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It came loping in on all fours, and at first glance it looked like a beetle the size of a rhinoceros. It was colored a shiny, unrelieved black. Its skull was very long and curved back over its shoulders. It was toothed like a fiend and taloned like the devil itself. It was Norbert. And he looked like he had just come from hell.
There was silence for one long straining moment.
And then pandemonium broke loose.
The crew scrambled to their feet and started running for the exits. Their work boots clattered on the metal deck as they surged toward the exit door, trying to push each other out of the way.
Stan grabbed the microphone and shouted, “Just stay where you are! Do not make any aggressive movements! Norbert will not harm you, but he is programmed to resist aggression. Just stay calm!”
It was not a calm-making situation. Yet even now catastrophe could have been averted. The crew was quieting down, coming out of its panic, starting to make jokes. Norbert was just standing there, making no sign that he was going to attack anyone. And then he was bending, slowly picking up the dog’s rubber ball, throwing it back to him.
It could have ended right there. But there was always a wise guy around, someone who had to push things a little too far.
This time it was a crewman known as Steroid Johnny, an overmuscled hunk in a skimpy T-shirt, tight jeans, and lineman’s boots, who carried an unlicensed pressor rod in his boot and liked to cause trouble.
Steroid Johnny saw his chance now. “Come on, Harris,” he said to a lean, grinning blond man lounging beside him. “Let’s take this sucker down. Shouldn’t be no aliens here anyhow.”
The two men advanced on the motionless robot alien. Steroid Johnny winked at Harris, who went slinking around to the right, picking up a crowbar from a toolbox as he went The robot’s head swiveled, keeping both men under surveillance. Johnny feinted to his left, then went straight in at Norbert. Five feet away he stopped and turned on his pressor beam. He directed it at Norbert’s back-sloping head.
Norbert was pushed back hard—for a moment.
Then the big robot shrugged his way around the pressor beam, ducked under it, and was moving toward Johnny. Johnny backed up and tried to get the pressor beam into a blocking position, but Norbert moved faster, lunged forward, his jaws opened, the inner jaws shooting out of his mouth. The pressor beam fell to the deck. Johnny tried to get out of the way, but Norbert already had one big hooked claw clamped on his left shoulder.
Johnny screamed as he was lifted straight into the air by the skin of his shoulder. He hung there in Norbert’s grip, screaming, struggling to break free. Norbert’s inner jaws, impelled with all the energy of his powerful crysteel-mesh throat muscles, drove through Johnny’s chest, splitting him like a side of beef. Norbert dropped the red dripping thing to the deck and turned, ready for the next one.
Harris, seeing the way things were going as he ran to attack Norbert, tried to pull up in midstride. Too late. Norbert swung around like a grotesque yet graceful ballet dancer and struck out with one of his taloned feet. The blow landed high on Harris’s sternum. Norbert’s talons made an audible hissing sound as they cut through the air, driven by the force of his heavy shoulder muscles. The talons ripped Harris apart from the left shoulder blade to his right hipbone. Harris opened his mouth to scream, but no sounds came out. His lungs had been punctured in the blow. He made an ugly squishing sound as he fell to the deck.
The rest of the crew took this in and froze in position. They had never seen anything move as fast as Norbert, when he was aroused.
Norbert halted, looking around. He seemed about to attack again. Just in time, Stan shouted out the shutdown order: “Priority override! Code Myrmidon!”
Norbert froze in position, awaiting further orders.
It was a moment of balanced possibilities. The crew seemed on the verge of panic, ready to run out of the control room screaming.
Captain Hoban gulped hard and felt nausea at the back of his throat, but he knew he had to control the men. He got hold of himself and said coldly, “Two of you there, get pails and mops and clean up that mess. See what comes of not following orders? This didn’t have to happen. Now get a move on…”
There was an awkward, sullen moment, and then the crew obeyed. And the ship Dolomite hurtled on toward its rendezvous with AR-32.
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There was silence for one long straining moment.
And then pandemonium broke loose.
The crew scrambled to their feet and started running for the exits. Their work boots clattered on the metal deck as they surged toward the exit door, trying to push each other out of the way.
Stan grabbed the microphone and shouted, “Just stay where you are! Do not make any aggressive movements! Norbert will not harm you, but he is programmed to resist aggression. Just stay calm!”
It was not a calm-making situation. Yet even now catastrophe could have been averted. The crew was quieting down, coming out of its panic, starting to make jokes. Norbert was just standing there, making no sign that he was going to attack anyone. And then he was bending, slowly picking up the dog’s rubber ball, throwing it back to him.
It could have ended right there. But there was always a wise guy around, someone who had to push things a little too far.
This time it was a crewman known as Steroid Johnny, an overmuscled hunk in a skimpy T-shirt, tight jeans, and lineman’s boots, who carried an unlicensed pressor rod in his boot and liked to cause trouble.
Steroid Johnny saw his chance now. “Come on, Harris,” he said to a lean, grinning blond man lounging beside him. “Let’s take this sucker down. Shouldn’t be no aliens here anyhow.”
The two men advanced on the motionless robot alien. Steroid Johnny winked at Harris, who went slinking around to the right, picking up a crowbar from a toolbox as he went The robot’s head swiveled, keeping both men under surveillance. Johnny feinted to his left, then went straight in at Norbert. Five feet away he stopped and turned on his pressor beam. He directed it at Norbert’s back-sloping head.
Norbert was pushed back hard—for a moment.
Then the big robot shrugged his way around the pressor beam, ducked under it, and was moving toward Johnny. Johnny backed up and tried to get the pressor beam into a blocking position, but Norbert moved faster, lunged forward, his jaws opened, the inner jaws shooting out of his mouth. The pressor beam fell to the deck. Johnny tried to get out of the way, but Norbert already had one big hooked claw clamped on his left shoulder.
Johnny screamed as he was lifted straight into the air by the skin of his shoulder. He hung there in Norbert’s grip, screaming, struggling to break free. Norbert’s inner jaws, impelled with all the energy of his powerful crysteel-mesh throat muscles, drove through Johnny’s chest, splitting him like a side of beef. Norbert dropped the red dripping thing to the deck and turned, ready for the next one.
Harris, seeing the way things were going as he ran to attack Norbert, tried to pull up in midstride. Too late. Norbert swung around like a grotesque yet graceful ballet dancer and struck out with one of his taloned feet. The blow landed high on Harris’s sternum. Norbert’s talons made an audible hissing sound as they cut through the air, driven by the force of his heavy shoulder muscles. The talons ripped Harris apart from the left shoulder blade to his right hipbone. Harris opened his mouth to scream, but no sounds came out. His lungs had been punctured in the blow. He made an ugly squishing sound as he fell to the deck.
The rest of the crew took this in and froze in position. They had never seen anything move as fast as Norbert, when he was aroused.
Norbert halted, looking around. He seemed about to attack again. Just in time, Stan shouted out the shutdown order: “Priority override! Code Myrmidon!”
Norbert froze in position, awaiting further orders.
It was a moment of balanced possibilities. The crew seemed on the verge of panic, ready to run out of the control room screaming.
Captain Hoban gulped hard and felt nausea at the back of his throat, but he knew he had to control the men. He got hold of himself and said coldly, “Two of you there, get pails and mops and clean up that mess. See what comes of not following orders? This didn’t have to happen. Now get a move on…”
There was an awkward, sullen moment, and then the crew obeyed. And the ship Dolomite hurtled on toward its rendezvous with AR-32.
27
Subdued, the crew returned to their quarters. The men seemed dazed, unsure of what to think. All of them except Min Dwin, the Laotian hill woman. She went directly to her bunk and pulled out her spacebag. From it she took out a long object in a flat leather sheath. She pulled it free. It was a machete, sharpened to a razor edge.
Badger said, “What are you up to, Min?”
“Those bastards killed Johnny,” Min said. “I’m going to get me some officer meat”
“With that? They’ll cut you down before you get within ten feet of them.”
“Maybe I can pick up a gun. One of those that fires the softslugs. I’d like to see that weird doctor with the glasses take one in the gut.” She started toward the passageway leading back to the main ship’s stations.
“Hold on a minute, Min,” Badger said.
She stopped and turned. “Yeah, what is it?”
“Johnny was your man, huh?”
“Yeah. It was a recent thing. Now it’s over. What about it?”
“Come over here and sit down,” Badger said. Reluctantly she complied, sitting on a locker with the machete balanced on her knees.
“Min, I understand you’re plenty pissed off. I am, too. I wasn’t all that fond of Steroid Johnny, or his friend Harris, but I wouldn’t have wanted what happened to them.”
“Right. So?”
“So this. It was Johnny’s own fault, Min.”
“It would never have happened if that professor guy hadn’t brought that thing along.”
“Sure. That thing he calls Norbert is obviously dangerous. But so what? We work around dangerous stuff all the time. That’s what we volunteered for.”
“I know. But Johnny—”
“Johnny disobeyed a direct order. He thought he knew better. I hate to say it, Min, but him and Harris got what they deserved.”
“I never thought I’d hear you saying this, Red,” Min said. “Who’s side you on, anyhow? You suddenly turned into a company man?”
“I’m just telling it like it is,” Badger said. “It’s like somebody told Johnny not to stick his hand into a buzz saw, and he went and did it anyway. Who would you kill then?”
Min twisted her fingers together in an agony of indecision. “I don’t know, Red. It doesn’t seem right just to leave it.”
“You’re right about that,” Badger said. “But now’s not the time to do anything about it. You go walking out of here with that machete, they’ll put you down fast and ask questions later.”
“Aren’t we going to do anything?”
“Sure we are. But not now.”
“When, then?”
“Look,” Badger said, “don’t push it with me. I know you’re sad over Johnny. You’ll get over it soon and find someone else. As for what we’re going to do, we’re going to wait and see how things develop. When we make a move—if we do—they won’t be expecting it Is that fair enough?”
“Yeah,” Min said. “I guess it is. You got any drugs on you, Red?”
“Walter here takes care of my supply. What have you got, Glint?”
Glint had a first-rate stock of assorted chemicals. He was the crew’s supplier and he always had plenty to sell.
“Try this one,” he said, taking a pillbox out of his spacebag and shaking out two into his hand. “This’ll make you forget Johnny ever existed. If you like them, I’ll make you a good price for a hundred. But these two are on the house.”
“Thanks, Walter,” she said.
“Hey, what are friends for?” said Walter Glint.
Badger said, “What are you up to, Min?”
“Those bastards killed Johnny,” Min said. “I’m going to get me some officer meat”
“With that? They’ll cut you down before you get within ten feet of them.”
“Maybe I can pick up a gun. One of those that fires the softslugs. I’d like to see that weird doctor with the glasses take one in the gut.” She started toward the passageway leading back to the main ship’s stations.
“Hold on a minute, Min,” Badger said.
She stopped and turned. “Yeah, what is it?”
“Johnny was your man, huh?”
“Yeah. It was a recent thing. Now it’s over. What about it?”
“Come over here and sit down,” Badger said. Reluctantly she complied, sitting on a locker with the machete balanced on her knees.
“Min, I understand you’re plenty pissed off. I am, too. I wasn’t all that fond of Steroid Johnny, or his friend Harris, but I wouldn’t have wanted what happened to them.”
“Right. So?”
“So this. It was Johnny’s own fault, Min.”
“It would never have happened if that professor guy hadn’t brought that thing along.”
“Sure. That thing he calls Norbert is obviously dangerous. But so what? We work around dangerous stuff all the time. That’s what we volunteered for.”
“I know. But Johnny—”
“Johnny disobeyed a direct order. He thought he knew better. I hate to say it, Min, but him and Harris got what they deserved.”
“I never thought I’d hear you saying this, Red,” Min said. “Who’s side you on, anyhow? You suddenly turned into a company man?”
“I’m just telling it like it is,” Badger said. “It’s like somebody told Johnny not to stick his hand into a buzz saw, and he went and did it anyway. Who would you kill then?”
Min twisted her fingers together in an agony of indecision. “I don’t know, Red. It doesn’t seem right just to leave it.”
“You’re right about that,” Badger said. “But now’s not the time to do anything about it. You go walking out of here with that machete, they’ll put you down fast and ask questions later.”
“Aren’t we going to do anything?”
“Sure we are. But not now.”
“When, then?”
“Look,” Badger said, “don’t push it with me. I know you’re sad over Johnny. You’ll get over it soon and find someone else. As for what we’re going to do, we’re going to wait and see how things develop. When we make a move—if we do—they won’t be expecting it Is that fair enough?”
“Yeah,” Min said. “I guess it is. You got any drugs on you, Red?”
“Walter here takes care of my supply. What have you got, Glint?”
Glint had a first-rate stock of assorted chemicals. He was the crew’s supplier and he always had plenty to sell.
“Try this one,” he said, taking a pillbox out of his spacebag and shaking out two into his hand. “This’ll make you forget Johnny ever existed. If you like them, I’ll make you a good price for a hundred. But these two are on the house.”
“Thanks, Walter,” she said.
“Hey, what are friends for?” said Walter Glint.
28
Gill sat at the control board, his fingers playing sensitively over the buttons. A telltale above his head gave a readout on orbit and showed a digital display of gravity vectors. Another telltale showed electromagnetic activity. AR-32, the planet itself, had come up rapidly and now filled most of another larger screen.
The planet was colored a dusty yellow and gray, with occasional black and purple markings indicating barren mountain ranges. Large livid splotches showed dead seabeds. A faint shadow darkened the upper right hand corner of the screen; it was cast by Ingo, second largest moon of AR-32, made of nearly seventy-percent telluric iron.
While Gill set up the orbiting procedure, Captain Hoban slid into a control chair beside him and ran up a readout on electrical and solar phenomena on the planet’s surface. His sad face creased into a puzzled frown.
“I’m getting some strange signals,” he told Stan.
“Where are they coming from?”
“That’s what’s strange. I can’t get a fix. They keep on shifting.”
“Can you derive any information as to their production?” Stan asked.
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Is someone making these signals, or are they natural phenomena?”
“At this stage I can’t tell,” Hoban said. “We have no definite data on any other ships in the area.”
“There’s a lot of solar debris around, though,” Stan said. “No telling yet what it might be.”
Gill punched up another set of numbers. “The weather down there on the surface is even worse than you expected, Dr. Myakovsky.”
Julie came into the control room. She had already changed into a plasteel landing outfit The cobalt-blue plastic form-fitting clothing with its orange flashes looked stunning on her. Stan’s heart was in his mouth as he watched her.
“Are we ready to go down?” Julie asked.
Captain Hoban said, “I wouldn’t recommend it, Miss Lish. The surface phenomena are worse than we were led to believe. Perhaps if we give the weather time to settle down a little …”
Julie shook her head impatiently. There’s no time for that. If our worst peril is from the weather, Captain, we’re doing very well indeed!”
“I suppose that’s true,” Hoban said. He turned to Gill. “Are you ready to accompany the party, Gill?”
“I am, of course, ready,” the synthetic man said. “I have taken the liberty of asking for volunteers for this. There are five of them, and they are waiting for your orders.”
He stood up from the control panel. He was tall, and even with his mismatched features, he was good-looking. If he had been a true man, you would have said there was something haunted about his expression. Since he was only a synthetic, you had to figure there’d been something amiss with his facial mold.
“Captain Hoban,” said Stan, “can you show us our target in more detail?”
Hoban nodded and fine-tuned the controls. AR-32’s surface sprang up into high magnification. Fractal-mapped shapes blew up in size and complexity. Hoban adjusted the magnification again. A tiny dot on the landscape grew quickly, until, at extreme magnification, it turned into a low dark earthen dome that rose up from the fiat plain, showing up well against the rugged landscape.
“That’s the hive,” Hoban said. “Not easy to miss it. It’s the biggest thing in this part of the planet.”
“Looks pretty quiet,” Stan mused.
“We’re still a long way from the surface,” Gill reminded him. Things could change by the time we get there.”
“True enough,” Stan said. “But what the hell, this is what we’ve come for. Julie? Are you ready?”
“Ready, Stan,” Julie said. “It’s going to be a walk in the park.”
Stan wished he shared her confidence.
“Why are you going to the surface?” Hoban asked. “I thought we were coming to look for an orbiting wreck.”
“All in good time,” Stan said. “Right now we’ve got the hive below us and no sign of life around it. If we can get a load of royal jelly from there, we can take care of the freighter later.”
“Right on,” Julie said. “Let’s go for all the marbles.”
Stan felt encouraged by the beautiful thief s cheerfulness and determination. Maybe this thing was going to go all right, after all.
The planet was colored a dusty yellow and gray, with occasional black and purple markings indicating barren mountain ranges. Large livid splotches showed dead seabeds. A faint shadow darkened the upper right hand corner of the screen; it was cast by Ingo, second largest moon of AR-32, made of nearly seventy-percent telluric iron.
While Gill set up the orbiting procedure, Captain Hoban slid into a control chair beside him and ran up a readout on electrical and solar phenomena on the planet’s surface. His sad face creased into a puzzled frown.
“I’m getting some strange signals,” he told Stan.
“Where are they coming from?”
“That’s what’s strange. I can’t get a fix. They keep on shifting.”
“Can you derive any information as to their production?” Stan asked.
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Is someone making these signals, or are they natural phenomena?”
“At this stage I can’t tell,” Hoban said. “We have no definite data on any other ships in the area.”
“There’s a lot of solar debris around, though,” Stan said. “No telling yet what it might be.”
Gill punched up another set of numbers. “The weather down there on the surface is even worse than you expected, Dr. Myakovsky.”
Julie came into the control room. She had already changed into a plasteel landing outfit The cobalt-blue plastic form-fitting clothing with its orange flashes looked stunning on her. Stan’s heart was in his mouth as he watched her.
“Are we ready to go down?” Julie asked.
Captain Hoban said, “I wouldn’t recommend it, Miss Lish. The surface phenomena are worse than we were led to believe. Perhaps if we give the weather time to settle down a little …”
Julie shook her head impatiently. There’s no time for that. If our worst peril is from the weather, Captain, we’re doing very well indeed!”
“I suppose that’s true,” Hoban said. He turned to Gill. “Are you ready to accompany the party, Gill?”
“I am, of course, ready,” the synthetic man said. “I have taken the liberty of asking for volunteers for this. There are five of them, and they are waiting for your orders.”
He stood up from the control panel. He was tall, and even with his mismatched features, he was good-looking. If he had been a true man, you would have said there was something haunted about his expression. Since he was only a synthetic, you had to figure there’d been something amiss with his facial mold.
“Captain Hoban,” said Stan, “can you show us our target in more detail?”
Hoban nodded and fine-tuned the controls. AR-32’s surface sprang up into high magnification. Fractal-mapped shapes blew up in size and complexity. Hoban adjusted the magnification again. A tiny dot on the landscape grew quickly, until, at extreme magnification, it turned into a low dark earthen dome that rose up from the fiat plain, showing up well against the rugged landscape.
“That’s the hive,” Hoban said. “Not easy to miss it. It’s the biggest thing in this part of the planet.”
“Looks pretty quiet,” Stan mused.
“We’re still a long way from the surface,” Gill reminded him. Things could change by the time we get there.”
“True enough,” Stan said. “But what the hell, this is what we’ve come for. Julie? Are you ready?”
“Ready, Stan,” Julie said. “It’s going to be a walk in the park.”
Stan wished he shared her confidence.
“Why are you going to the surface?” Hoban asked. “I thought we were coming to look for an orbiting wreck.”
“All in good time,” Stan said. “Right now we’ve got the hive below us and no sign of life around it. If we can get a load of royal jelly from there, we can take care of the freighter later.”
“Right on,” Julie said. “Let’s go for all the marbles.”
Stan felt encouraged by the beautiful thief s cheerfulness and determination. Maybe this thing was going to go all right, after all.
29
The number-one lander was in its own bay, stacked parallel to the backup lander, just behind the big hold where Julie had made her last training run with Norbert. Now Norbert walked behind Stan and Julie, holding Mac the dog in his arms. There was something doglike about the robot’s posture; in a sense he was a mechanical watchdog, ferocious when challenged, utterly loyal to his master, Stan. Behind Norbert, and keeping their distance, were the five volunteers for the landing party. They had been promised a sufficient bonus for this undertaking, enough for avarice to overcome common sense. But, of course, if they’d had common sense, they wouldn’t have been in space on the Dolomite in the first place.
Captain Hoban, who was already at the number-one lander waiting for them, initiated the hatch-opening procedure. The lander, nestled in its bay, was almost a hundred feet long. It contained a miniature laboratory and was fully equipped with the telemetry needed for the mission.
Norbert was proceeding to the hatch when Mac the dog came streaking out of the corridor, the rubber hall in his jaws. He raced into the lander just ahead of Norbert.
“We’d better get that dog out of there,” Hoban said.
“Let him stay,” said Stan. “He may be of some use accompanying Norbert once we’re on the surface.”
“Just as you wish, sir,” Hoban said. “I wish I were going with you.”
“I wish you were, too,” said Stan. “But we need you here on the Dolomite. If anything goes wrong, we’re absolutely dependent on you for backup.”
“Don’t worry, Stan, nothing’s going to go wrong,” Julie said. Her smile was brilliant. “Don’t you agree, Gill ?”
“Optimism has not been factored into me,” Gill said. “I am constructed to understand situations, not to have feelings about them.”
“You’re missing the best part,” Julie said. “Having feelings about stuff is what it’s all about”
“I’ve often wondered about that,” Gill said.
“Maybe someday you’ll find out. Are we ready?”
“After you,” Stan said.
She made a mocking little salute and stepped into the lander. The others followed. Captain Hoban waited until he heard Stan report on the voice channel that the lander was well sealed and all systems were on-line. Then he returned to the control room and initiated the takeoff procedure.
The lander fell away from the Dolomite’s hull and dropped toward the swirling surface of AR-32. Stan adjusted his restraining harness and called out, “Everybody secure?”
The five volunteers from the crew were strapped down in the forward cabin. They were carrying weapons that had been issued to them by Gill: pulse rifles and vibrators. All had been given suppressors. These state-of-the-art electronic machines, about a meter long and weighing less than a pound, were clipped to their belts. The suppressors emitted a complex waveform that confused an alien’s vision, rendering the wearer invisible.
Julie and Gill were lying on deceleration couches in the main cabin behind Stan. Norbert was crouched all the way in the rear, holding a stanchion in one clawed hand and cuddling Mac with the other. There was no seat aboard the lander large enough to hold the big robot alien. But his strength was such that it was likelier the stanchion would move than his grip be torn loose.
Then Captain Hoban’s face appeared on the screen. “Dr. Myakovsky, are you ready for release?”
“Ready, Captain,” Stan said. “Open up and turn us loose.”
There was a powerful humming noise from the Dolomite’s interior motors, a noise that could be felt inside the lander as vibration. The Dolomite’s bay doors slid open revealing the star-studded sky as seen from AR-32’s upper atmosphere. There was a click as the doors locked in the open position. Then a bright green telltale on Stan’s control board came to life.
“You’ve got control, Stan.”
Stan felt his stomach turn over as the lander pulled away from the Dolomite. G-forces twisted at his gut. Sudden sharp flashes of pain went through his chest. A haze of pinkish red enclosed his vision, with blackness beginning to form on the edges.
“Stan!” Julie called out. “We’re coming down pretty fast.”
Gill said, “Hull ionization is beginning to be a factor.”
Stan got himself under control. His fingers danced on the controls. “Okay, I’ve got it. Gill, give me a landing vector.”
They were deep into AR-32’s atmosphere. Long, thin, ragged yellow clouds, twisting and turning into fantastic shapes, whipped past the Perspex viewing window. There was a rattle of hailstones striking the hull as they passed through a temperature inversion layer in the atmosphere.
The image of Captain Hoban jumped in and out of focus on the screen. But his voice was steady as he said, “Dr. Myakovsky, this planet has a heavy radiation belt. Better kick on through it at best speed.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Stan gritted. “Sight-seeing?”
“Are you all right, Doctor?” Hoban asked. “You don’t look so good.”
“I feel great,” Stan said through gritted teeth. Black dots were swimming behind his eyes as he fought to hang on to consciousness. His chest burned with a familiar agony. He could feel the straps of the restraining harness tug at his shoulders as he cut down power and started to bring up the ship’s nose. The atmosphere lightened and darkened as they went through more cloud layers. On the computer screen, the flight path for their landing came in glowing amber.
Gill said, “We’re on the final approach now. Good going, Stan.”
Stan forced himself to concentrate, though he was none too sure he could remain conscious. The g-forces eased as he pulled the lander into position for its landing run.
There was more visibility near the ground. In the tawny yellow light Stan could see house-sized boulders strewn across a tilted plain. They were fast approaching an old riverbed, wide and level, and that seemed a good place to make the final landing.
Stan adjusted the trim tabs and began the landing procedure. The lander put her nose up and steadied. Wind gusts shook the ship just as it touched down. There was a crunch as they smacked the ground, then a bad moment as the lander soared into the air again. Then it came down again, hard, and this time it stayed down.
When the lander had come completely to a stop, Julie looked around and said, “Welcome to AR-32, everyone. It may not look like much, but this planet is going to make us rich.”
“Or dead,” Stan muttered, but to himself.
Captain Hoban, who was already at the number-one lander waiting for them, initiated the hatch-opening procedure. The lander, nestled in its bay, was almost a hundred feet long. It contained a miniature laboratory and was fully equipped with the telemetry needed for the mission.
Norbert was proceeding to the hatch when Mac the dog came streaking out of the corridor, the rubber hall in his jaws. He raced into the lander just ahead of Norbert.
“We’d better get that dog out of there,” Hoban said.
“Let him stay,” said Stan. “He may be of some use accompanying Norbert once we’re on the surface.”
“Just as you wish, sir,” Hoban said. “I wish I were going with you.”
“I wish you were, too,” said Stan. “But we need you here on the Dolomite. If anything goes wrong, we’re absolutely dependent on you for backup.”
“Don’t worry, Stan, nothing’s going to go wrong,” Julie said. Her smile was brilliant. “Don’t you agree, Gill ?”
“Optimism has not been factored into me,” Gill said. “I am constructed to understand situations, not to have feelings about them.”
“You’re missing the best part,” Julie said. “Having feelings about stuff is what it’s all about”
“I’ve often wondered about that,” Gill said.
“Maybe someday you’ll find out. Are we ready?”
“After you,” Stan said.
She made a mocking little salute and stepped into the lander. The others followed. Captain Hoban waited until he heard Stan report on the voice channel that the lander was well sealed and all systems were on-line. Then he returned to the control room and initiated the takeoff procedure.
The lander fell away from the Dolomite’s hull and dropped toward the swirling surface of AR-32. Stan adjusted his restraining harness and called out, “Everybody secure?”
The five volunteers from the crew were strapped down in the forward cabin. They were carrying weapons that had been issued to them by Gill: pulse rifles and vibrators. All had been given suppressors. These state-of-the-art electronic machines, about a meter long and weighing less than a pound, were clipped to their belts. The suppressors emitted a complex waveform that confused an alien’s vision, rendering the wearer invisible.
Julie and Gill were lying on deceleration couches in the main cabin behind Stan. Norbert was crouched all the way in the rear, holding a stanchion in one clawed hand and cuddling Mac with the other. There was no seat aboard the lander large enough to hold the big robot alien. But his strength was such that it was likelier the stanchion would move than his grip be torn loose.
Then Captain Hoban’s face appeared on the screen. “Dr. Myakovsky, are you ready for release?”
“Ready, Captain,” Stan said. “Open up and turn us loose.”
There was a powerful humming noise from the Dolomite’s interior motors, a noise that could be felt inside the lander as vibration. The Dolomite’s bay doors slid open revealing the star-studded sky as seen from AR-32’s upper atmosphere. There was a click as the doors locked in the open position. Then a bright green telltale on Stan’s control board came to life.
“You’ve got control, Stan.”
Stan felt his stomach turn over as the lander pulled away from the Dolomite. G-forces twisted at his gut. Sudden sharp flashes of pain went through his chest. A haze of pinkish red enclosed his vision, with blackness beginning to form on the edges.
“Stan!” Julie called out. “We’re coming down pretty fast.”
Gill said, “Hull ionization is beginning to be a factor.”
Stan got himself under control. His fingers danced on the controls. “Okay, I’ve got it. Gill, give me a landing vector.”
They were deep into AR-32’s atmosphere. Long, thin, ragged yellow clouds, twisting and turning into fantastic shapes, whipped past the Perspex viewing window. There was a rattle of hailstones striking the hull as they passed through a temperature inversion layer in the atmosphere.
The image of Captain Hoban jumped in and out of focus on the screen. But his voice was steady as he said, “Dr. Myakovsky, this planet has a heavy radiation belt. Better kick on through it at best speed.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Stan gritted. “Sight-seeing?”
“Are you all right, Doctor?” Hoban asked. “You don’t look so good.”
“I feel great,” Stan said through gritted teeth. Black dots were swimming behind his eyes as he fought to hang on to consciousness. His chest burned with a familiar agony. He could feel the straps of the restraining harness tug at his shoulders as he cut down power and started to bring up the ship’s nose. The atmosphere lightened and darkened as they went through more cloud layers. On the computer screen, the flight path for their landing came in glowing amber.
Gill said, “We’re on the final approach now. Good going, Stan.”
Stan forced himself to concentrate, though he was none too sure he could remain conscious. The g-forces eased as he pulled the lander into position for its landing run.
There was more visibility near the ground. In the tawny yellow light Stan could see house-sized boulders strewn across a tilted plain. They were fast approaching an old riverbed, wide and level, and that seemed a good place to make the final landing.
Stan adjusted the trim tabs and began the landing procedure. The lander put her nose up and steadied. Wind gusts shook the ship just as it touched down. There was a crunch as they smacked the ground, then a bad moment as the lander soared into the air again. Then it came down again, hard, and this time it stayed down.
When the lander had come completely to a stop, Julie looked around and said, “Welcome to AR-32, everyone. It may not look like much, but this planet is going to make us rich.”
“Or dead,” Stan muttered, but to himself.
30
Back on the Dolomite, Captain Hoban watched the lander spin away on the viewscreen. He felt hollow, useless. There was nothing for him to do at the moment. Gloomy thoughts began to invade his mind.
Captain Hoban had continued to think about suicide. This didn’t surprise him. He only found it strange that he hadn’t thought of it before, during all the bad days of the trial.
He shook his head. Back then, something had buoyed his spirits, some belief that he was going to come out of this all right And then his opportunity had seemed to arrive when Stan visited him in Jersey City and made his offer, and here he was in space again. But he had a bad feeling about it. His thoughts were full of foreboding images, and the men torn apart by Norbert hadn’t helped his mood any. He suspected there would be a lot more deaths ahead, maybe even his own. Maybe he wouldn’t have to commit suicide after all.
On the other hand, he could do it now. Gill could handle the ship all right. Stan and Julie didn’t really need him…
Somewhere in his mind, Hoban knew this was a crazy line of thinking. He was a valuable person with reasons for living. He had nothing to be ashamed of. And yet the shame was there, constantly bubbling up from the depths of his mind, a seemingly automatic process that he couldn’t shut off.
It obsessed him that he had been dismissed from his own ship. He still burned with shame when he remembered how the authorities had revoked his li-cense. It was all so terrible, and so unfair. Probably there was no hope of real reinstatement He had let Stan talk him into joining this crazy venture without thinking it through. When he got back to Earth—if he got back—the authorities would be merciless with him. Maybe he’d gone far enough.
He was preoccupied with his thoughts, and so was not pleased when he heard a crisp knock at the door of his stateroom. Now that the lander was away, he’d been hoping for a few minutes alone so he could get caught up on writing the ship’s log.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Crewman Badger, sir.”
Hoban sighed. He still didn’t know why he hadn’t rejected Badger at the prison, when he had the chance. He had finally remembered where he’d seen him. Badger had been one of the crew of the Dolomite when he’d had his accident in the asteroids, one of the men who had witnessed his disgrace.
Damn, damn, damn.
He didn’t like Badger, thought he was sly and untrustworthy. But he had to admit, the man hadn’t given him any trouble before. He did know Badger’s type. Hoban had looked over the comment sheets on the crew, sheets compiled by other captains on other flights. The word on Badger was that he was cunning, insubordinate, and a troublemaker. There was no specific charge against him on the evaluation sheets, but the implication was clear enough. “Come in, Crewman Badger. What do you want?”
“I have the latest report on the debris in this area of space, sir.”
“Why didn’t you just put it on the computer, as usual?”
“I thought you’d want to see this one before it was opened for general access, sir.”
“Why? Is there something unusual about it?”
“I’d say so, sir. Our new radar overlays show there’s more than just space junk out there in orbit, Captain. I’m pretty sure there’s a wreck in orbit near us.”
“A wreck? Are you sure?”
“Can’t be absolutely sure at this range, sir,” Badger said. “But the pictures show smooth metal surfaces that must have been machined. It looks to me like a Q-class freighter, sir. Or the remains of one.”
Hoban took the radar printouts from Badger’s hand and carried them over to his desk. He studied them under infrared light, then, using a grease pencil, outlined an area.
“You mean this bit right here?”
“That’s it, sir,”
Hoban studied the readouts more closely. He had to admit that Badger had a good eye for this sort of thing. It appeared to be a ship’s remains, floating out there in an orbit around AR-32, along with a lot of other stuff, mostly stellar debris.
This, he decided, might be the wreck that Stan Myakovsky had been looking for. Hoban decided to find out and have the information for Stan when he returned.
“We’re going to have to check it out,” he said. “Badger, I want you to take one man, suit up, and go to the wreck’s location. See if you can find its flight indicator.”
“Yes, sir!” said Badger.
“And don’t go talking about this with the rest of the crew. That wreck has probably been there a very long time. No need for them to get excited too soon.”
“Right, sir. No reason to alarm the crew over something like this.”
Hoban nodded, but he didn’t like agreeing with Badger. It seemed more natural that he should be on the opposite side of anything Badger felt. But he decided that perhaps he was being unfair. All that anyone had against Badger were rumors, and the man’s unfortunate personality. No charge against him had ever stuck. And his decision to bring the wreck immediately to Hoban’s attention had been quite correct. Badger went back to the crew quarters. His sidekick Glint was drinking a cup of coffee at one of the wardroom tables. He looked up quizzically when Badger came in.
“Come on,” Badger told him. “We got a job to do.”
Glint swallowed the rest of his coffee and stood up. “What sort of a job?”
“There’s a wreck out there. It’s going to take spacesuits.”
“Yeah? What’s up, Red?”
“I’ll tell you about it as we go,” Badger said.
Captain Hoban had continued to think about suicide. This didn’t surprise him. He only found it strange that he hadn’t thought of it before, during all the bad days of the trial.
He shook his head. Back then, something had buoyed his spirits, some belief that he was going to come out of this all right And then his opportunity had seemed to arrive when Stan visited him in Jersey City and made his offer, and here he was in space again. But he had a bad feeling about it. His thoughts were full of foreboding images, and the men torn apart by Norbert hadn’t helped his mood any. He suspected there would be a lot more deaths ahead, maybe even his own. Maybe he wouldn’t have to commit suicide after all.
On the other hand, he could do it now. Gill could handle the ship all right. Stan and Julie didn’t really need him…
Somewhere in his mind, Hoban knew this was a crazy line of thinking. He was a valuable person with reasons for living. He had nothing to be ashamed of. And yet the shame was there, constantly bubbling up from the depths of his mind, a seemingly automatic process that he couldn’t shut off.
It obsessed him that he had been dismissed from his own ship. He still burned with shame when he remembered how the authorities had revoked his li-cense. It was all so terrible, and so unfair. Probably there was no hope of real reinstatement He had let Stan talk him into joining this crazy venture without thinking it through. When he got back to Earth—if he got back—the authorities would be merciless with him. Maybe he’d gone far enough.
He was preoccupied with his thoughts, and so was not pleased when he heard a crisp knock at the door of his stateroom. Now that the lander was away, he’d been hoping for a few minutes alone so he could get caught up on writing the ship’s log.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Crewman Badger, sir.”
Hoban sighed. He still didn’t know why he hadn’t rejected Badger at the prison, when he had the chance. He had finally remembered where he’d seen him. Badger had been one of the crew of the Dolomite when he’d had his accident in the asteroids, one of the men who had witnessed his disgrace.
Damn, damn, damn.
He didn’t like Badger, thought he was sly and untrustworthy. But he had to admit, the man hadn’t given him any trouble before. He did know Badger’s type. Hoban had looked over the comment sheets on the crew, sheets compiled by other captains on other flights. The word on Badger was that he was cunning, insubordinate, and a troublemaker. There was no specific charge against him on the evaluation sheets, but the implication was clear enough. “Come in, Crewman Badger. What do you want?”
“I have the latest report on the debris in this area of space, sir.”
“Why didn’t you just put it on the computer, as usual?”
“I thought you’d want to see this one before it was opened for general access, sir.”
“Why? Is there something unusual about it?”
“I’d say so, sir. Our new radar overlays show there’s more than just space junk out there in orbit, Captain. I’m pretty sure there’s a wreck in orbit near us.”
“A wreck? Are you sure?”
“Can’t be absolutely sure at this range, sir,” Badger said. “But the pictures show smooth metal surfaces that must have been machined. It looks to me like a Q-class freighter, sir. Or the remains of one.”
Hoban took the radar printouts from Badger’s hand and carried them over to his desk. He studied them under infrared light, then, using a grease pencil, outlined an area.
“You mean this bit right here?”
“That’s it, sir,”
Hoban studied the readouts more closely. He had to admit that Badger had a good eye for this sort of thing. It appeared to be a ship’s remains, floating out there in an orbit around AR-32, along with a lot of other stuff, mostly stellar debris.
This, he decided, might be the wreck that Stan Myakovsky had been looking for. Hoban decided to find out and have the information for Stan when he returned.
“We’re going to have to check it out,” he said. “Badger, I want you to take one man, suit up, and go to the wreck’s location. See if you can find its flight indicator.”
“Yes, sir!” said Badger.
“And don’t go talking about this with the rest of the crew. That wreck has probably been there a very long time. No need for them to get excited too soon.”
“Right, sir. No reason to alarm the crew over something like this.”
Hoban nodded, but he didn’t like agreeing with Badger. It seemed more natural that he should be on the opposite side of anything Badger felt. But he decided that perhaps he was being unfair. All that anyone had against Badger were rumors, and the man’s unfortunate personality. No charge against him had ever stuck. And his decision to bring the wreck immediately to Hoban’s attention had been quite correct. Badger went back to the crew quarters. His sidekick Glint was drinking a cup of coffee at one of the wardroom tables. He looked up quizzically when Badger came in.
“Come on,” Badger told him. “We got a job to do.”
Glint swallowed the rest of his coffee and stood up. “What sort of a job?”
“There’s a wreck out there. It’s going to take spacesuits.”
“Yeah? What’s up, Red?”
“I’ll tell you about it as we go,” Badger said.
31
Stan had brought down the lander within viewing distance of the humped-up mound that was the alien hive, which he was able to inspect closely through the viewscreen magnifier. Gill and Julie stood behind him as he manipulated the views.
The hive was not only the largest nonnatural feature on this planet; it was also larger than any natural feature Stan had yet seen there. Even the mountains were no more than a few hundred meters in height. The hive, standing over a thousand meters above the windswept plain, was huge, imposing, with a dark majesty. The winds scoured it, grinding it down, and there was constant activity from the aliens, who stood out as little black dots at this distance, building the hive up again like ants repairing an anthill.
Aliens, so soon! But, he reminded himself, he had been expecting them … hadn’t he?
“I hope you’re taking note, Ari,” Stan said, holding the cybernetic ant on his fingertip so it could get a good view.
“I don’t know if Ari is,” Julie said, “but I sure am. I didn’t know the hive would be so big. And I didn’t know we’d run into aliens so soon.”
“We’ve got the suppressors,” Stan reminded her.
“Sure,” Julie said. “But are they reliable? It’s pretty new technology.” She sighed and looked out across the plain again. “That’s one big hive.”
“This one could probably be classified a superhive,” said Gill. “It’s far bigger than any other recorded in the literature on the aliens.”
“Why do you suppose?” Stan asked.
“This is only a conjecture, of course, but it seems to me the odds against survival on this planet are so great that the aliens had to concentrate their forces, keep one big hive going father than a lot of smaller ones.”
“Saves us from having to make a lot of choices about which hive we plunder,” Julie said. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”
Gill shook his head. “I advise you to wait until the storm activity on the surface has abated somewhat.”
Outside, through the Plexiglas, they could see the raging gale that was the usual weather on this planet. The wind had whipped itself into new heights of frenzy. Sand and small stones were blown across the plain like exploding shrapnel. Larger rocks, swept from the low crags in the distance, tumbled across the plain like steamrollers gone berserk. Lightning forked and crashed in vivid streamers of electric blue.
Beneath the lander, the ground shook and heaved in a nausea-inducing motion. Stan thought: “Volcanic activity, just what we need.” But he wasn’t really worried. He had taken an ampoule of Xeno-Zip before leaving the Dolomite. He felt strong and confident, and the pain was gone.
There was a burst of high-pitched static from the speaker, and then Captain Hoban’s voice came on.
“Dr. Myakovsky? Are you reading me?”
“Loud and clear, Captain,” said Stan. “What do you have to report?”
“We spotted some debris in orbit near us,” Hoban said. “Upon further inspection, I have found the wreck of a space freighter, just as you predicted. It’s broken into several pieces, but there’s a main section that could even contain human life. I doubt that’ll be the case, however. This wreck looks like it’s been there a long time.”
“Do you have any identification on it yet?” Stan asked.
“I’ve sent two men over to check it out,” Hoban said. “With a little luck well pick up a flight recorder and find out what happened.”
“Contact me as soon as you have it,” Stan said. That could be very important information.”
“I’m well aware of that, sir. I’ll let you know first thing. Sir, ship’s telemetry and remote survey equipment tells me you’ve put down the lander on potentially unstable ground.”
“Everything around here is unstable,” Stan said. “Except for the rock outcropping the hive stands on. You wouldn’t want me to put down right beside the hive, would you, Captain?”
“Of course not, sir. I was just pointing out…”
“I know, I know,” Stan snapped. He took a deep breath and tried to get control of himself. He was getting weird flashes now from the drug. It seemed to be taking him on an elevator ride; one second his mood was up, the next minute down. And too soon, the pain was coming back. Take it easy, he told himself.
Still, his breath sobbed in his throat as he said, “I’m going to sign off now, Captain. We have to wait until the storm calms down before we can carry out the next step. I will use that time to get a little rest.”
“Yes, sir. Over and out.”
Captain Hoban’s face faded from the screen. Stan closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. Julie and Gill were both standing nearby, watching him. Stan felt a sudden shame at his own weakness, and at the pain that was mounting in intensity throughout his throat and chest. At a moment like this the only thing he could think of was the next ampoule of Xeno-Zip, nested in its padded box with the few others he had brought along.
He shook his head irritably. It was too early for another ampoule. He hadn’t planned to take one just yet, he didn’t know what it would do to him, but the pains were getting very bad, perhaps even affecting his judgment.
“I’ll see you both later,” Stan said. Even before they turned to leave the control room, Stan’s fingers were at the table drawer where he kept the box of royal jelly ampoules.
The hive was not only the largest nonnatural feature on this planet; it was also larger than any natural feature Stan had yet seen there. Even the mountains were no more than a few hundred meters in height. The hive, standing over a thousand meters above the windswept plain, was huge, imposing, with a dark majesty. The winds scoured it, grinding it down, and there was constant activity from the aliens, who stood out as little black dots at this distance, building the hive up again like ants repairing an anthill.
Aliens, so soon! But, he reminded himself, he had been expecting them … hadn’t he?
“I hope you’re taking note, Ari,” Stan said, holding the cybernetic ant on his fingertip so it could get a good view.
“I don’t know if Ari is,” Julie said, “but I sure am. I didn’t know the hive would be so big. And I didn’t know we’d run into aliens so soon.”
“We’ve got the suppressors,” Stan reminded her.
“Sure,” Julie said. “But are they reliable? It’s pretty new technology.” She sighed and looked out across the plain again. “That’s one big hive.”
“This one could probably be classified a superhive,” said Gill. “It’s far bigger than any other recorded in the literature on the aliens.”
“Why do you suppose?” Stan asked.
“This is only a conjecture, of course, but it seems to me the odds against survival on this planet are so great that the aliens had to concentrate their forces, keep one big hive going father than a lot of smaller ones.”
“Saves us from having to make a lot of choices about which hive we plunder,” Julie said. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”
Gill shook his head. “I advise you to wait until the storm activity on the surface has abated somewhat.”
Outside, through the Plexiglas, they could see the raging gale that was the usual weather on this planet. The wind had whipped itself into new heights of frenzy. Sand and small stones were blown across the plain like exploding shrapnel. Larger rocks, swept from the low crags in the distance, tumbled across the plain like steamrollers gone berserk. Lightning forked and crashed in vivid streamers of electric blue.
Beneath the lander, the ground shook and heaved in a nausea-inducing motion. Stan thought: “Volcanic activity, just what we need.” But he wasn’t really worried. He had taken an ampoule of Xeno-Zip before leaving the Dolomite. He felt strong and confident, and the pain was gone.
There was a burst of high-pitched static from the speaker, and then Captain Hoban’s voice came on.
“Dr. Myakovsky? Are you reading me?”
“Loud and clear, Captain,” said Stan. “What do you have to report?”
“We spotted some debris in orbit near us,” Hoban said. “Upon further inspection, I have found the wreck of a space freighter, just as you predicted. It’s broken into several pieces, but there’s a main section that could even contain human life. I doubt that’ll be the case, however. This wreck looks like it’s been there a long time.”
“Do you have any identification on it yet?” Stan asked.
“I’ve sent two men over to check it out,” Hoban said. “With a little luck well pick up a flight recorder and find out what happened.”
“Contact me as soon as you have it,” Stan said. That could be very important information.”
“I’m well aware of that, sir. I’ll let you know first thing. Sir, ship’s telemetry and remote survey equipment tells me you’ve put down the lander on potentially unstable ground.”
“Everything around here is unstable,” Stan said. “Except for the rock outcropping the hive stands on. You wouldn’t want me to put down right beside the hive, would you, Captain?”
“Of course not, sir. I was just pointing out…”
“I know, I know,” Stan snapped. He took a deep breath and tried to get control of himself. He was getting weird flashes now from the drug. It seemed to be taking him on an elevator ride; one second his mood was up, the next minute down. And too soon, the pain was coming back. Take it easy, he told himself.
Still, his breath sobbed in his throat as he said, “I’m going to sign off now, Captain. We have to wait until the storm calms down before we can carry out the next step. I will use that time to get a little rest.”
“Yes, sir. Over and out.”
Captain Hoban’s face faded from the screen. Stan closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. Julie and Gill were both standing nearby, watching him. Stan felt a sudden shame at his own weakness, and at the pain that was mounting in intensity throughout his throat and chest. At a moment like this the only thing he could think of was the next ampoule of Xeno-Zip, nested in its padded box with the few others he had brought along.
He shook his head irritably. It was too early for another ampoule. He hadn’t planned to take one just yet, he didn’t know what it would do to him, but the pains were getting very bad, perhaps even affecting his judgment.
“I’ll see you both later,” Stan said. Even before they turned to leave the control room, Stan’s fingers were at the table drawer where he kept the box of royal jelly ampoules.
32
Julie and Gill returned to the aftercabin. They were alone except for Norbert, who stood silently against the curving wall like a futuristic basilisk, with Mac the dog asleep in his arms.
“Well, Gill,” Julie said, “what do you think of all this?”
Gill looked up from his inspection of the armament they had brought. His expression was mild, quizzical. “To what, specifically, do you refer?”
“Stan and his mad trip for royal jelly. This planet. Me.”
Gill took his time before answering. “I do not ask myself that sort of question, Miss Lish. And if I did…”
“Yes?”
“If I did, my conclusions would have no value. I am not like you humans. I am a synthetic.”
“How do you differ from real people?”
Gill looked disturbed, but managed to smile. “No soul, for one thing. Or so they say.”
“And for another?”
“No feelings.”
“None at all, Gill? Yet you look like a man.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Don’t you even find me attractive?” Julie asked.
Again there was a long pause. Then Gill said, “There is an old saying of your people. ‘Let sleeping dogs lie.’ I would advise that here.”
“Why is that?”
“Because synthetic people with feelings are something the human race wants no part of.”
“That must be some other race,” Julie said. “Maybe I’m not part of it. I wouldn’t mind it at all if you had feelings. You could tell me about yours and I’d tell you about mine.”
“Our feelings would be nothing alike,” Gill said.
“Are you so sure?” Julie said. “Sometimes I’ve felt that I’ve been set up to follow some program written by someone else. ‘The Beautiful Thief,’ this one is called. I sometimes wish I could just rewrite my programming. Do you ever wish that?”
“Yes,” Gill said. “I know what you mean.” Then he shook his head irritably. “Excuse me, Miss Lish, but I must go finish checking out these weapons. Dr. Myakovsky is going to need us at any time.”
“Do what you have to do,” Julie said. She walked away, and Gill watched her go.
“Well, Gill,” Julie said, “what do you think of all this?”
Gill looked up from his inspection of the armament they had brought. His expression was mild, quizzical. “To what, specifically, do you refer?”
“Stan and his mad trip for royal jelly. This planet. Me.”
Gill took his time before answering. “I do not ask myself that sort of question, Miss Lish. And if I did…”
“Yes?”
“If I did, my conclusions would have no value. I am not like you humans. I am a synthetic.”
“How do you differ from real people?”
Gill looked disturbed, but managed to smile. “No soul, for one thing. Or so they say.”
“And for another?”
“No feelings.”
“None at all, Gill? Yet you look like a man.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Don’t you even find me attractive?” Julie asked.
Again there was a long pause. Then Gill said, “There is an old saying of your people. ‘Let sleeping dogs lie.’ I would advise that here.”
“Why is that?”
“Because synthetic people with feelings are something the human race wants no part of.”
“That must be some other race,” Julie said. “Maybe I’m not part of it. I wouldn’t mind it at all if you had feelings. You could tell me about yours and I’d tell you about mine.”
“Our feelings would be nothing alike,” Gill said.
“Are you so sure?” Julie said. “Sometimes I’ve felt that I’ve been set up to follow some program written by someone else. ‘The Beautiful Thief,’ this one is called. I sometimes wish I could just rewrite my programming. Do you ever wish that?”
“Yes,” Gill said. “I know what you mean.” Then he shook his head irritably. “Excuse me, Miss Lish, but I must go finish checking out these weapons. Dr. Myakovsky is going to need us at any time.”
“Do what you have to do,” Julie said. She walked away, and Gill watched her go.
33
Starlight glittered on his space armor as Red Badger left the Dolomite’s air lock and soared weightlessly toward the freighter wreck. Behind him came his backup man, Glint, illuminating the wreck with a powerful duolite beam.
Badger gestured, though their destination was plain enough: the gray mass of the wreck, tying in several distinct parts, blocking the stars.
Getting there was simple: both men, on a signal from Badger, opened squirt cans that propelled them across the intervening space.
Badger said into his helmet radio, “You reading me okay, Glint?”
“Loud and clear,” Glint said.
They landed on the hulk’s largest section with a clank of magnetic boots. Badger’s power wrench opened the airtight door that led into the ship.
A lot of the freighter’s metal covering had been peeled back by strong explosions. It was no trouble at all, once they were past the external armor, to slip in between two structural girders and make their way to the interior.
The searchlight picked out the bodies of men, trapped in the sudden inrushing vacuum when the ship’s side had been pierced. Exploded bodies lay across girders and floated unsupported in the zero gravity.
Badger and Glint moved slowly, clumsy in their airtight space armor, their searchlights throwing brilliant swords of light through the gloom. A corpse, hanging over a loop of high-pressure hose, seemed to reach out and touch Badger’s helmet, lightly, as if just saying hello…
The redheaded spaceman laughed and pushed the thing aside. The body floated slowly across the shattered compartment, its arms held out loosely in front of it like a swimmer doing the dead man’s float.
They reached the flight deck. Here there were more bodies, some terribly mangled by the pieces of flying machinery that had taken on the power of exploding shrapnel as the ship had come apart, others looking strangely peaceful, as if they’d never known what hit them. Death had had a busy few moments here before the eternal silence of space had entombed them all.
“Here’s the control section,” Glint said over the little space-helmet radio that connected the two men.
“Good enough,” said Badger. “Let’s find what we came for and get the hell out of here.”
They floated past an operations console that looked as good as new. The ship’s name was still stenciled on the bulkhead, and the paint looked almost new.
“Valparaiso Queen,” Glint spelled out. “She won’t be going Earthside no more.”
“Tough luck for her,” Badger said, his tone flat and unemotional. “Here’s what we’re looking for.”
Under the command console was a panel with three fingertip-sized indentations. Badger pressed them in counterclockwise order, starting at twelve o’clock. The panel slid away. Badger directed Glint to shine the searchlight inside. Using wire cutters from the tool kit strapped to his waist, Badger cut the leads inside and withdrew a small heavy box made of a metalized plastic substance.
“This is what we came for. Now let’s get out of here.”
Badger gestured, though their destination was plain enough: the gray mass of the wreck, tying in several distinct parts, blocking the stars.
Getting there was simple: both men, on a signal from Badger, opened squirt cans that propelled them across the intervening space.
Badger said into his helmet radio, “You reading me okay, Glint?”
“Loud and clear,” Glint said.
They landed on the hulk’s largest section with a clank of magnetic boots. Badger’s power wrench opened the airtight door that led into the ship.
A lot of the freighter’s metal covering had been peeled back by strong explosions. It was no trouble at all, once they were past the external armor, to slip in between two structural girders and make their way to the interior.
The searchlight picked out the bodies of men, trapped in the sudden inrushing vacuum when the ship’s side had been pierced. Exploded bodies lay across girders and floated unsupported in the zero gravity.
Badger and Glint moved slowly, clumsy in their airtight space armor, their searchlights throwing brilliant swords of light through the gloom. A corpse, hanging over a loop of high-pressure hose, seemed to reach out and touch Badger’s helmet, lightly, as if just saying hello…
The redheaded spaceman laughed and pushed the thing aside. The body floated slowly across the shattered compartment, its arms held out loosely in front of it like a swimmer doing the dead man’s float.
They reached the flight deck. Here there were more bodies, some terribly mangled by the pieces of flying machinery that had taken on the power of exploding shrapnel as the ship had come apart, others looking strangely peaceful, as if they’d never known what hit them. Death had had a busy few moments here before the eternal silence of space had entombed them all.
“Here’s the control section,” Glint said over the little space-helmet radio that connected the two men.
“Good enough,” said Badger. “Let’s find what we came for and get the hell out of here.”
They floated past an operations console that looked as good as new. The ship’s name was still stenciled on the bulkhead, and the paint looked almost new.
“Valparaiso Queen,” Glint spelled out. “She won’t be going Earthside no more.”
“Tough luck for her,” Badger said, his tone flat and unemotional. “Here’s what we’re looking for.”
Under the command console was a panel with three fingertip-sized indentations. Badger pressed them in counterclockwise order, starting at twelve o’clock. The panel slid away. Badger directed Glint to shine the searchlight inside. Using wire cutters from the tool kit strapped to his waist, Badger cut the leads inside and withdrew a small heavy box made of a metalized plastic substance.
“This is what we came for. Now let’s get out of here.”
34
Back aboard the Dolomite, Badger and Glint passed through the air lock and removed their suits. Glint started walking toward the elevator that led to the ship’s command territory. He stopped when he saw that Badger was not following him.
“What’s up, Red? Aren’t we going to give this to the captain?”
“Of course we are,” Badger said. “But not just yet.” He led the way down a passageway to a door marked WORKSHOP D—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Glint followed him.
“What’re you doin’?” Glint asked. “You going to fix that gizmo?”
Badger stopped and looked scornful. “You really are some kind of a moron. No, I’m not going to fix the gizmo. Why do you think I volunteered us for this job?”
“I was wondering about that,” Glint said.
“I want to get a look at what’s on this flight recorder before I give it to the captain. Fat chance Hoban would ever tell us.”
Glint looked admiringly at his partner, then hurried to catch up as Badger pressed the stud that operated the door to Workshop D.
“What’s up, Red? Aren’t we going to give this to the captain?”
“Of course we are,” Badger said. “But not just yet.” He led the way down a passageway to a door marked WORKSHOP D—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Glint followed him.
“What’re you doin’?” Glint asked. “You going to fix that gizmo?”
Badger stopped and looked scornful. “You really are some kind of a moron. No, I’m not going to fix the gizmo. Why do you think I volunteered us for this job?”
“I was wondering about that,” Glint said.
“I want to get a look at what’s on this flight recorder before I give it to the captain. Fat chance Hoban would ever tell us.”
Glint looked admiringly at his partner, then hurried to catch up as Badger pressed the stud that operated the door to Workshop D.
35
The lander was too small to have separate staterooms. There was a cubbyhole in the rear with a deceleration couch that pulled down from the wall. Stan had lain down there. When Julie came in he was asleep, his glasses still on, his round face momentarily untroubled. Julie bent over to shake him, then hesitated. Stan looked so peaceful there. His large face was calm, and quiet handsome. She noticed what long eyelashes he had, and what delicate skin, fine-pored like a young boy’s.
The most recent ingestion of Xeno-Zip had taken Stan’s spirit far away, into the limitless perspectives that were the psychic environment of the drug. He was traveling through a place of pure light and color, and he smiled at the friendly shapes around him.
Julie stared at him almost in awe. She knew that Stan was moving down the visionary trail in some impossible dreamtime, walking down a hall of memory filled with all the images of everything that had ever been or would be. And these images were melting like wax in the warmth of the soul’s embrace. Stan was a sorcerer forcing time itself to stand still and be accountable to the moment. He had found eternity in an instant, and he was balancing it on a needlepoint. He was in his own time now, a time that had no duration and no limit. He was in a place she could never get to. But, she wondered, out here in the world of solid objects and fiery forces, how much time did he have left? How much time was at Julie’s disposal, for that matter? Could Stan see their time lines in that strange place where he was?
“Stan,” she whispered to him, “what are you dreaming about? Am I in the dream with you? Are we happy?”
Stan mumbled something but she couldn’t catch the words. She reached out and touched him on the shoulder. His eyes snapped open, as if he had been waiting for this signal. She watched his face tense as pain returned to his consciousness. Then he had himself under control and said, “Julie … What is it?”
“Captain Hoban wants to speak to you again. He’s pulled a flight recorder from that wreck.”
“Okay, fine.” Stan sat up, then got somewhat unsteadily to his feet. Julie’s slender, hard arm was around him, supporting him, her warm fragrant hair was at his shoulder, and he breathed her fragrance gratefully.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Hey, dont mention it. We’re a team, aren’t we?”
He looked at her. Her eyes were enormous, brilliant, with dark pools at the center. He felt himself melting into them. A wave of emotion came over him.
“Julie …”
“Yes, Stan, what is it?”
“If you’re doing this for my sake … please don’t stop.”
The most recent ingestion of Xeno-Zip had taken Stan’s spirit far away, into the limitless perspectives that were the psychic environment of the drug. He was traveling through a place of pure light and color, and he smiled at the friendly shapes around him.
Julie stared at him almost in awe. She knew that Stan was moving down the visionary trail in some impossible dreamtime, walking down a hall of memory filled with all the images of everything that had ever been or would be. And these images were melting like wax in the warmth of the soul’s embrace. Stan was a sorcerer forcing time itself to stand still and be accountable to the moment. He had found eternity in an instant, and he was balancing it on a needlepoint. He was in his own time now, a time that had no duration and no limit. He was in a place she could never get to. But, she wondered, out here in the world of solid objects and fiery forces, how much time did he have left? How much time was at Julie’s disposal, for that matter? Could Stan see their time lines in that strange place where he was?
“Stan,” she whispered to him, “what are you dreaming about? Am I in the dream with you? Are we happy?”
Stan mumbled something but she couldn’t catch the words. She reached out and touched him on the shoulder. His eyes snapped open, as if he had been waiting for this signal. She watched his face tense as pain returned to his consciousness. Then he had himself under control and said, “Julie … What is it?”
“Captain Hoban wants to speak to you again. He’s pulled a flight recorder from that wreck.”
“Okay, fine.” Stan sat up, then got somewhat unsteadily to his feet. Julie’s slender, hard arm was around him, supporting him, her warm fragrant hair was at his shoulder, and he breathed her fragrance gratefully.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Hey, dont mention it. We’re a team, aren’t we?”
He looked at her. Her eyes were enormous, brilliant, with dark pools at the center. He felt himself melting into them. A wave of emotion came over him.
“Julie …”
“Yes, Stan, what is it?”
“If you’re doing this for my sake … please don’t stop.”
36
The voices on the flight recorder were very clear.
“What ship is that?”
“This is the Valparaiso Queen, Captain Kuhn commanding, thirty-seven days out of Santiago de Chile. To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Potter of the Bio-Pharm ship Lancet. Do you realize you are trespassing?”
“I think you exaggerate, Captain. There’s no trace of your claim in the recent issues of StarSwap.”
“We haven’t chosen to go public with it just yet. But there are electronic warnings posted at the beginning of the quadrant. Surely you intercepted those warnings?”
“Oh, those!” Captain Kuhn laughed. “An electronic warning hardly constitutes a legal claim! No, Captain Potter, unless you publish your intent with the federal Department of Interplanetary Claims, it can’t be said to exist. I have as much right here as you.”
Potter’s voice was low, and hoarse with menace. “Captain Kuhn, I am a man of little patience. You have already used up my entire store. You have about one second to go into retrofire and get your ship, out of there.”
Kuhn replied, “I do not take kindly to peremptory orders, Captain, especially from one who has no legal right to give them. I will leave this vicinity in my own time, when I’m good and ready. And you may be sure I will file a complaint with InterBureau over your attitude.”
“You will have more to complain about than an attitude, Captain Kuhn, but I doubt you will ever file that report.”
“Do not try to intimidate me!”
“The time for words is past. The torpedo that puts paid to your pretensions is now coming toward you at a speed well below that of light, but fast enough, I think you’ll find.”
“Torpedo? How dare you, sir! Number two! Full power to the screens! Take evasive action!”
And then Badger had to turn down the volume as the recorded sound of the explosion shook the walls of Workshop D.
“What ship is that?”
“This is the Valparaiso Queen, Captain Kuhn commanding, thirty-seven days out of Santiago de Chile. To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Potter of the Bio-Pharm ship Lancet. Do you realize you are trespassing?”
“I think you exaggerate, Captain. There’s no trace of your claim in the recent issues of StarSwap.”
“We haven’t chosen to go public with it just yet. But there are electronic warnings posted at the beginning of the quadrant. Surely you intercepted those warnings?”
“Oh, those!” Captain Kuhn laughed. “An electronic warning hardly constitutes a legal claim! No, Captain Potter, unless you publish your intent with the federal Department of Interplanetary Claims, it can’t be said to exist. I have as much right here as you.”
Potter’s voice was low, and hoarse with menace. “Captain Kuhn, I am a man of little patience. You have already used up my entire store. You have about one second to go into retrofire and get your ship, out of there.”
Kuhn replied, “I do not take kindly to peremptory orders, Captain, especially from one who has no legal right to give them. I will leave this vicinity in my own time, when I’m good and ready. And you may be sure I will file a complaint with InterBureau over your attitude.”
“You will have more to complain about than an attitude, Captain Kuhn, but I doubt you will ever file that report.”
“Do not try to intimidate me!”
“The time for words is past. The torpedo that puts paid to your pretensions is now coming toward you at a speed well below that of light, but fast enough, I think you’ll find.”
“Torpedo? How dare you, sir! Number two! Full power to the screens! Take evasive action!”
And then Badger had to turn down the volume as the recorded sound of the explosion shook the walls of Workshop D.
37
“What’s the latest on the storm?” Stan asked.
Gill looked up, his long melancholy face half in a green glow from the ready lights on his control panel. On the screen above him, data waves danced in long wavering lines, the numbers changing with a rapidity that would defy the computational abilities of any but a synthetic man with a math coprocessor built into his positronic brain. Gill was such a man, and his computational abilities were enhanced by the rock-steadiness of his mind, which was not subject to the neurotic claims of love, duly, family, or country. Yet he was not completely emotionless. It had been found that intelligence of the highest order presupposes and is built upon certain fundamental emotional bases, of which the desire to survive and continue is the most fundamental of all. The designers of artificial men would have liked to have stopped there. But the uncertain nature of the materials they were using—in which minute differences in atomic structures eventually spelled big differences in output, as well as the inherent instability of colloidal structures—made this impossible. Gill was standard within his design parameters, but those parameters expressed only one part of him.
“The storm is abating,” Gill said. “There’s been a twenty-percent diminution in the last half hour. Given the conditions here, I think that’s about the best we’re going to get. In fact, it’s apt to get a lot worse before it gets better.”
“Then let’s get on with it,” Stan said. He turned to Norbert, the big robot alien, who still crouched patiently in a corner of the lander. Mac the dog, growing impatient, whined to be put down, and Norbert obliged. The dog investigated the corners of the little lander and, finding nothing of interest, returned to curl up at Norbert’s taloned feet.
“You ready, Norbert?”
“Of course, Dr. Myakovsky. Being robotic, I am always ready.”
“And Mac?”
“He is a dog, and so he is always ready, too.”
Stan laughed, and remarked to Julie, “I wish now I’d had more time to talk with Norbert. His horrible appearance belies his keen intelligence.”
“You are responsible for my appearance, Dr. Myakovsky,” Norbert said.
“I think you’re beautiful,” Stan said. “Don’t you think so, Julie?”
“I think you’re both pretty cute,” she said.
Gill looked up, his long melancholy face half in a green glow from the ready lights on his control panel. On the screen above him, data waves danced in long wavering lines, the numbers changing with a rapidity that would defy the computational abilities of any but a synthetic man with a math coprocessor built into his positronic brain. Gill was such a man, and his computational abilities were enhanced by the rock-steadiness of his mind, which was not subject to the neurotic claims of love, duly, family, or country. Yet he was not completely emotionless. It had been found that intelligence of the highest order presupposes and is built upon certain fundamental emotional bases, of which the desire to survive and continue is the most fundamental of all. The designers of artificial men would have liked to have stopped there. But the uncertain nature of the materials they were using—in which minute differences in atomic structures eventually spelled big differences in output, as well as the inherent instability of colloidal structures—made this impossible. Gill was standard within his design parameters, but those parameters expressed only one part of him.
“The storm is abating,” Gill said. “There’s been a twenty-percent diminution in the last half hour. Given the conditions here, I think that’s about the best we’re going to get. In fact, it’s apt to get a lot worse before it gets better.”
“Then let’s get on with it,” Stan said. He turned to Norbert, the big robot alien, who still crouched patiently in a corner of the lander. Mac the dog, growing impatient, whined to be put down, and Norbert obliged. The dog investigated the corners of the little lander and, finding nothing of interest, returned to curl up at Norbert’s taloned feet.
“You ready, Norbert?”
“Of course, Dr. Myakovsky. Being robotic, I am always ready.”
“And Mac?”
“He is a dog, and so he is always ready, too.”
Stan laughed, and remarked to Julie, “I wish now I’d had more time to talk with Norbert. His horrible appearance belies his keen intelligence.”
“You are responsible for my appearance, Dr. Myakovsky,” Norbert said.
“I think you’re beautiful,” Stan said. “Don’t you think so, Julie?”
“I think you’re both pretty cute,” she said.
38
In the forward cabin of the lander, the five volunteer crew members were sitting as comfortably as they were able in the cramped confines. Morrison, big and blond, an Iowa farmboy, had unwrapped an energy bar and was nibbling at it. Beside him, Skysky, fat and balding with a walrus mustache, decided to eat an energy bar of his own and fumbled it out of his pocket. Eka Nu, a flat-faced Burmese with skin a shade lighter than burned umber, was mumbling over the wooden beads of his Buddhist rosary. Styson, his long face as mournful as ever, was playing his harmonica, monotonously repeating one phrase over and over. And Larrimer, a city boy from New York’s south Bronx, was doing nothing at all except licking his dry lips and brushing his long lank hair out of his eyes.