chaos of the crumbling Eastern Bloc, Hunter had negotiated with Vasili Garamov himself to purchase the classified Soviet miniaturization equipment. He'd brought over the Russian program's top researchers, including Sergei Pirov, people who were only too willing to be given a new life in the U.S. For years, Hunter's hand-picked scientists and engineers had refined the shrinking technology, taking the best parts from the old American program as well as the Soviet equipment they had purchased.
    After his daughter's unexpected diagnosis of cancer, her death had been so sudden that the Project had rolled on its own momentum for a time, while Hunter and Marc Devlin stayed by Kelli's side. He had done his best to watch over his son-in-law ever since.
    “Felix, how can you go without Captain Wilcox?” Devlin asked. “He's been trained and tested on the Mote. You didn't have time to assign a backup pilot, and there isn't anyone—” He stopped in mid-sentence.
    Hunter had known Devlin would figure it out for himself.