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“Try Dr. Myakovsky again,” he ordered. “We have to warn him.”
“I’m trying, sir,” the officer said. “But no luck so far.”
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“I’m trying, sir,” the officer said. “But no luck so far.”
55
“I’m getting something”, Gill reported “Thank God,” said Julie.
“Is it Hoban?” Stan asked.
“Yes, I think it is.”
Stan swung around in his big command chair and took the microphone from Gill’s hand. “Hoban? What’s going on there?”
“Sorry for the delay in transmission, sir,” Hoban said, his voice echoing eerily around the lander’s cabin. “We’ve had a revolt onboard. It’s in hand now, but a group of crewmen have seized a pod and are on their way to the surface.”
“Nothing much they can do to us,” Stan said. “Listen, Captain, something really important has happened here. We’ve lost Norbert.”
“Your robot alien? I’m sorry to hear it, sir, though I was never that fond of him.”
“At least he died doing what he was built to do,” Stan said.
“What about the dog?” Hoban asked.
“Yes, the dog’s gone, too,” Stan said brusquely. “Why is everyone so upset about the dog? The dog’s not important. We’ve got troubles of our own.”
There was no reaction to that. Stan cleared his throat and wondered how soon he could take another ampoule. Then he brought his attention back to present matters.
“Captain Hoban, we’ve found what we were looking for. The beekeepers have done our job for us. Norbert took over a Bio-Pharm harvester ship. It’s packed full of royal jelly. We’re rich, Captain.”
“Yes, sir. If we can just get out of here now. Can you get up to our orbit?”
“Negative,” Stan said. “We’re still in the lander, which is barely maneuverable in this weather. Taking shelter in the harvester is our best bet, but it’s going to take some doing to get there.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoban said. “I copy.”
“Secondly, preliminary visual inspection shows the flight controls of the harvester were badly damaged in the fighting. I doubt it’ll fly, but it’ll provide more refuge than the lander. You’ll have to come down to us.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoban said, without enthusiasm. “What about the volunteers?”
“We’ve lost touch with them,” Stan answered. “As soon as we get ourselves out of here, they’ll be our first order of business.”
Hoban didn’t like it, but it didn’t seem the time or place to voice a disagreement.
“It ought to be simple enough,” Stan said. “What you need to do, as soon as the weather stabilizes a little, is send the backup lander down here to pick us up. Our situation here is none too stable.”
“We can’t send the backup lander,” Hoban said. “I told you, sir, Badger and his men took it. Can you maneuver at all in your lander, Dr. Myakovsky?”
“I don’t know,” Stan said. “They weren’t made for that sort of thing. And the weather down here is getting pretty severe.”
“It’s a major storm,” Captain Hoban told him. “The worst of it is heading your way.”
“Damn!” Stan spat. “You can’t maneuver the Dolomite to pick us up, can you?”
“Not in this weather. None of us would stand a chance.”
“All right.” Stan paused. “Just a minute, let me think.”
It was then that the storm front burst in all its fury upon the lander and the unprotected splinter of land it rested upon. Despite its weight, the lander was rocked to its foundations. The earth beneath it rippled and swayed. lights went out and were replaced by the dull red glow of emergency lighting. Julie screamed as another motion of the storm shot her legs out from under her. Gill caught her before she was slammed into a support.
“Into the pod!” Stan shouted, referring to the small escape vehicle that the lander carried. “Gill, get in there and get power up.”
Gill paused for a moment, looking at the five-point steel door separating them from the lander’s rear compartment. “Maybe I should stay and try to help the crew?”
“They don’t have a chance,” Stan said. “We need your help to keep us alive! Now move!”
The three of them, Stan, Gill, and Julie, struggled back to the pod and, during a brief lull, got in. Stan slammed home the hatch and Julie dogged it into place. Gill waited until they were all strapped in, then blew open the lander’s exit doors. The storm swept in.
Gill took the pod out under full acceleration. There was a moment of intoxicating freedom as the pod pulled away from the ship, then the full fury of the storm caught the little craft.
Stan just had time to secure himself into a command chair by magnetic clamps, then the pod was launched into the air like a rocket from a launcher. As it turned, Stan could see the land beneath the lander collapse, throwing the vehicle into a deep pit that suddenly yawned beneath it.
Glancing around, he saw that Julie was secured on a deceleration couch. A moment later the internal lighting went out.
The storm blazed at the pod’s windows. There were long, stunning lines of force, outlined by a driving rain, lashing in at them. The pods spun around, its automatic stabilizers working hard to keep it on an even keel. The ground came up sickeningly below them, and the pod’s jets blazed, avoiding the collision. They were airborne, and the sky through which they tore was colored ocher and purple. It was a world without stability, a place where titanic forces battled as though it were the beginning of time.
“Can’t you get her down, Gill?” Stan called out above the deafening clatter.
“I’m trying, Doctor,” Gill said, busy over the controls.
“You can do it, Gill!” Julie cried.
“We hope,” Stan said.
Gill’s long fingers played across the controls. The pod seemed to flutter and skitter like a crazed bat in the luridly lit space between the harsh ground below and the beetling thunderheads above. The little craft spun like a leaf driven by a storm. Julie had to shut her eyes tightly to control the vertigo and nausea that racked her as the pod trembled and shook and rattled like a riveting machine gone berserk.
For Stan the pain was almost unbearable as his tortured lungs strove to replace the air that the violent motions of the storm were driving out of him. He had never known such pain. And yet, paradoxically, he was also experiencing a moment of great exhilaration, a feeling of himself as a conquistador of the new age, persevering through pain and hardship as a new world and new opportunities came into sight.
Yes, he thought, it has all been worth it. The pain reminds me that I’m alive. This is the way to go. But I do wish it would stop!
And then, abruptly, they entered a space of quiet air and Gill was able to maneuver the controls. Suddenly the pod dropped thirty feet and hovered for a moment on its jets, bare inches above the ground. Then, with an almost grudging sigh—as though the insensate machine had enjoyed its experience of being airborne in the midst of fury—it settled to the ground.
Gill set the clamping system that secured the ship to the bedrock it had settled upon.
He said, “Last stop, Grand Central Station. All passengers prepare to detrain.”
Stan unbuckled himself shakily. “Why, Gill, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
“I don’t,” Gill said. “My words were for the purpose of helping you and the others keep your spirits up.”
“Commendable,” Stan said. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the blessed relief of relative silence and no motion. Then he asked, “Everyone okay? Then let’s take stock.”
“Is it Hoban?” Stan asked.
“Yes, I think it is.”
Stan swung around in his big command chair and took the microphone from Gill’s hand. “Hoban? What’s going on there?”
“Sorry for the delay in transmission, sir,” Hoban said, his voice echoing eerily around the lander’s cabin. “We’ve had a revolt onboard. It’s in hand now, but a group of crewmen have seized a pod and are on their way to the surface.”
“Nothing much they can do to us,” Stan said. “Listen, Captain, something really important has happened here. We’ve lost Norbert.”
“Your robot alien? I’m sorry to hear it, sir, though I was never that fond of him.”
“At least he died doing what he was built to do,” Stan said.
“What about the dog?” Hoban asked.
“Yes, the dog’s gone, too,” Stan said brusquely. “Why is everyone so upset about the dog? The dog’s not important. We’ve got troubles of our own.”
There was no reaction to that. Stan cleared his throat and wondered how soon he could take another ampoule. Then he brought his attention back to present matters.
“Captain Hoban, we’ve found what we were looking for. The beekeepers have done our job for us. Norbert took over a Bio-Pharm harvester ship. It’s packed full of royal jelly. We’re rich, Captain.”
“Yes, sir. If we can just get out of here now. Can you get up to our orbit?”
“Negative,” Stan said. “We’re still in the lander, which is barely maneuverable in this weather. Taking shelter in the harvester is our best bet, but it’s going to take some doing to get there.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoban said. “I copy.”
“Secondly, preliminary visual inspection shows the flight controls of the harvester were badly damaged in the fighting. I doubt it’ll fly, but it’ll provide more refuge than the lander. You’ll have to come down to us.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoban said, without enthusiasm. “What about the volunteers?”
“We’ve lost touch with them,” Stan answered. “As soon as we get ourselves out of here, they’ll be our first order of business.”
Hoban didn’t like it, but it didn’t seem the time or place to voice a disagreement.
“It ought to be simple enough,” Stan said. “What you need to do, as soon as the weather stabilizes a little, is send the backup lander down here to pick us up. Our situation here is none too stable.”
“We can’t send the backup lander,” Hoban said. “I told you, sir, Badger and his men took it. Can you maneuver at all in your lander, Dr. Myakovsky?”
“I don’t know,” Stan said. “They weren’t made for that sort of thing. And the weather down here is getting pretty severe.”
“It’s a major storm,” Captain Hoban told him. “The worst of it is heading your way.”
“Damn!” Stan spat. “You can’t maneuver the Dolomite to pick us up, can you?”
“Not in this weather. None of us would stand a chance.”
“All right.” Stan paused. “Just a minute, let me think.”
It was then that the storm front burst in all its fury upon the lander and the unprotected splinter of land it rested upon. Despite its weight, the lander was rocked to its foundations. The earth beneath it rippled and swayed. lights went out and were replaced by the dull red glow of emergency lighting. Julie screamed as another motion of the storm shot her legs out from under her. Gill caught her before she was slammed into a support.
“Into the pod!” Stan shouted, referring to the small escape vehicle that the lander carried. “Gill, get in there and get power up.”
Gill paused for a moment, looking at the five-point steel door separating them from the lander’s rear compartment. “Maybe I should stay and try to help the crew?”
“They don’t have a chance,” Stan said. “We need your help to keep us alive! Now move!”
The three of them, Stan, Gill, and Julie, struggled back to the pod and, during a brief lull, got in. Stan slammed home the hatch and Julie dogged it into place. Gill waited until they were all strapped in, then blew open the lander’s exit doors. The storm swept in.
Gill took the pod out under full acceleration. There was a moment of intoxicating freedom as the pod pulled away from the ship, then the full fury of the storm caught the little craft.
Stan just had time to secure himself into a command chair by magnetic clamps, then the pod was launched into the air like a rocket from a launcher. As it turned, Stan could see the land beneath the lander collapse, throwing the vehicle into a deep pit that suddenly yawned beneath it.
Glancing around, he saw that Julie was secured on a deceleration couch. A moment later the internal lighting went out.
The storm blazed at the pod’s windows. There were long, stunning lines of force, outlined by a driving rain, lashing in at them. The pods spun around, its automatic stabilizers working hard to keep it on an even keel. The ground came up sickeningly below them, and the pod’s jets blazed, avoiding the collision. They were airborne, and the sky through which they tore was colored ocher and purple. It was a world without stability, a place where titanic forces battled as though it were the beginning of time.
“Can’t you get her down, Gill?” Stan called out above the deafening clatter.
“I’m trying, Doctor,” Gill said, busy over the controls.
“You can do it, Gill!” Julie cried.
“We hope,” Stan said.
Gill’s long fingers played across the controls. The pod seemed to flutter and skitter like a crazed bat in the luridly lit space between the harsh ground below and the beetling thunderheads above. The little craft spun like a leaf driven by a storm. Julie had to shut her eyes tightly to control the vertigo and nausea that racked her as the pod trembled and shook and rattled like a riveting machine gone berserk.
For Stan the pain was almost unbearable as his tortured lungs strove to replace the air that the violent motions of the storm were driving out of him. He had never known such pain. And yet, paradoxically, he was also experiencing a moment of great exhilaration, a feeling of himself as a conquistador of the new age, persevering through pain and hardship as a new world and new opportunities came into sight.
Yes, he thought, it has all been worth it. The pain reminds me that I’m alive. This is the way to go. But I do wish it would stop!
And then, abruptly, they entered a space of quiet air and Gill was able to maneuver the controls. Suddenly the pod dropped thirty feet and hovered for a moment on its jets, bare inches above the ground. Then, with an almost grudging sigh—as though the insensate machine had enjoyed its experience of being airborne in the midst of fury—it settled to the ground.
Gill set the clamping system that secured the ship to the bedrock it had settled upon.
He said, “Last stop, Grand Central Station. All passengers prepare to detrain.”
Stan unbuckled himself shakily. “Why, Gill, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
“I don’t,” Gill said. “My words were for the purpose of helping you and the others keep your spirits up.”
“Commendable,” Stan said. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the blessed relief of relative silence and no motion. Then he asked, “Everyone okay? Then let’s take stock.”
56
Red Badger and his people sat together on the semicircular couches that almost filled the main section of the pod. Red had remembered to bring aboard a carton of emergency rations, each in a self-heating aluminoplex container. He passed these around now. Walter Glint had a half-full canteen of raisin wine he’d brewed himself in the ship’s locker room, before the hypersleep procedure, using copper tubing he’d liberated from the heat circulation system. He passed around the brew, and Min Dwin came up with some narcosmoke cigarettes. In a little while they were quite a cheerful bunch. If only they’d been able to raise some dance music! It was one hell of a party shaping up.
Badger liked to party as well as anyone. But the unfamiliar duties of command distracted him from really letting go. He turned to the little all-wave radio receiver tucked away in one of the pod’s storage compartments. He needed to keep his people content, because he was counting on them to see him safely through this.
Although he wouldn’t let on to the others, Badger was more than a little disturbed by how things had gone so far. He had counted on seizing the Dolomite in his first attempt, when surprise had been in his favor. Back then, taking the initiative had seemed the thing to do.
That was not how matters had worked out, however. Now they were alone, isolated on a savage planet that favored no life except alien. Badger had been thinking furiously, trying to find a way to wrest victory from the jaws of defeat.
Then he thought he had it.
He set the sweep alarm on the radio to wide scanning and began searching the radio waves. It required no master radio operator to find a signal in a place as barren of radio activity as this one. Red locked onto the signal and began transmitting.
Badger liked to party as well as anyone. But the unfamiliar duties of command distracted him from really letting go. He turned to the little all-wave radio receiver tucked away in one of the pod’s storage compartments. He needed to keep his people content, because he was counting on them to see him safely through this.
Although he wouldn’t let on to the others, Badger was more than a little disturbed by how things had gone so far. He had counted on seizing the Dolomite in his first attempt, when surprise had been in his favor. Back then, taking the initiative had seemed the thing to do.
That was not how matters had worked out, however. Now they were alone, isolated on a savage planet that favored no life except alien. Badger had been thinking furiously, trying to find a way to wrest victory from the jaws of defeat.
Then he thought he had it.
He set the sweep alarm on the radio to wide scanning and began searching the radio waves. It required no master radio operator to find a signal in a place as barren of radio activity as this one. Red locked onto the signal and began transmitting.
57
Adams, the Lancet’s radio operator was a tall gangling youth with red hair and a prominent Adam’s apple. He came into the main control room without knocking, because Captain Potter had posted standing orders that messages of urgency were to be transmitted at once and without the usual protocol that prevailed on the interstellar ships.
“Yes, what is it, Adams?” Potter snapped. The captain was tall and strongly constructed. His features were handsome and coarse, from the big knife of a nose to the heavy tufted eyebrows that gave his face a sinister character. He wore a midnight-blue uniform with gold flash marks on the sleeves, showing his years of service in the Interspace Mariners’ Association. His voice was low-pitched, harsh, and resonant, the sort of voice you paid attention to the first time you heard it.
“Radio signal, sir,” Adams said.
“Is it from the people on the harvester?”
“No, sir. We still haven’t been able to establish contact with them. Their radio doesn’t respond. I don’t think it looks good, sir.”
“Nobody gives a damn what you think,” Potter said, his voice dropping to a sawmill rasp. “Who’s the message from?”
“A man who calls himself Red Badger,” Adams said. “He says he’s a crewman from the Dolomite.”
“Dolomite? Never heard of it. What location did they give?”
“They’re descending to the surface of AR-32, sir.”
Potter stared at the crewman, eyes narrowed, dark brows creased. “That’s quite impossible,” he said at last. “This planet is our exclusive preserve.”
Adams was about to reply, but perceived just in time that Potter was talking aloud to himself.
“I’ll speak to him;” Potter said. “Put it through for me.”
Adams went to the console and made the necessary adjustments. Badger’s voice came through on the loudspeaker.
“Captain Potter? Sir, this is Crewman Badger from the ship Dolomite. Sir, a situation has arisen which I would like to acquaint you with.”
“Go ahead,” Potter said, and listened carefully as Badger told about the revolt he had led on the Dolomite.
“We didn’t think it was fair, sir, Captain Hoban taking us into an area that was under the exclusive control of Bio-Pharm. The men asked me to speak for them. I talked with Captain Hoban, sir, in fair and reasonable terms, asking him to get a ruling from Bio-Pharm before taking us into this area. Can’t say more reasonable than that, can I, sir? But Captain Hoban didn’t see it that way. He ordered me and my men put into irons and held to face criminal charges back on Earth. We didn’t agree, there was a fight, and me and some of the men came down to the planet.”
“You’re on the surface of AR-32 now?” Potter asked.
“Yes, sir. And we’re not the only ones. There’s a Dr. Myakovsky down here, too, in his own pod, sir. He’s come to this place to steal your royal jelly. He and Hoban are criminals, and they want to put us on charges!”
“That’s very interesting,” Potter said. “Do you happen to have their exact location?”
“I’m afraid not, sir, since me and my mates had to leave ship in a hurry, so to speak. But I’ll bet anything they’re heading for the hive, where they sent that robot of theirs.”
“What robot are you referring to?”
“The one they call Norbert. Looks just like an alien, sir, only it’s not a real one. There’s a law against that, isn’t there? The damned thing already killed some of my shipmates.”
“There’s a law against it, all right,” Potter muttered. “My law, if no other!”
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Never mind. What is this robot supposed to do?”
“Collect royal jelly, sir. And leave an electronic trail showing Myakovsky where to go.”
“Damn it!” Potter sputtered. “They could get what they came for and be out of here before we could stop them.”
“No, sir,” Badger said. “I’ve heard them talking to Captain Hoban on the radio. They plan to get through the hive by following an electronic signal that their robot is to lay down for them. But if me and my mates was to wipe out that electronic trail …”
“I like the idea of that,” Potter said slowly. “Can you do it? You would be rendering me a valuable service.”
“Indeed we can, sir. We’re hoping it’ll be taken into consideration when you pick us up. You are going to rescue us, aren’t you, sir?”
“You can count on it,” Potter said. “There could be a reward in this for you. Does that sound good, Mr. Badger? Get in there and wipe out that trail. Then come to coordinates 546Y by 23X. We’ll rendezvous with you there. You men will be rewarded for your good work.”
“Thank you, sir! You’ll be hearing from us soon.”
The transmission ended. Potter turned to Adams. “Well, what are you standing around for? Get back to the radio room! And not a word of this to the crew, or I’ll have your hide!”
“Yes, sir!” Adams saluted smartly and backed out of the room.
Potter waited until he was gone, then looked around the control room. The only ones present were his chief engineering officer, Ollins, and the helmsman, Driscoll.
“Driscoll,” Potter snapped.
“Sir?”
“You’ve heard nothing of this.”
“No, sir!”
“You can take a break now, mister. Ollins and I will finish out your watch.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Driscoll saluted and left the control room.
Lieutenant Ollins was a grizzled old veteran of many space flights who had served with Potter before. In fact, the two men came from the same town in Tennessee. Ollins relaxed when Driscoll was away from the control room. Potter afforded him great privileges when none of the men were around. When they were, it was spit and polish and punctilio all the way, because that was the sort of man Potter was.
“Well, Tom,” Potter said. “Seems we’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands.”
“Seems so, sir,” Ollins said. “But unless I miss my guess …”
“Yes? Go ahead, Tom.”
“Unless I miss my guess, sir, you’ve thought up an interesting way to take care of it.”
Potter permitted himself a smile. “I don’t know if I’d say ‘interesting,’ Mr. Ollins. But ‘thorough’… Yes, I think you’ll find my way very thorough.”
“Yes, what is it, Adams?” Potter snapped. The captain was tall and strongly constructed. His features were handsome and coarse, from the big knife of a nose to the heavy tufted eyebrows that gave his face a sinister character. He wore a midnight-blue uniform with gold flash marks on the sleeves, showing his years of service in the Interspace Mariners’ Association. His voice was low-pitched, harsh, and resonant, the sort of voice you paid attention to the first time you heard it.
“Radio signal, sir,” Adams said.
“Is it from the people on the harvester?”
“No, sir. We still haven’t been able to establish contact with them. Their radio doesn’t respond. I don’t think it looks good, sir.”
“Nobody gives a damn what you think,” Potter said, his voice dropping to a sawmill rasp. “Who’s the message from?”
“A man who calls himself Red Badger,” Adams said. “He says he’s a crewman from the Dolomite.”
“Dolomite? Never heard of it. What location did they give?”
“They’re descending to the surface of AR-32, sir.”
Potter stared at the crewman, eyes narrowed, dark brows creased. “That’s quite impossible,” he said at last. “This planet is our exclusive preserve.”
Adams was about to reply, but perceived just in time that Potter was talking aloud to himself.
“I’ll speak to him;” Potter said. “Put it through for me.”
Adams went to the console and made the necessary adjustments. Badger’s voice came through on the loudspeaker.
“Captain Potter? Sir, this is Crewman Badger from the ship Dolomite. Sir, a situation has arisen which I would like to acquaint you with.”
“Go ahead,” Potter said, and listened carefully as Badger told about the revolt he had led on the Dolomite.
“We didn’t think it was fair, sir, Captain Hoban taking us into an area that was under the exclusive control of Bio-Pharm. The men asked me to speak for them. I talked with Captain Hoban, sir, in fair and reasonable terms, asking him to get a ruling from Bio-Pharm before taking us into this area. Can’t say more reasonable than that, can I, sir? But Captain Hoban didn’t see it that way. He ordered me and my men put into irons and held to face criminal charges back on Earth. We didn’t agree, there was a fight, and me and some of the men came down to the planet.”
“You’re on the surface of AR-32 now?” Potter asked.
“Yes, sir. And we’re not the only ones. There’s a Dr. Myakovsky down here, too, in his own pod, sir. He’s come to this place to steal your royal jelly. He and Hoban are criminals, and they want to put us on charges!”
“That’s very interesting,” Potter said. “Do you happen to have their exact location?”
“I’m afraid not, sir, since me and my mates had to leave ship in a hurry, so to speak. But I’ll bet anything they’re heading for the hive, where they sent that robot of theirs.”
“What robot are you referring to?”
“The one they call Norbert. Looks just like an alien, sir, only it’s not a real one. There’s a law against that, isn’t there? The damned thing already killed some of my shipmates.”
“There’s a law against it, all right,” Potter muttered. “My law, if no other!”
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Never mind. What is this robot supposed to do?”
“Collect royal jelly, sir. And leave an electronic trail showing Myakovsky where to go.”
“Damn it!” Potter sputtered. “They could get what they came for and be out of here before we could stop them.”
“No, sir,” Badger said. “I’ve heard them talking to Captain Hoban on the radio. They plan to get through the hive by following an electronic signal that their robot is to lay down for them. But if me and my mates was to wipe out that electronic trail …”
“I like the idea of that,” Potter said slowly. “Can you do it? You would be rendering me a valuable service.”
“Indeed we can, sir. We’re hoping it’ll be taken into consideration when you pick us up. You are going to rescue us, aren’t you, sir?”
“You can count on it,” Potter said. “There could be a reward in this for you. Does that sound good, Mr. Badger? Get in there and wipe out that trail. Then come to coordinates 546Y by 23X. We’ll rendezvous with you there. You men will be rewarded for your good work.”
“Thank you, sir! You’ll be hearing from us soon.”
The transmission ended. Potter turned to Adams. “Well, what are you standing around for? Get back to the radio room! And not a word of this to the crew, or I’ll have your hide!”
“Yes, sir!” Adams saluted smartly and backed out of the room.
Potter waited until he was gone, then looked around the control room. The only ones present were his chief engineering officer, Ollins, and the helmsman, Driscoll.
“Driscoll,” Potter snapped.
“Sir?”
“You’ve heard nothing of this.”
“No, sir!”
“You can take a break now, mister. Ollins and I will finish out your watch.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Driscoll saluted and left the control room.
Lieutenant Ollins was a grizzled old veteran of many space flights who had served with Potter before. In fact, the two men came from the same town in Tennessee. Ollins relaxed when Driscoll was away from the control room. Potter afforded him great privileges when none of the men were around. When they were, it was spit and polish and punctilio all the way, because that was the sort of man Potter was.
“Well, Tom,” Potter said. “Seems we’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands.”
“Seems so, sir,” Ollins said. “But unless I miss my guess …”
“Yes? Go ahead, Tom.”
“Unless I miss my guess, sir, you’ve thought up an interesting way to take care of it.”
Potter permitted himself a smile. “I don’t know if I’d say ‘interesting,’ Mr. Ollins. But ‘thorough’… Yes, I think you’ll find my way very thorough.”
58
Rain hammered against the pod’s hatch like shot from a battery of shotguns. The pod quivered and shook as the storm shrieked and swore to itself, its voice falling to a whisper then rising to a banshee wail. Stan and the others were suited up in all-weather outfits that would give them some protection against the elements, though not much against the aliens. It was time to go.
“Okay,” Stan said. “Julie, you feel up to this?”
“I’m perfectly ready for a stroll,” Julie said airily. “It’s just about sunset, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Gill said. “I’ve checked out the hive on remote sensing. The activity is reaching a peak.”
“A perfect time for us to drop in,” Julie said.
Stan felt a warm glow go through him when he looked at her. She was young, beautiful, and very brave. They were in about as difficult a situation as he could imagine, but she wasn’t giving in a bit to it.
He turned to Gill. “What weapons do we have?”
Gill opened a locker and showed what he had brought. “Five chemical slugthrowers with fifty slug clips. These are somewhat old-fashioned weapons, but they are reliable. And their fifty-caliber slugs pack a wallop. I brought three Gauss needlers. They’re recoilless, and their steel slivers ought to have a good effect against the aliens. I was only able to bring one Gyroc, and a bandolier of point seventy-five-caliber spin-stabilized rockets. Two high-impulse laser rifles, both fully charged, and that completes the arsenal, except for half a dozen concussion grenades. I would have liked a greater selection, but that was all that was available at the moment.”
“You have done admirably,” Stan said. “That’s quite an array.”
“And, of course, I also have the light tracker, a heavy-duty communicator. As well as the suppressors to get us past the aliens undetected.”
“Very important, that last,” Stan said. “What range do the inhibitors have?”
“They’ll dampen at close to one-hundred-percent strength for approximately three meters in all directions.”
“And how long will they last?”
“That’s the bad part,” Gill said. “They may be good for half an hour at full strength, but it could be less.”
“Well, we’ll just have to move quickly and hope we have some luck. Julie, have you reached Captain Hoban yet?”
“Just getting him now.” Julie spoke into her wrist enunciator. “Can you hear me, Hoban?”
“Loud and clear,” Hoban’s voice came back to them. “I was beginning to worry. What happened to you people?”
“Nothing good,” Julie said. “But we’re on AR-32 and we’re still alive and in one piece. Three pieces, I should say.”
“What are your plans?” Hoban asked.
Julie turned to Stan. He said, “We have to get out of the pod, Captain. The storm is shaking it to pieces. What news do you have about your mutiny?”
“The mutineers grabbed our backup lander and took off for AR-32. It’ll be a miracle if they weren’t destroyed on their way down.”
“A miracle for us if they were,” Stan said. “Captain, we have our suppressors and there’s only one thing we can try that’ll bring this off. We’re going to go through the hive, following Norbert’s trail. That’ll get us out of the storm, which will destroy us otherwise. We should be able to follow Norbert’s trail to the far side, where the harvester is. We’ll board that and come up to you. You, meanwhile, will take geosynchronous orbit at the harvester’s coordinates. I’m transmitting those coordinates digitally. Please acknowledge.”
Stan’s fingers flew over the computer’s keys. Soon he heard Captain Hoban’s acknowledgment. “I’ve got it, Dr. Myakovsky.”
“Good. What do you think of the plan, Captain?”
“It seems to me the best, given the circumstances. Does Gill concur?”
The android nodded. “There’s really nothing else to do,” he added in a quiet voice.
“It’s perfect,” Julie said. “What have we got to lose but our lives?”
“Signing off, then, Captain,” Stan said. “See you in an hour or so, I hope.”
He turned to Gill. “Have you any objections?”
“As I said, Doctor, given the circumstances, there’s nothing else to do.”
“But you wouldn’t have gotten us into this fix in the first place. Is that it?”
“I didn’t say that, sir.”
“You didn’t have to.” Stan looked out the port at the lurid sunset that had just begun flaming behind the upthrust bulk of the hive. He reached into an inner pocket and brought out a small aluminum case, like a cigar case only slightly larger. Opening it, he extracted an ampoule of royal jelly.
“Well,” he said, “time for a little ride down the street of dreams, eh?” He looked at Gill and Julie, who were watching him. “I need it,” he said defensively. “It’s the pain…” Abruptly he pulled himself together. He returned the ampoule to the case and put the case back in his pocket.
“No, I’ll do it straight,” Stan said. “That ought to be ever so much more amusing. Ready, then? Gill, crack the port!”
Gil undogged the hatch. It took his and Julie’s combined strength to push it all the way open against the wind pressure. And then it was done, and the three of them staggered out into the raging storm.
“Okay,” Stan said. “Julie, you feel up to this?”
“I’m perfectly ready for a stroll,” Julie said airily. “It’s just about sunset, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Gill said. “I’ve checked out the hive on remote sensing. The activity is reaching a peak.”
“A perfect time for us to drop in,” Julie said.
Stan felt a warm glow go through him when he looked at her. She was young, beautiful, and very brave. They were in about as difficult a situation as he could imagine, but she wasn’t giving in a bit to it.
He turned to Gill. “What weapons do we have?”
Gill opened a locker and showed what he had brought. “Five chemical slugthrowers with fifty slug clips. These are somewhat old-fashioned weapons, but they are reliable. And their fifty-caliber slugs pack a wallop. I brought three Gauss needlers. They’re recoilless, and their steel slivers ought to have a good effect against the aliens. I was only able to bring one Gyroc, and a bandolier of point seventy-five-caliber spin-stabilized rockets. Two high-impulse laser rifles, both fully charged, and that completes the arsenal, except for half a dozen concussion grenades. I would have liked a greater selection, but that was all that was available at the moment.”
“You have done admirably,” Stan said. “That’s quite an array.”
“And, of course, I also have the light tracker, a heavy-duty communicator. As well as the suppressors to get us past the aliens undetected.”
“Very important, that last,” Stan said. “What range do the inhibitors have?”
“They’ll dampen at close to one-hundred-percent strength for approximately three meters in all directions.”
“And how long will they last?”
“That’s the bad part,” Gill said. “They may be good for half an hour at full strength, but it could be less.”
“Well, we’ll just have to move quickly and hope we have some luck. Julie, have you reached Captain Hoban yet?”
“Just getting him now.” Julie spoke into her wrist enunciator. “Can you hear me, Hoban?”
“Loud and clear,” Hoban’s voice came back to them. “I was beginning to worry. What happened to you people?”
“Nothing good,” Julie said. “But we’re on AR-32 and we’re still alive and in one piece. Three pieces, I should say.”
“What are your plans?” Hoban asked.
Julie turned to Stan. He said, “We have to get out of the pod, Captain. The storm is shaking it to pieces. What news do you have about your mutiny?”
“The mutineers grabbed our backup lander and took off for AR-32. It’ll be a miracle if they weren’t destroyed on their way down.”
“A miracle for us if they were,” Stan said. “Captain, we have our suppressors and there’s only one thing we can try that’ll bring this off. We’re going to go through the hive, following Norbert’s trail. That’ll get us out of the storm, which will destroy us otherwise. We should be able to follow Norbert’s trail to the far side, where the harvester is. We’ll board that and come up to you. You, meanwhile, will take geosynchronous orbit at the harvester’s coordinates. I’m transmitting those coordinates digitally. Please acknowledge.”
Stan’s fingers flew over the computer’s keys. Soon he heard Captain Hoban’s acknowledgment. “I’ve got it, Dr. Myakovsky.”
“Good. What do you think of the plan, Captain?”
“It seems to me the best, given the circumstances. Does Gill concur?”
The android nodded. “There’s really nothing else to do,” he added in a quiet voice.
“It’s perfect,” Julie said. “What have we got to lose but our lives?”
“Signing off, then, Captain,” Stan said. “See you in an hour or so, I hope.”
He turned to Gill. “Have you any objections?”
“As I said, Doctor, given the circumstances, there’s nothing else to do.”
“But you wouldn’t have gotten us into this fix in the first place. Is that it?”
“I didn’t say that, sir.”
“You didn’t have to.” Stan looked out the port at the lurid sunset that had just begun flaming behind the upthrust bulk of the hive. He reached into an inner pocket and brought out a small aluminum case, like a cigar case only slightly larger. Opening it, he extracted an ampoule of royal jelly.
“Well,” he said, “time for a little ride down the street of dreams, eh?” He looked at Gill and Julie, who were watching him. “I need it,” he said defensively. “It’s the pain…” Abruptly he pulled himself together. He returned the ampoule to the case and put the case back in his pocket.
“No, I’ll do it straight,” Stan said. “That ought to be ever so much more amusing. Ready, then? Gill, crack the port!”
Gil undogged the hatch. It took his and Julie’s combined strength to push it all the way open against the wind pressure. And then it was done, and the three of them staggered out into the raging storm.
59
There was no easy way to hold a conversation as Stan, Julie, and Gill made their painful march across the wind-whipped plain toward the great rounded mound of the hive. Behind it the sunset flared, sending streamers and columns of radiance around the basalt-blue solid-looking clouds that seemed to march across the plain like giants.
Julie looked at the sunset in awe. She did not consider herself a nature lover, yet this kindling of shapes and colors that seemed too intense to be natural almost brought tears to her eyes. The display touched off a memory.
She was a little girl in the high, carven house of Shen Hui. It was one of his holiday houses in Shan Lin Province, and there was a pool in the garden in which golden carp moved back and forth, and a wind chime in a nearby temple sent forth a sad melody that seemed to speak of ancient days and old-fashioned manners.
It was only then that Julie thought of her mother, whom she had never known, but who visited her almost nightly in dreams whose memory she lost upon awakening.
They walked for a long time, bent into the driving wind, and came at last to the base of the hive. Looking up at the great, pitted, gray-brown surfaces covered with branchlike vines, Stan saw that it resembled some exotic plant. It was pockmarked with puckered holes, many of which were large enough to admit a man. Stan wondered if the hive might not be an organism in its own right, symbiotically connected to the aliens, coexisting with its own weird life-forms.
It was an interesting fancy, but Stan thought it was more logical to assume that the aliens had constructed the hive, following instinctual instructions laid down in their DNA aeons past.
Still, it pleased his fancy to imagine that the hive and the aliens were two different types of living matter. What a startling possibility! He could see the headlines now, heralding his discovery…
He smiled wryly and reminded himself that his only job now was to stay alive, to keep on going until he could find the pure and unadulterated royal jelly that might extend his life—if there was any truth to his conjectures.
He and Julie walked around the hive until they found an opening. It loomed ahead of them, a dark and ragged hole that plunged into the depths of the hive.
“Are you ready for this?” Stan asked. Gill didn’t answer. Julie said, “If that’s where you want to go, I’ll go with you.”
Julie looked at the sunset in awe. She did not consider herself a nature lover, yet this kindling of shapes and colors that seemed too intense to be natural almost brought tears to her eyes. The display touched off a memory.
She was a little girl in the high, carven house of Shen Hui. It was one of his holiday houses in Shan Lin Province, and there was a pool in the garden in which golden carp moved back and forth, and a wind chime in a nearby temple sent forth a sad melody that seemed to speak of ancient days and old-fashioned manners.
It was only then that Julie thought of her mother, whom she had never known, but who visited her almost nightly in dreams whose memory she lost upon awakening.
They walked for a long time, bent into the driving wind, and came at last to the base of the hive. Looking up at the great, pitted, gray-brown surfaces covered with branchlike vines, Stan saw that it resembled some exotic plant. It was pockmarked with puckered holes, many of which were large enough to admit a man. Stan wondered if the hive might not be an organism in its own right, symbiotically connected to the aliens, coexisting with its own weird life-forms.
It was an interesting fancy, but Stan thought it was more logical to assume that the aliens had constructed the hive, following instinctual instructions laid down in their DNA aeons past.
Still, it pleased his fancy to imagine that the hive and the aliens were two different types of living matter. What a startling possibility! He could see the headlines now, heralding his discovery…
He smiled wryly and reminded himself that his only job now was to stay alive, to keep on going until he could find the pure and unadulterated royal jelly that might extend his life—if there was any truth to his conjectures.
He and Julie walked around the hive until they found an opening. It loomed ahead of them, a dark and ragged hole that plunged into the depths of the hive.
“Are you ready for this?” Stan asked. Gill didn’t answer. Julie said, “If that’s where you want to go, I’ll go with you.”
60
There seemed no way into the hive. They found what looked like a pathway that spiraled up its side.
They climbed up the long, narrow ramp that looked to be part roadway, part vine. It went up the side of the hive in long sloping curves, and there were rough-barked vinelike things along the side that served as handholds, and other things that looked like snapped-off tree limbs and might have provided footholds for taloned feet.
Using these as handholds, they half hiked, half climbed, up the side of the hive. The storm was still buffeting them, its wind gusts swirling in from all directions. The slanted rain made the footing slick and unsafe. When Julie was able to spare a glance to the side, she saw the great plain of AR-32 spread out below, all bathed in strange red-and-violet sunset colors, cut through here and there with deep, black fissures.
She was leading the way, with Stan in the middle and Gill bringing up the rear. Stan was short of breath already, and Julie, listening to him labor as he walked, decided it didn’t augur well for the future.
She was worried about Stan, but he had gotten them into this situation. She just hoped he was well enough and sane enough to get them out of it.
Then they reached an opening camouflaged against the side of the hive by a dense growth of vines. They pushed inside and found a broad roadway that curved inward and upward.
The spiraling roadway terminated in a wide opening that seemed to lead deeper into the hive. Julie was less than ten feet away from the opening when something within it, a darkness against the darkness, stirred and moved.
She whispered, “Oh, shit,” and froze.
Stan noticed that she had stopped and also halted.
Gill stopped, too, peering upward, trying to make out what was the matter.
As Julie waited, barely breathing, an ugly dark head with a long backward-sloping cranium poked out of the hole above her. Its fangs were clearly visible, gleaming white, impossibly sharp and packed together, dripping with green matter.
Then the alien’s muscular body came out slowly, foot by foot, and its claws grasped the spiraling track on which Julie and the others were standing. The alien began to descend, moving directly into their path.
“I think it can’t see me,” Julie said, praying that it was true. The indicator on her suppressor showed less than half an hour left in the batteries.
Well, she thought, half an hour is a long time. But then she wondered, What if the gauge is simply stuck at the half-hour mark?
The alien came right up to her, so close she could smell the acrid tang of its hide.
Julie moved to the far edge of the narrow pathway.
Taking a grip on one of the vines at the side, she leaned far over, giving the creature room to pass.
Its ferocious blind-looking face passed within inches of her, its hard black flank brushed her side, and then it was past, descending toward the ground. Stan and Gill, below her, moved to give it room.
Julie slipped into the opening at the top of the hive, the others following close behind. The passageway widened out to a tube about ten feet in diameter. It curved downward and to the left, and soon there was only a ghostly memory of light for them to see their way by.
About twenty feet down, the tunnel widened into a cave. It was difficult to make out its dimensions in that shadow-infested place, perhaps fifty yards long by twenty wide, but it could have been twice that, the remaining dimensions lost in the gloom.
There were things growing between the floor of the cave and its low ceiling. Then they moved into a wider area, where they could stand upright.
Stan and his party paused here to redistribute their loads, make a final check of their weapons, take a drink of water, and have a last conference before plunging deeper into the hive.
Stan was disturbed that Norbert had been unable to lay down an electronic trail. But he was too tired to worry about it much.
He lay down on the uneven ground. He needed a moment to catch his breath. It was tough going, there was no doubt about that. His chest burned incessantly. It had been a long time since he’d had a dose of royal jelly. The case with the ampoules was still in his pocket; it felt comforting there. He wanted one now, badly. Anything to get out of this incessant pain, which seemed to radiate out from his chest and course down his arms and legs, following the pathways of his arteries and veins.
He pulled out an ampoule and hastily swallowed its contents. And then he had to scramble to his feet as he heard sounds from somewhere in the tunnel.
They had to depend on searchlights now to find their way, for the last of the natural light was cut off as they rounded another turn.
And came face-to-face with another alien. It was moving toward them on all fours, its ugly head questing right and left, seeming to be sniffing the stale, earth-flavored air. It was clear that it had picked up a scent or cue, but apparently it couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The creature slid past them like liquid black iron, and they moved on in silence.
There was a sort of grim interminability about that nightmare journey into the hive. Julie felt that time itself was standing still as they proceeded into the silence of that awesome construction. She felt she was on a dream descent into depths that corresponded in some way that she didn’t understand to the depths of her own being.
Abruptly she came back to attention. Her searchlight picked out incomprehensible shapes as she moved ahead. There seemed to be huge things with tall stooped shoulders and folded wings towering above them. There were oval things scattered here and there, like ostrich eggs, only with a strange cross-hatched texture of fine lines. There were plants with wide, white faces, and they turned toward the searchlight beam as if it reminded them of something they had once known a very long time ago.
Stan said, “This is some weird place, huh, Gill?”
Gill shrugged. “I suppose this hive has been in existence for a long time. Centuries, maybe. It stands to reason that a lot of different life-forms would have tried to establish themselves here. It’s one of the few places on this planet that’s out of the wind.”
“I wish I could get a videotape of this,” Stan said.
“You planning to do a TV special?” Julie asked.
“It would be a first. What’s that up ahead?”
By the light of Stan’s searchlight, he saw that the floor of the cave abruptly declined and became a large hole. Stan approached it cautiously and played his light along it. The sides sloped down sharply for about five feet, revealing that the interior of the hole was filled with a mixture of substances. Stan’s flashlight picked out bones and body parts, vegetables in advanced stages of rot or desiccation, bits of wood and rock, and other kinds of debris he couldn’t make out.
“What is it, Stan?” Julie asked.
“It appears to be a midden. A garbage dump.”
“Ugh!” Julie said.
“No, it’s really very interesting,” Stan said. “A midden can tell you all about the life of the hive. Look at all that stuff! Isn’t that a cow carcass down there? And what’s that over there… ?”
He focused the searchlight beam and looked again.
“It looks like a dog collar,” he said at last.
The three of them were silent for a moment. The memory of Mac the dog hung in the air like something evil, something they would have preferred to forget.
“I suppose this is where they threw Mac when the queen was through with him,” Stan said. “That’s certainly his collar with the suppressor attached. We can use that for ourselves.”
He leaned over the pit to pick up the collar. Suddenly the ground crumbled beneath him. Stan scrambled for footing, fell backward, his arms windmilling wildly. Julie lunged for him and almost managed to grab his ankle, but lost her grip as Stan pitched over the edge with a bloodcurdling yell.
For Stan, that moment of falling into the aliens’ garbage pit was so intensely terrifying as to be almost pleasurable. In the split second a million things flashed in front of his eyes like high-speed movie images. Some residue of the royal jelly in his veins kicked in, and he had a moment of pure illusion.
He dreamed in that instant that he was on a mountaintop, and on all sides of him were birds and beasts, waiting to hear what he had to tell them. Mac was there in his dream, sitting up on his hind paws begging, his tongue lolling out Stan himself seemed to be wearing a robe made out of a luminous golden material, and he was not entirely surprised to find a golden halo circling his brow, casting a mellow light of its own. He was about to address all of the birds and beasts, tell them it was all right, when he struck the bottom of the pit with a resounding jar.
“Stan!” Julie cried. “Can you hear me?”
Gill came up beside her. “Is he alive?”
“I don’t know yet Stan!”
Stan stirred, then fell back.
“Stan! Call out if you can hear me,” Julie cried.
Stan didn’t answer, but something else did. Something that spoke in a sibilant hiss, with many overtones. It was not a single voice. It was many voices. The hissing voices were like the tumultuous waves of an acid sea. Julie tried to direct her light Gill was beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Suddenly his grip tightened.
“What is it?” she said, and then she saw it, too.
There were passageways into the lower part of the midden. From them, heads peered; the characteristic heads of aliens. This was apparently a shortcut into a lower level of the hive. The aliens must have heard the noise Stan made while he was falling.
The aliens had come out to investigate. It was like before when they had met the alien coming into the hive. Only this time something had changed. It took Julie a moment to figure out what it was. Then she shuddered in horror.
“Gill, my God!” she said. “The suppressor must have quit. They can see him!”
They climbed up the long, narrow ramp that looked to be part roadway, part vine. It went up the side of the hive in long sloping curves, and there were rough-barked vinelike things along the side that served as handholds, and other things that looked like snapped-off tree limbs and might have provided footholds for taloned feet.
Using these as handholds, they half hiked, half climbed, up the side of the hive. The storm was still buffeting them, its wind gusts swirling in from all directions. The slanted rain made the footing slick and unsafe. When Julie was able to spare a glance to the side, she saw the great plain of AR-32 spread out below, all bathed in strange red-and-violet sunset colors, cut through here and there with deep, black fissures.
She was leading the way, with Stan in the middle and Gill bringing up the rear. Stan was short of breath already, and Julie, listening to him labor as he walked, decided it didn’t augur well for the future.
She was worried about Stan, but he had gotten them into this situation. She just hoped he was well enough and sane enough to get them out of it.
Then they reached an opening camouflaged against the side of the hive by a dense growth of vines. They pushed inside and found a broad roadway that curved inward and upward.
The spiraling roadway terminated in a wide opening that seemed to lead deeper into the hive. Julie was less than ten feet away from the opening when something within it, a darkness against the darkness, stirred and moved.
She whispered, “Oh, shit,” and froze.
Stan noticed that she had stopped and also halted.
Gill stopped, too, peering upward, trying to make out what was the matter.
As Julie waited, barely breathing, an ugly dark head with a long backward-sloping cranium poked out of the hole above her. Its fangs were clearly visible, gleaming white, impossibly sharp and packed together, dripping with green matter.
Then the alien’s muscular body came out slowly, foot by foot, and its claws grasped the spiraling track on which Julie and the others were standing. The alien began to descend, moving directly into their path.
“I think it can’t see me,” Julie said, praying that it was true. The indicator on her suppressor showed less than half an hour left in the batteries.
Well, she thought, half an hour is a long time. But then she wondered, What if the gauge is simply stuck at the half-hour mark?
The alien came right up to her, so close she could smell the acrid tang of its hide.
Julie moved to the far edge of the narrow pathway.
Taking a grip on one of the vines at the side, she leaned far over, giving the creature room to pass.
Its ferocious blind-looking face passed within inches of her, its hard black flank brushed her side, and then it was past, descending toward the ground. Stan and Gill, below her, moved to give it room.
Julie slipped into the opening at the top of the hive, the others following close behind. The passageway widened out to a tube about ten feet in diameter. It curved downward and to the left, and soon there was only a ghostly memory of light for them to see their way by.
About twenty feet down, the tunnel widened into a cave. It was difficult to make out its dimensions in that shadow-infested place, perhaps fifty yards long by twenty wide, but it could have been twice that, the remaining dimensions lost in the gloom.
There were things growing between the floor of the cave and its low ceiling. Then they moved into a wider area, where they could stand upright.
Stan and his party paused here to redistribute their loads, make a final check of their weapons, take a drink of water, and have a last conference before plunging deeper into the hive.
Stan was disturbed that Norbert had been unable to lay down an electronic trail. But he was too tired to worry about it much.
He lay down on the uneven ground. He needed a moment to catch his breath. It was tough going, there was no doubt about that. His chest burned incessantly. It had been a long time since he’d had a dose of royal jelly. The case with the ampoules was still in his pocket; it felt comforting there. He wanted one now, badly. Anything to get out of this incessant pain, which seemed to radiate out from his chest and course down his arms and legs, following the pathways of his arteries and veins.
He pulled out an ampoule and hastily swallowed its contents. And then he had to scramble to his feet as he heard sounds from somewhere in the tunnel.
They had to depend on searchlights now to find their way, for the last of the natural light was cut off as they rounded another turn.
And came face-to-face with another alien. It was moving toward them on all fours, its ugly head questing right and left, seeming to be sniffing the stale, earth-flavored air. It was clear that it had picked up a scent or cue, but apparently it couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The creature slid past them like liquid black iron, and they moved on in silence.
There was a sort of grim interminability about that nightmare journey into the hive. Julie felt that time itself was standing still as they proceeded into the silence of that awesome construction. She felt she was on a dream descent into depths that corresponded in some way that she didn’t understand to the depths of her own being.
Abruptly she came back to attention. Her searchlight picked out incomprehensible shapes as she moved ahead. There seemed to be huge things with tall stooped shoulders and folded wings towering above them. There were oval things scattered here and there, like ostrich eggs, only with a strange cross-hatched texture of fine lines. There were plants with wide, white faces, and they turned toward the searchlight beam as if it reminded them of something they had once known a very long time ago.
Stan said, “This is some weird place, huh, Gill?”
Gill shrugged. “I suppose this hive has been in existence for a long time. Centuries, maybe. It stands to reason that a lot of different life-forms would have tried to establish themselves here. It’s one of the few places on this planet that’s out of the wind.”
“I wish I could get a videotape of this,” Stan said.
“You planning to do a TV special?” Julie asked.
“It would be a first. What’s that up ahead?”
By the light of Stan’s searchlight, he saw that the floor of the cave abruptly declined and became a large hole. Stan approached it cautiously and played his light along it. The sides sloped down sharply for about five feet, revealing that the interior of the hole was filled with a mixture of substances. Stan’s flashlight picked out bones and body parts, vegetables in advanced stages of rot or desiccation, bits of wood and rock, and other kinds of debris he couldn’t make out.
“What is it, Stan?” Julie asked.
“It appears to be a midden. A garbage dump.”
“Ugh!” Julie said.
“No, it’s really very interesting,” Stan said. “A midden can tell you all about the life of the hive. Look at all that stuff! Isn’t that a cow carcass down there? And what’s that over there… ?”
He focused the searchlight beam and looked again.
“It looks like a dog collar,” he said at last.
The three of them were silent for a moment. The memory of Mac the dog hung in the air like something evil, something they would have preferred to forget.
“I suppose this is where they threw Mac when the queen was through with him,” Stan said. “That’s certainly his collar with the suppressor attached. We can use that for ourselves.”
He leaned over the pit to pick up the collar. Suddenly the ground crumbled beneath him. Stan scrambled for footing, fell backward, his arms windmilling wildly. Julie lunged for him and almost managed to grab his ankle, but lost her grip as Stan pitched over the edge with a bloodcurdling yell.
For Stan, that moment of falling into the aliens’ garbage pit was so intensely terrifying as to be almost pleasurable. In the split second a million things flashed in front of his eyes like high-speed movie images. Some residue of the royal jelly in his veins kicked in, and he had a moment of pure illusion.
He dreamed in that instant that he was on a mountaintop, and on all sides of him were birds and beasts, waiting to hear what he had to tell them. Mac was there in his dream, sitting up on his hind paws begging, his tongue lolling out Stan himself seemed to be wearing a robe made out of a luminous golden material, and he was not entirely surprised to find a golden halo circling his brow, casting a mellow light of its own. He was about to address all of the birds and beasts, tell them it was all right, when he struck the bottom of the pit with a resounding jar.
“Stan!” Julie cried. “Can you hear me?”
Gill came up beside her. “Is he alive?”
“I don’t know yet Stan!”
Stan stirred, then fell back.
“Stan! Call out if you can hear me,” Julie cried.
Stan didn’t answer, but something else did. Something that spoke in a sibilant hiss, with many overtones. It was not a single voice. It was many voices. The hissing voices were like the tumultuous waves of an acid sea. Julie tried to direct her light Gill was beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Suddenly his grip tightened.
“What is it?” she said, and then she saw it, too.
There were passageways into the lower part of the midden. From them, heads peered; the characteristic heads of aliens. This was apparently a shortcut into a lower level of the hive. The aliens must have heard the noise Stan made while he was falling.
The aliens had come out to investigate. It was like before when they had met the alien coming into the hive. Only this time something had changed. It took Julie a moment to figure out what it was. Then she shuddered in horror.
“Gill, my God!” she said. “The suppressor must have quit. They can see him!”
61
When Stan recovered consciousness, he had one delicious moment of thinking he was ten years old and had just awakened from a particularly terrifying dream. How grateful he was to find himself in his own bed! There, just across from him, was his computer, a good one, which his parents had bought for his last birthday. His floppy-eared toy puppy was there, though of course he was too old to play with it. Still, Mr. Muggs watched while Stan did his experiments.
Now Stan stretched luxuriously and tried to think how he’d spend his day. There were some spiderwebs down near the brook that he wanted to investigate…
His outstretched fingers touched something wet and sticky. He recoiled, turned his head, looked. It was Mac, dead. He had pushed his fingers into the sticky wound in Mac’s throat. What he had thought was his computer was actually the skeleton of a cow. And there were aliens glaring at him, seeing him, and starting toward him…
“Gill!” Julie screamed. “Start shooting! But for God’s sake don’t hit Stan!”
Julie was firing as she spoke. She had unslung the plasma rifle she had been carrying by its strap over her shoulder. Red-orange flame lanced out from its muzzle, painting the garbage pit in lurid colors and huge dancing shadows.
The concentrated fury of the plasma blast danced around the aliens, who had begun advancing on Stan from a passageway that led into the midden. Red, acetylenelike cutting flames poked and probed at them, lancing through their bodies, stabbing into arms and legs. Gill was firing simultaneously, caseless carbine rounds that blew the aliens off their feet, sending them halfway up the pit, to tumble back again in a welter of severed arms and heads.
The plasma fire and the caseless rounds wove a dance of death around Stan’s recumbent body. The fire approached him and then, almost delicately, backed away again.
Julie ran around the circumference of the pit, firing to keep the aliens from coming up on Stan from behind. Gill held his position, blasting a way clear for Stan, who finally stumbled to his feet and made his way to the side of the pit. He tried feebly to climb back out.
“Can you hold them, Gill?” Julie asked.
“I think so,” Gill muttered.
Julie slung her plasma rifle and reached out for Stan’s hand. Their fingers touched and clasped. No sooner did Julie have a good grip than she heaved, putting into it every ounce of strength in her slender body. Stan seemed to fly into the air, landing on the edge of the pit.
While he tried to catch his breath, Gill finished off the last of the aliens, scattering arms and legs everywhere. Then he turned to help Stan. Stan tried to get to his feet, then slumped again to the ground. Before anyone could grab him, he slid again into the pit.
“Oh, no!” Julie said. “Hold my ankle, Gill, I’ll get him.”
They tried, but couldn’t reach. Stan appeared to be on the edge of unconsciousness. His eyelids fluttered briefly behind his thick glasses, which miraculously had not been knocked off. His fingers clawed at the debris-strewn surface. From behind him, there was another hissing sound. An alien suddenly appeared, two others behind it.
“Kill it!” Julie cried.
“I can’t!” Gill said. “Stan’s in the way!”
“He’s in my way, too!” Julie began to run around the side of the pit, trying to get a clear shot.
The leading alien looked somehow different to her from the others. But at first she couldn’t determine how. Then Gill threw a phosphorus flare and she saw that the alien had half his shoulder chewed off. There was also damage to his midsection and head.
But what she wasn’t prepared for was the look of those wounds. Instead of flesh and blood, there appeared to be cable and metal fittings in the wound, and small humming servos.
For a moment she couldn’t process this information. Then she understood.
“Norbert!”
Now Stan stretched luxuriously and tried to think how he’d spend his day. There were some spiderwebs down near the brook that he wanted to investigate…
His outstretched fingers touched something wet and sticky. He recoiled, turned his head, looked. It was Mac, dead. He had pushed his fingers into the sticky wound in Mac’s throat. What he had thought was his computer was actually the skeleton of a cow. And there were aliens glaring at him, seeing him, and starting toward him…
“Gill!” Julie screamed. “Start shooting! But for God’s sake don’t hit Stan!”
Julie was firing as she spoke. She had unslung the plasma rifle she had been carrying by its strap over her shoulder. Red-orange flame lanced out from its muzzle, painting the garbage pit in lurid colors and huge dancing shadows.
The concentrated fury of the plasma blast danced around the aliens, who had begun advancing on Stan from a passageway that led into the midden. Red, acetylenelike cutting flames poked and probed at them, lancing through their bodies, stabbing into arms and legs. Gill was firing simultaneously, caseless carbine rounds that blew the aliens off their feet, sending them halfway up the pit, to tumble back again in a welter of severed arms and heads.
The plasma fire and the caseless rounds wove a dance of death around Stan’s recumbent body. The fire approached him and then, almost delicately, backed away again.
Julie ran around the circumference of the pit, firing to keep the aliens from coming up on Stan from behind. Gill held his position, blasting a way clear for Stan, who finally stumbled to his feet and made his way to the side of the pit. He tried feebly to climb back out.
“Can you hold them, Gill?” Julie asked.
“I think so,” Gill muttered.
Julie slung her plasma rifle and reached out for Stan’s hand. Their fingers touched and clasped. No sooner did Julie have a good grip than she heaved, putting into it every ounce of strength in her slender body. Stan seemed to fly into the air, landing on the edge of the pit.
While he tried to catch his breath, Gill finished off the last of the aliens, scattering arms and legs everywhere. Then he turned to help Stan. Stan tried to get to his feet, then slumped again to the ground. Before anyone could grab him, he slid again into the pit.
“Oh, no!” Julie said. “Hold my ankle, Gill, I’ll get him.”
They tried, but couldn’t reach. Stan appeared to be on the edge of unconsciousness. His eyelids fluttered briefly behind his thick glasses, which miraculously had not been knocked off. His fingers clawed at the debris-strewn surface. From behind him, there was another hissing sound. An alien suddenly appeared, two others behind it.
“Kill it!” Julie cried.
“I can’t!” Gill said. “Stan’s in the way!”
“He’s in my way, too!” Julie began to run around the side of the pit, trying to get a clear shot.
The leading alien looked somehow different to her from the others. But at first she couldn’t determine how. Then Gill threw a phosphorus flare and she saw that the alien had half his shoulder chewed off. There was also damage to his midsection and head.
But what she wasn’t prepared for was the look of those wounds. Instead of flesh and blood, there appeared to be cable and metal fittings in the wound, and small humming servos.
For a moment she couldn’t process this information. Then she understood.
“Norbert!”
62
Since they pulled him out of the midden, Stan had drifted into a different place. He seemed to be in a spaceless space and a timeless time. It was a world filled with little blue-and-pink clouds. There were stars in the background, and pools of water. He was not surprised to see Norbert standing in front of him. Nothing could be strange to Stan any longer. He had passed beyond weirdness, into a place where all effects were the same, all part of the great symphony of death, whose opening notes he could hear as though coming to him from a great distance, but getting louder, louder.
This couldn’t have been an illusion because it answered him.
Norbert said, “Yes, I am here, Dr. Myakovsky. I am functioning at only twenty-seven percent of capacity.”
Stan blinked and his vision cleared. He was in the alien garbage midden, lying on his back on mounds of refuge. In front of him, bending over, was Norbert.
“It must have been quite a fight,” Stan said, surveying the robot.
“I would say so, Doctor. I killed three of them in a running battle through the hive. Unfortunately, they did damage to me that I fear will prove terminal.’’
“Are you afraid?” Stan asked.
“Not in the personal sense, Doctor. By fear, I meant regret that I will no longer be able to serve you as you designed me.”
“Can’t you turn on your self-repair circuits?” Stan asked.
“I tried that, Doctor. They are down. And you did not equip me with self-repair units for the self-repair units.”
“In the future we’ll have infinite backups for all systems,” Stan said. “Including human ones, I hope. Including mine.”
“Are you all right, Doctor?”
“I’ve definitely had better days,” Stan said. “My self-repair circuits aren’t working right, either.” He felt something in his hand and held it up. “Look here! Mac’s collar! I’ve got it!”
“That’s fine, Doctor,” Norbert said. “I have something, too.”
“What is it?” Stan asked.
“This.” Norbert reached into the gaping wound in his shoulder and drew out a gooey mass the color of honey.
“What is it?” Stan asked.
“Royal jelly from the queen’s birthing chamber,” Norbert said. “I was unable to provide a proper container. I’m afraid it’s gotten some oil on it, and some blood.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Stan said. He reached out and took the mass. It had a waxy consistency. He put it in his mouth, made himself chew and swallow it. He experienced no immediate effect.
“Great work!” Stan said.
Behind him he heard big objects move and slide around as something came from the interior of the hive.
“Better get going, Doctor,” Norbert said. “They’re coming. I’ll cover your retreat as well as I can.”
“I don’t see how,” Stan grumbled.
“I improvised a weapon. I hope it will suffice.”
Stan pulled himself onto his hands and knees and worked his way toward the edge of the pit. Behind him he could hear sizzling energy beams as Norbert and the others fought off the aliens. Norbert was buying him time.
Stan tried to pull himself up the side of the pit, but the crumbling structure gave way under him and he fell to the bottom again. Pain washed over him in great uncontrollable waves, and in each one he thought he might drown, only to come back again and again, each time more feebly, to the surface of consciousness.
He felt Julie’s hand in his, and then Gill’s hand. He was lifted into the air. Below him he heard Norbert’s battle still raging, and the shrill screaming sounds that the aliens made as they died in the violet-edged bolts that Norbert’s impromptu weapon cast. But the aliens kept on coming, and as Julie and Gill pulled Stan out of the pit and beat a hasty retreat down a tunnel, they heard the sounds of Norbert being pulled down and torn apart.
This couldn’t have been an illusion because it answered him.
Norbert said, “Yes, I am here, Dr. Myakovsky. I am functioning at only twenty-seven percent of capacity.”
Stan blinked and his vision cleared. He was in the alien garbage midden, lying on his back on mounds of refuge. In front of him, bending over, was Norbert.
“It must have been quite a fight,” Stan said, surveying the robot.
“I would say so, Doctor. I killed three of them in a running battle through the hive. Unfortunately, they did damage to me that I fear will prove terminal.’’
“Are you afraid?” Stan asked.
“Not in the personal sense, Doctor. By fear, I meant regret that I will no longer be able to serve you as you designed me.”
“Can’t you turn on your self-repair circuits?” Stan asked.
“I tried that, Doctor. They are down. And you did not equip me with self-repair units for the self-repair units.”
“In the future we’ll have infinite backups for all systems,” Stan said. “Including human ones, I hope. Including mine.”
“Are you all right, Doctor?”
“I’ve definitely had better days,” Stan said. “My self-repair circuits aren’t working right, either.” He felt something in his hand and held it up. “Look here! Mac’s collar! I’ve got it!”
“That’s fine, Doctor,” Norbert said. “I have something, too.”
“What is it?” Stan asked.
“This.” Norbert reached into the gaping wound in his shoulder and drew out a gooey mass the color of honey.
“What is it?” Stan asked.
“Royal jelly from the queen’s birthing chamber,” Norbert said. “I was unable to provide a proper container. I’m afraid it’s gotten some oil on it, and some blood.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Stan said. He reached out and took the mass. It had a waxy consistency. He put it in his mouth, made himself chew and swallow it. He experienced no immediate effect.
“Great work!” Stan said.
Behind him he heard big objects move and slide around as something came from the interior of the hive.
“Better get going, Doctor,” Norbert said. “They’re coming. I’ll cover your retreat as well as I can.”
“I don’t see how,” Stan grumbled.
“I improvised a weapon. I hope it will suffice.”
Stan pulled himself onto his hands and knees and worked his way toward the edge of the pit. Behind him he could hear sizzling energy beams as Norbert and the others fought off the aliens. Norbert was buying him time.
Stan tried to pull himself up the side of the pit, but the crumbling structure gave way under him and he fell to the bottom again. Pain washed over him in great uncontrollable waves, and in each one he thought he might drown, only to come back again and again, each time more feebly, to the surface of consciousness.
He felt Julie’s hand in his, and then Gill’s hand. He was lifted into the air. Below him he heard Norbert’s battle still raging, and the shrill screaming sounds that the aliens made as they died in the violet-edged bolts that Norbert’s impromptu weapon cast. But the aliens kept on coming, and as Julie and Gill pulled Stan out of the pit and beat a hasty retreat down a tunnel, they heard the sounds of Norbert being pulled down and torn apart.
63
Glint asked, “Is this the place?”
Badger checked the crude map he had drawn following Potter’s instructions. Yes, there were the two fan-shaped rocks, and over there was the fissure cut like a curly S.
“We’re at the spot all right.”
“Okay,” Glint said. “But where is he? Where’s the rescue pod?”
They were standing on a wide flat rock shelf. It stood practically under the shadow of the hive. The wind had died down for a moment They could look out over the nearly featureless landscape. Toward the west there was a line of lime-green haze, possibly sent up by some natural circumstance. So much about a place like AR-32 was simply incomprehensible.
Yet, even on Earth, despite his thousands of years of occupation, despite his long acquaintance with bird, fish, and fowl, things could still surprise man as well. Strange animals turned up every year. Mysteries abounded. Even the status of ghosts was still uncertain. No one had ascertained for sure whether or not the Yeti or the Jersey Devil really existed. Were there such things as werewolves and vampires?
But on AR-32, the anomalous and the unexpected happened all the time.
You tended to think of such things on a planet like AR-32. Mankind had known of the place for less than ten years. No genuinely scientific expedition had ever visited it. Only commercial vessels called, and for the sole purpose of stealing (though they called it collecting) the aliens’ jelly. The men who went on such expeditions were as hard-bitten a lot as conquistadores of old Spain. Like them, they cared little for what lay below them or what it might mean in the scheme of things.
It was not unusual that Badger and his men, who were as much of the conquistador type as the crewmen on the Lancet, were surprised but not absolutely astonished when a creature raised its head from behind a rock and looked at them. “What in hell is that?” Meg asked. Badger and the others turned. The creature was sitting there looking at them. It had a large head somewhat the size and shape of a hogshead. Eight little skinny legs came down from its sides, terminating in blunt claws. Something about the creature was reminiscent of a pig, right down to the way it snuffled and oinked at the crewmen. It had a small curly tail. It was colored pink, and it had a black saddle marking in the middle of its back.
Badger checked the crude map he had drawn following Potter’s instructions. Yes, there were the two fan-shaped rocks, and over there was the fissure cut like a curly S.
“We’re at the spot all right.”
“Okay,” Glint said. “But where is he? Where’s the rescue pod?”
They were standing on a wide flat rock shelf. It stood practically under the shadow of the hive. The wind had died down for a moment They could look out over the nearly featureless landscape. Toward the west there was a line of lime-green haze, possibly sent up by some natural circumstance. So much about a place like AR-32 was simply incomprehensible.
Yet, even on Earth, despite his thousands of years of occupation, despite his long acquaintance with bird, fish, and fowl, things could still surprise man as well. Strange animals turned up every year. Mysteries abounded. Even the status of ghosts was still uncertain. No one had ascertained for sure whether or not the Yeti or the Jersey Devil really existed. Were there such things as werewolves and vampires?
But on AR-32, the anomalous and the unexpected happened all the time.
You tended to think of such things on a planet like AR-32. Mankind had known of the place for less than ten years. No genuinely scientific expedition had ever visited it. Only commercial vessels called, and for the sole purpose of stealing (though they called it collecting) the aliens’ jelly. The men who went on such expeditions were as hard-bitten a lot as conquistadores of old Spain. Like them, they cared little for what lay below them or what it might mean in the scheme of things.
It was not unusual that Badger and his men, who were as much of the conquistador type as the crewmen on the Lancet, were surprised but not absolutely astonished when a creature raised its head from behind a rock and looked at them. “What in hell is that?” Meg asked. Badger and the others turned. The creature was sitting there looking at them. It had a large head somewhat the size and shape of a hogshead. Eight little skinny legs came down from its sides, terminating in blunt claws. Something about the creature was reminiscent of a pig, right down to the way it snuffled and oinked at the crewmen. It had a small curly tail. It was colored pink, and it had a black saddle marking in the middle of its back.