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They had been excited when they volunteered. It was a chance for some action, after the confines of the ship. They’d heard stories about the aliens, of course, but none of them had seen one. They hadn’t even been born at the time of the alien occupation of Earth. Aliens now seemed an exotic menace, a weird kind of big bug that would fall easily to their guns. Morrison was fiddling with his carbine. He decided to insert a new feed ramp. He stripped the receiver and replaced the ramp, then snapped the connector into place. The ramp toggled through a diagnostic code and then clicked into place. He shoved a magazine into the carbine, touched the bolt control, and cycled a round into the firing chamber. The magazine’s counter showed an even one hundred antipersonnel rounds ready to go.
“Hey, farm boy,” Skysky said, “you planning to shoot something?”
“If I get the chance,” Morrison said, “I’m going to bag me one of them aliens and bring home his horns.”
Eka Nu looked up from his rosary. “Aliens no got horns.”
“Well, whatever they got, I want to bring a piece of it home. A piece of skull maybe. Wouldn’t that look good mounted over the mantel?”
Styson said, “You better just hope one of them critters doesn’t nail your hide up over the mantel.”
“What’re you talking about?” Morrison asked. “Them creatures ain’t civilized. They ain’t got mantels.”
Just then Stan’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “You men! Get ready to embark into a pod. Check your weapons.”
“Okay,” Morrison said, getting to his feet. “Time we had ourselves a little hunting.”
The men were all on their feet, checking their weapons and talking excitedly. They were clumsy, some of them seeing modem weaponry for the first time. Morrison—who was their natural leader due to his size and self-confidence, though he was of the same rank as the rest of them—had to show Styson how to release the safeties. He was beginning to won-der if the guys would be all right, but he figured as long as they knew which end to point and what to pull, they’d be fine. What creature could stand up against military caseless ammunition?
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“Hey, farm boy,” Skysky said, “you planning to shoot something?”
“If I get the chance,” Morrison said, “I’m going to bag me one of them aliens and bring home his horns.”
Eka Nu looked up from his rosary. “Aliens no got horns.”
“Well, whatever they got, I want to bring a piece of it home. A piece of skull maybe. Wouldn’t that look good mounted over the mantel?”
Styson said, “You better just hope one of them critters doesn’t nail your hide up over the mantel.”
“What’re you talking about?” Morrison asked. “Them creatures ain’t civilized. They ain’t got mantels.”
Just then Stan’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “You men! Get ready to embark into a pod. Check your weapons.”
“Okay,” Morrison said, getting to his feet. “Time we had ourselves a little hunting.”
The men were all on their feet, checking their weapons and talking excitedly. They were clumsy, some of them seeing modem weaponry for the first time. Morrison—who was their natural leader due to his size and self-confidence, though he was of the same rank as the rest of them—had to show Styson how to release the safeties. He was beginning to won-der if the guys would be all right, but he figured as long as they knew which end to point and what to pull, they’d be fine. What creature could stand up against military caseless ammunition?
39
The number-one lander had three escape pods. These were used for close-up maneuvering, in order not to jeopardize the lander itself by piloting it around poorly mapped ground features. This standard-model pod was shaped like an enormous truck tire. Its circular form allowed for the miles of complex wiring that took up most of its interior and allowed it to ride the planet’s electromagnetic currents with some success.
Norbert fitted himself in, and Mac nestled up to his chest.
“Comfortable?” Stan asked, peering in.
“The question has no relevance for me,” Norbert replied. “When your body is electronically operated, one posture is as good as another. But Mac is fine, Dr. Myakovsky.”
“Glad to hear it,” Stan said. “Good luck, Norbert. I’ll be sending down the five crew volunteers in a separate pod. This moment brings us to the whole point of this operation—getting you and Mac and the men to the surface of AK-32 near the alien hive. Have you got all the stuff you’ll need? Did you remember to check the charge in the inhibitors?”
“Of course, Dr. Myakovsky. They should give me enough time to do what I have to do.”
“Okay,” Stan said. “Good-bye, Mac. You’re a nice little dog. I hope I see you again one of these days.”
“Not likely, Doctor,” said Norbert.
Suddenly Stan was furious.
“Just get the hell out of here!” he said, slamming the pod’s hatch shut. “I don’t need your comments. Did you hear that, Julie?”
“Take it easy, Stan,” Julie said. “Norbert didn’t mean anything. He only states facts. Anyway, what’s the big deal?”
Norbert’s voice came over the radio. “I am ready for the descent, Dr. ‘Myakovsky.”
Stan turned to Gill. “Cut the pod loose. And then get the volunteers into their own pod.”
Gill, seated at the control panel, turned a switch. The pod came loose from the landing platform with a soft explosive sigh of power. It ejected straight into the air, dipped for a moment then its electromagnetic receptors came up to full and the pod darted across the stormy landscape of AR-32 toward the distant hive.
Norbert fitted himself in, and Mac nestled up to his chest.
“Comfortable?” Stan asked, peering in.
“The question has no relevance for me,” Norbert replied. “When your body is electronically operated, one posture is as good as another. But Mac is fine, Dr. Myakovsky.”
“Glad to hear it,” Stan said. “Good luck, Norbert. I’ll be sending down the five crew volunteers in a separate pod. This moment brings us to the whole point of this operation—getting you and Mac and the men to the surface of AK-32 near the alien hive. Have you got all the stuff you’ll need? Did you remember to check the charge in the inhibitors?”
“Of course, Dr. Myakovsky. They should give me enough time to do what I have to do.”
“Okay,” Stan said. “Good-bye, Mac. You’re a nice little dog. I hope I see you again one of these days.”
“Not likely, Doctor,” said Norbert.
Suddenly Stan was furious.
“Just get the hell out of here!” he said, slamming the pod’s hatch shut. “I don’t need your comments. Did you hear that, Julie?”
“Take it easy, Stan,” Julie said. “Norbert didn’t mean anything. He only states facts. Anyway, what’s the big deal?”
Norbert’s voice came over the radio. “I am ready for the descent, Dr. ‘Myakovsky.”
Stan turned to Gill. “Cut the pod loose. And then get the volunteers into their own pod.”
Gill, seated at the control panel, turned a switch. The pod came loose from the landing platform with a soft explosive sigh of power. It ejected straight into the air, dipped for a moment then its electromagnetic receptors came up to full and the pod darted across the stormy landscape of AR-32 toward the distant hive.
40
Badger and Glint left the workshop and entered crew country from the corridor into the crew’s commissary. A wave of sound and smell hit them. The sound was of fifteen men and women, mostly young, celebrating their arrival at AR-32 with song and booze, hamburgers and pizza (these latter accounting for the smell), and a level of noise that had to be heard to be believed.
Celebrating landfall was an old custom among ship’s crews. Columbus’s men had celebrated in the same way, their arrival in the New World offering them a good excuse for a spree. That’s what the arrival at AR-32 meant to the crew of the Dolomite, too: a chance to cut loose and tie one on in the secure surroundings of the commissariat, where officers were not permitted and where scanning procedures were prohibited by the strong Spacemen’s Union.
Here the men could say what they wanted, and there were no ship’s officers nearby or at the end of an electronic listening device ready to take their names and report them for summary discipline. The union wouldn’t allow it, and Red Badger had counted on that when he made his entry.
Long Meg, a wiper third class from Sacramento back on Earth, slapped Badger on the back and pushed a bulb of beer into his face. “Where you been, Red? Not like you to miss a spree!”
“I been out to the wreck,” Red said.
“What wreck? They didn’t tell us about no wreck.”
“No, they didn’t,” Red said. “That’s very like them, isn’t it?”
Meg pushed her face close to Badger’s. “None of your bullshit. What wreck are you talking about?”
Badger grinned at her easily. “That’s what the captain sent me and Glint here to investigate. It showed up on the radar and he sent me to get the flight recorder.”
“Oh. Is that all?” Meg asked. “I guess the captain will tell us what was on it all in good time.”
“I don’t think so,” Badger said. “If we knew what was on that recorder, it might change our minds about a few things.”
“Come out with it, Red! What are you talking about?”
“Suppose that flight recorder showed a freighter just like ours, poking around here just like we are, then being blasted to hell by someone who didn’t want them here? What about that, huh?”
“That would be serious,” Meg admitted, and several other crewmen nodded agreement. “Are you saying that’s what it said?”
“I’m not saying nothing,” Badger said. “You can decide for yourselves.”
“You took the flight indicator?”
“I listened to it in the workshop. And now I’m going to play it for you. Once you’ve heard it, you can come to your own conclusions.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Red,” Meg said. “I’m sure the captain is expecting you to give that to him immediately.”
“Don’t worry,” Badger said. “The message on it is pretty short.”
Celebrating landfall was an old custom among ship’s crews. Columbus’s men had celebrated in the same way, their arrival in the New World offering them a good excuse for a spree. That’s what the arrival at AR-32 meant to the crew of the Dolomite, too: a chance to cut loose and tie one on in the secure surroundings of the commissariat, where officers were not permitted and where scanning procedures were prohibited by the strong Spacemen’s Union.
Here the men could say what they wanted, and there were no ship’s officers nearby or at the end of an electronic listening device ready to take their names and report them for summary discipline. The union wouldn’t allow it, and Red Badger had counted on that when he made his entry.
Long Meg, a wiper third class from Sacramento back on Earth, slapped Badger on the back and pushed a bulb of beer into his face. “Where you been, Red? Not like you to miss a spree!”
“I been out to the wreck,” Red said.
“What wreck? They didn’t tell us about no wreck.”
“No, they didn’t,” Red said. “That’s very like them, isn’t it?”
Meg pushed her face close to Badger’s. “None of your bullshit. What wreck are you talking about?”
Badger grinned at her easily. “That’s what the captain sent me and Glint here to investigate. It showed up on the radar and he sent me to get the flight recorder.”
“Oh. Is that all?” Meg asked. “I guess the captain will tell us what was on it all in good time.”
“I don’t think so,” Badger said. “If we knew what was on that recorder, it might change our minds about a few things.”
“Come out with it, Red! What are you talking about?”
“Suppose that flight recorder showed a freighter just like ours, poking around here just like we are, then being blasted to hell by someone who didn’t want them here? What about that, huh?”
“That would be serious,” Meg admitted, and several other crewmen nodded agreement. “Are you saying that’s what it said?”
“I’m not saying nothing,” Badger said. “You can decide for yourselves.”
“You took the flight indicator?”
“I listened to it in the workshop. And now I’m going to play it for you. Once you’ve heard it, you can come to your own conclusions.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Red,” Meg said. “I’m sure the captain is expecting you to give that to him immediately.”
“Don’t worry,” Badger said. “The message on it is pretty short.”
41
The pod, with Norbert and Mac aboard, was dancing around like a leaf in a storm. Norbert had lost contact with the other pod containing the five volunteers. Wind force threw his pod up into the air, and crosscurrents spun it like a top. Mac howled, and Norbert just clung tight.
“Hang on, boy!” Norbert called. Mac, cradled in his arms, was whimpering, his eyes rolling, in a paroxysm of fear.
Norbert had brought along some extra equipment in case of distress to the dog. The trouble was getting to it. Norbert was practically compressed into the space of the pod, and his size made him take up more room than an Earthman. The little ship was swinging around violently, but Norbert did not suffer from vertigo. He managed to reverse one of his wrist joints and grabbed a large piece of felt he had brought along. He managed to wrap this around Mac, cushioning him. The dog gave a little yelp as the cloth came around him, but he seemed to appreciate it. His spastic movement became calmer, and he began to adjust to the violent movements.
The pod, descending on automatic, danced and veered in the wind. Norbert was tempted to manually override the pod’s controls and see if he could ease out the movements. But he decided against it. The pod’s autopilot had been designed with a program that softened out its jerks and slides. He couldn’t hope to do better. He concentrated instead upon providing a firm platform for Mac and keeping the felt wrapped around the shivering beast without smothering him. Norbert himself didn’t breathe, and he had to remind himself that all other creatures did.
The ground was coming up fast now to meet them. Wind shear, this close to the ground, added another factor to the dangerous uncertainties of the descent. (The pod’s own pulsar beams had to slow them and absorb the shock as the ground rushed up to meet them.) Then they were bouncing across it, and finally, spinning, they came to a halt.
Then Dr. Myakovsky’s voice: “Norbert, are you all right?”
“Perfectly all right, Doctor. And so is Mac.”
“Was the landing very difficult?”
Norbert had something new in his vocabulary, learned from Julie, and he hastened to use it now. “A piece of cake, Doctor. A walk in the park.”
“Hurry up and get the job done,” Stan said. “We want to get rich and get out of here.”
“Hang on, boy!” Norbert called. Mac, cradled in his arms, was whimpering, his eyes rolling, in a paroxysm of fear.
Norbert had brought along some extra equipment in case of distress to the dog. The trouble was getting to it. Norbert was practically compressed into the space of the pod, and his size made him take up more room than an Earthman. The little ship was swinging around violently, but Norbert did not suffer from vertigo. He managed to reverse one of his wrist joints and grabbed a large piece of felt he had brought along. He managed to wrap this around Mac, cushioning him. The dog gave a little yelp as the cloth came around him, but he seemed to appreciate it. His spastic movement became calmer, and he began to adjust to the violent movements.
The pod, descending on automatic, danced and veered in the wind. Norbert was tempted to manually override the pod’s controls and see if he could ease out the movements. But he decided against it. The pod’s autopilot had been designed with a program that softened out its jerks and slides. He couldn’t hope to do better. He concentrated instead upon providing a firm platform for Mac and keeping the felt wrapped around the shivering beast without smothering him. Norbert himself didn’t breathe, and he had to remind himself that all other creatures did.
The ground was coming up fast now to meet them. Wind shear, this close to the ground, added another factor to the dangerous uncertainties of the descent. (The pod’s own pulsar beams had to slow them and absorb the shock as the ground rushed up to meet them.) Then they were bouncing across it, and finally, spinning, they came to a halt.
Then Dr. Myakovsky’s voice: “Norbert, are you all right?”
“Perfectly all right, Doctor. And so is Mac.”
“Was the landing very difficult?”
Norbert had something new in his vocabulary, learned from Julie, and he hastened to use it now. “A piece of cake, Doctor. A walk in the park.”
“Hurry up and get the job done,” Stan said. “We want to get rich and get out of here.”
42
After Badger played the recorder for the crew, there was an utter silence for a brief moment. Spaceship crews, with their volatile mix of people from all walks of life, tend to have low boiling points. The crew of the Dolomite was no exception, particularly since it included a high percentage of criminals.
“What the hell does it mean?” Meg asked.
“It means that a ship like ours was fired upon and destroyed. If they did it to them, then why not to us?”
“Wait a minute!” one of the crew said. “They aren’t allowed to do that!”
“What does it matter what they’re allowed?” Badger said. “People with power do what they please.”
The crew began quarreling among themselves. Badger waited for them to sort it out. He was pretty sure what conclusion they’d come to. And if, by a remote chance, they didn’t, he’d steer them toward it.
He knew that cons were always open to the charge that they were being exploited, a supposition that had proven true too many times in the past. The crew had listened to the flight recorder from the Valparaiso Queen and, aided by Badger’s comments, came to their own conclusions.
It was obvious that there was danger out there. Danger that Captain Hoban would soon know about. Danger that impinged directly on the lives of the crew. So what would Hoban do about it?
After a while the first babble of talk died down, and Walter Glint said to Badger, “Captain Hoban will see this soon. What do you think he’s going to do about it?”
“I’ll tell you what he’ll do,” Badger said. “Nothing, that’s what hell do! Hoban is paid by the crazy doctor. The one who’s always zonked out on fire. The one who’s got the robot alien that killed two of our shipmates. Hoban will do what the crazy doctor tells him to do, because he’s gettin’ paid plenty to take the risks. But what risks are you being paid to take? Tell me that, huh?”
It was easy to get a spaceship crew angry, less so to drive them to action. Excited and desperate though they were, it still required work to goad them into taking the law into their own hands. But they were halfway there, Red thought.
Badger was starting a rebellion, but he didn’t know quite what he would do next. The quirks of his own mind had perplexed him since childhood. Although he was starting this revolt, paradoxically he felt a strong sympathy for Captain Hoban. At one time he had thought he was going to help him. After all, Hoban had gotten him out of prison. But that was before he saw the tapes, before he realized the extent of the danger they were running, before he decided to do what he could to prevent it.
It’s necessary to get them moving, Badger thought Before there are more deaths.
“What the hell does it mean?” Meg asked.
“It means that a ship like ours was fired upon and destroyed. If they did it to them, then why not to us?”
“Wait a minute!” one of the crew said. “They aren’t allowed to do that!”
“What does it matter what they’re allowed?” Badger said. “People with power do what they please.”
The crew began quarreling among themselves. Badger waited for them to sort it out. He was pretty sure what conclusion they’d come to. And if, by a remote chance, they didn’t, he’d steer them toward it.
He knew that cons were always open to the charge that they were being exploited, a supposition that had proven true too many times in the past. The crew had listened to the flight recorder from the Valparaiso Queen and, aided by Badger’s comments, came to their own conclusions.
It was obvious that there was danger out there. Danger that Captain Hoban would soon know about. Danger that impinged directly on the lives of the crew. So what would Hoban do about it?
After a while the first babble of talk died down, and Walter Glint said to Badger, “Captain Hoban will see this soon. What do you think he’s going to do about it?”
“I’ll tell you what he’ll do,” Badger said. “Nothing, that’s what hell do! Hoban is paid by the crazy doctor. The one who’s always zonked out on fire. The one who’s got the robot alien that killed two of our shipmates. Hoban will do what the crazy doctor tells him to do, because he’s gettin’ paid plenty to take the risks. But what risks are you being paid to take? Tell me that, huh?”
It was easy to get a spaceship crew angry, less so to drive them to action. Excited and desperate though they were, it still required work to goad them into taking the law into their own hands. But they were halfway there, Red thought.
Badger was starting a rebellion, but he didn’t know quite what he would do next. The quirks of his own mind had perplexed him since childhood. Although he was starting this revolt, paradoxically he felt a strong sympathy for Captain Hoban. At one time he had thought he was going to help him. After all, Hoban had gotten him out of prison. But that was before he saw the tapes, before he realized the extent of the danger they were running, before he decided to do what he could to prevent it.
It’s necessary to get them moving, Badger thought Before there are more deaths.
43
“Dr. Myakovsky? This is Captain Hoban. Do you read me?”
“The atmospherics are difficult, Captain, but I am able to understand you. Please note that just a few minutes ago we launched the pods containing Norbert and Mac and the volunteers. We have them now in distant visual range.”
“Excellent, Doctor. I’m glad that part of the operation is going according to plan.”
With his sharpened senses, Stan caught the note of uncertainty in his captain’s voice. “Is something the matter, Captain?”
“I’m afraid it is, sir. It concerns the flight recorder that we salvaged from the wreck I reported to you about. Before saying any more, let me play it for you, sir.”
“Okay, go ahead,” Stan said.
“The atmospherics are difficult, Captain, but I am able to understand you. Please note that just a few minutes ago we launched the pods containing Norbert and Mac and the volunteers. We have them now in distant visual range.”
“Excellent, Doctor. I’m glad that part of the operation is going according to plan.”
With his sharpened senses, Stan caught the note of uncertainty in his captain’s voice. “Is something the matter, Captain?”
“I’m afraid it is, sir. It concerns the flight recorder that we salvaged from the wreck I reported to you about. Before saying any more, let me play it for you, sir.”
“Okay, go ahead,” Stan said.
44
Stan, Julie, and Gill listened in attentive silence as the tape ran. They heard the exchange between Kuhn of the Valparaiso Queen and Potter of the Lancet. Although they knew the tape was going to reveal some kind of trouble, they were unprepared for the explosion of the Valparaiso Queen as she received the Lancet’s torpedo amidships.
“Let me just make sure I’ve got this straight,” Stan said, when the tape ended. The recorder shows that Lancet blew up Valparaiso Queen?”
“There seems no doubt about that, sir,” Hoban said.
“Well, so what?” Stan said.
“There seems good reason to believe that Lancet is still in the vicinity.”
“And you think we are in danger?”
“Given Potter’s record of violence, it is entirely possible, sir. Even likely.”
“Let me point out, Captain, that we are not a defenseless freighter. We have the normal armament against piracy. If Lancet should attempt anything against us …”
“I will point that out, sir.”
“To whom?”
“The representative from the crew. They are sending him to ask what I intend doing about this situa-tion.”
“Are you telling me that you played the tape for the crew?” Stan asked.
“No, sir. They took the liberty of listening to it before turning it over to me.”
“Well, damn their presumption.” Stan turned to Gill. “Have you ever heard anything like it?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Gill said. “The annals of space exploration are full of accounts of insubordinate crews.”
Stan said to Hoban, “You must point out to them that Lancet’s action was illegal and exceptional. Our situation is not more hazardous because an overzealous captain performed an illegal deed. Nevertheless, I think that in view of the men’s feelings we propose a special bonus to them.”
“I agree, Doctor,” Hoban said. “I was going to make the suggestion myself.”
“Do what you can with them, Captain. We’ll talk again later.” Stan signed off.
“What do you think is going to happen?” Julie asked.
Gill said, “Obviously there’s trouble. But I’m sure Captain Hoban can handle it.”
“I hope so,” Stan said. “We have a few problems of our own to take care of down here.”
He turned back to the screen. The others looked now, too. They were viewing the landscape of AR-32 through Norbert’s visual receptors. Norbert’s head was turning, checking out the landscape as he walked forward. Ahead of him, Mac suddenly started barking and ran toward a little hill. They heard Norbert say, “Come back, Mac. Wait for me!”
Then the view began to shake as Norbert broke into a run. For a moment they could see nothing but jagged brown-and-yellow lines. Norbert was watching the uneven ground, struggling to keep his balance. Then he went over a little rise. There was a sudden red-yellow explosion and his screen went into a wild array of colors and test patterns.
“Just what we needed,” Julie said. “Stan, can you clear up that view?”
“I’m working on it” Stan turned the controls. “Gill, you got any ideas?”
“Let me just try this,” Gill said. His hand probed the front controls on the computer. “I think that’s getting it, sir. The view is beginning to come back…”
The confrontation on board ship flared up suddenly. One moment Captain Hoban was talking with the crewmen and apparently getting somewhere, then the whole thing blew up.
Badger had rapped at the door to the control room. “Sir. Permission to speak to you about a grievance”
“Now is not a very convenient time, Mr. Badger.”
“No, sir. But the union laws state that grievances of a serious nature are to be settled on the spot.”
“And who determines whether they’re serious?”
“A duly authorized shop steward, sir. Me.”
“All right,” Hoban said. “Come in. Let’s get this over with quickly.”
Badger entered the control room followed by Glint and four other members of the crew. They looked ill at ease in the officers’ area, with its soft lighting and flickering wall scanners. The helmsman stood alone in a little fenced-off enclosure to one side, scanning the ship. Two engine-room officers were also present None of the officers was wearing sidearms. In the inquiry that later followed, Captain Hoban was faulted for this omission.
“What seems to be the problem?” Hoban asked.
“As you know, we took the liberty of viewing the ship’s log that I brought back from the rest. You’ve seen it, sir?”
“Of course,” Hoban said.
“What did you think, sir?”
“They caught Valparaiso Queen napping. They won’t find us so easy.”
“Yes, sir. But what has that got to do with us? We’re not soldiers, sir.”
“We are going about our peaceful and lawful business,” Hoban said, hoping it was true. “We aren’t out looking for trouble. But if it comes, they’ll find us ready. That is a perfectly normal situation in space, Mr. Badger.”
“Sure, a crew has to be ready for trouble. But it doesn’t have to go out of its way to find it.”
“We don’t have to run from it, either,” Hoban said. “But it is an unusual situation and additional compensation would not be out of order. I will make an announcement shortly, granting the crew extra hazard pay.”
“That’s not good enough,” Badger said. “We want some assurances now that this Potter isn’t going to blow us out of space.”
Hoban knew it was time to be firm. “I don’t care what you want, Mr. Badger. You’re a troublemaker. This situation will be resolved and we will let you know what our disposition of it is.”
“That is not good enough, Captain.”
“Well, it’s just going to have to be good enough! You are all dismissed.”
One of the engineers tugged at Captain Hoban’s sleeve, trying to get his attention. Hoban turned, and saw that Glint had sneaked over to the weapons locker and helped himself to some of its contents. He had pulled out a Gauss needier. This weapon, with its big side magazine of steel slivers, had not been allotted in the standard issue, where favor was given to primitive slug throwers and the newer beam weapons. Glint may just have been fascinated by the handgun’s deadly lines, and by the bulbous housing that contained the magnetic impulse equipment. “What do you think you are doing?” Hoban shouted. “Put that down!”
One of the engineers reached for the weapon. Glint fired, perhaps by reflex. Steel splinters drove through the engineer’s left shoulder. There was a moment of shocked silence. And then all hell broke loose.
The second engineer was diving for the weapons locker even as the first was going down. The first thing his hand encountered was a Wilton tangler. He swung it at Glint and pressed the release stud.
Glint managed to duck out of the way. The tangler bolt, with its rapidly expanding core of sticky plastic, soared over his head like a gray bat and wrapped itself around one of the crewmen behind him.
The man screamed and tried to tear the stuff away from himself. The tangler held him tight and began to contract.
He fell, still inextricably caught in the mess.
Suddenly it seemed that everybody in the control room had picked up a weapon. Threads of light from beam throwers glanced off metallic surfaces and glowed against the Perspex windows. Solid projectile loads ricocheted off the ship’s walls, darting around like angry hornets. Explosions rocked the control room, sending up dense, greasy clouds of acrid smoke.
The second engineering officer had the presence of mind to bar the entry port, thus stopping any reinforcements coming from crew country.
Hoban ducked down behind a spare-parts case bolted to the floor. The crewmen found shelter in various parts of the control room. The officers were dug in at various locations. Most of them had managed to pick up arms.
For a while there was a strenuous exchange of small-arms fire, its intensity in that confined space enormous. Hoban thought it was like being inside a snare drum that some madman was attempting to play.
“Let me just make sure I’ve got this straight,” Stan said, when the tape ended. The recorder shows that Lancet blew up Valparaiso Queen?”
“There seems no doubt about that, sir,” Hoban said.
“Well, so what?” Stan said.
“There seems good reason to believe that Lancet is still in the vicinity.”
“And you think we are in danger?”
“Given Potter’s record of violence, it is entirely possible, sir. Even likely.”
“Let me point out, Captain, that we are not a defenseless freighter. We have the normal armament against piracy. If Lancet should attempt anything against us …”
“I will point that out, sir.”
“To whom?”
“The representative from the crew. They are sending him to ask what I intend doing about this situa-tion.”
“Are you telling me that you played the tape for the crew?” Stan asked.
“No, sir. They took the liberty of listening to it before turning it over to me.”
“Well, damn their presumption.” Stan turned to Gill. “Have you ever heard anything like it?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Gill said. “The annals of space exploration are full of accounts of insubordinate crews.”
Stan said to Hoban, “You must point out to them that Lancet’s action was illegal and exceptional. Our situation is not more hazardous because an overzealous captain performed an illegal deed. Nevertheless, I think that in view of the men’s feelings we propose a special bonus to them.”
“I agree, Doctor,” Hoban said. “I was going to make the suggestion myself.”
“Do what you can with them, Captain. We’ll talk again later.” Stan signed off.
“What do you think is going to happen?” Julie asked.
Gill said, “Obviously there’s trouble. But I’m sure Captain Hoban can handle it.”
“I hope so,” Stan said. “We have a few problems of our own to take care of down here.”
He turned back to the screen. The others looked now, too. They were viewing the landscape of AR-32 through Norbert’s visual receptors. Norbert’s head was turning, checking out the landscape as he walked forward. Ahead of him, Mac suddenly started barking and ran toward a little hill. They heard Norbert say, “Come back, Mac. Wait for me!”
Then the view began to shake as Norbert broke into a run. For a moment they could see nothing but jagged brown-and-yellow lines. Norbert was watching the uneven ground, struggling to keep his balance. Then he went over a little rise. There was a sudden red-yellow explosion and his screen went into a wild array of colors and test patterns.
“Just what we needed,” Julie said. “Stan, can you clear up that view?”
“I’m working on it” Stan turned the controls. “Gill, you got any ideas?”
“Let me just try this,” Gill said. His hand probed the front controls on the computer. “I think that’s getting it, sir. The view is beginning to come back…”
The confrontation on board ship flared up suddenly. One moment Captain Hoban was talking with the crewmen and apparently getting somewhere, then the whole thing blew up.
Badger had rapped at the door to the control room. “Sir. Permission to speak to you about a grievance”
“Now is not a very convenient time, Mr. Badger.”
“No, sir. But the union laws state that grievances of a serious nature are to be settled on the spot.”
“And who determines whether they’re serious?”
“A duly authorized shop steward, sir. Me.”
“All right,” Hoban said. “Come in. Let’s get this over with quickly.”
Badger entered the control room followed by Glint and four other members of the crew. They looked ill at ease in the officers’ area, with its soft lighting and flickering wall scanners. The helmsman stood alone in a little fenced-off enclosure to one side, scanning the ship. Two engine-room officers were also present None of the officers was wearing sidearms. In the inquiry that later followed, Captain Hoban was faulted for this omission.
“What seems to be the problem?” Hoban asked.
“As you know, we took the liberty of viewing the ship’s log that I brought back from the rest. You’ve seen it, sir?”
“Of course,” Hoban said.
“What did you think, sir?”
“They caught Valparaiso Queen napping. They won’t find us so easy.”
“Yes, sir. But what has that got to do with us? We’re not soldiers, sir.”
“We are going about our peaceful and lawful business,” Hoban said, hoping it was true. “We aren’t out looking for trouble. But if it comes, they’ll find us ready. That is a perfectly normal situation in space, Mr. Badger.”
“Sure, a crew has to be ready for trouble. But it doesn’t have to go out of its way to find it.”
“We don’t have to run from it, either,” Hoban said. “But it is an unusual situation and additional compensation would not be out of order. I will make an announcement shortly, granting the crew extra hazard pay.”
“That’s not good enough,” Badger said. “We want some assurances now that this Potter isn’t going to blow us out of space.”
Hoban knew it was time to be firm. “I don’t care what you want, Mr. Badger. You’re a troublemaker. This situation will be resolved and we will let you know what our disposition of it is.”
“That is not good enough, Captain.”
“Well, it’s just going to have to be good enough! You are all dismissed.”
One of the engineers tugged at Captain Hoban’s sleeve, trying to get his attention. Hoban turned, and saw that Glint had sneaked over to the weapons locker and helped himself to some of its contents. He had pulled out a Gauss needier. This weapon, with its big side magazine of steel slivers, had not been allotted in the standard issue, where favor was given to primitive slug throwers and the newer beam weapons. Glint may just have been fascinated by the handgun’s deadly lines, and by the bulbous housing that contained the magnetic impulse equipment. “What do you think you are doing?” Hoban shouted. “Put that down!”
One of the engineers reached for the weapon. Glint fired, perhaps by reflex. Steel splinters drove through the engineer’s left shoulder. There was a moment of shocked silence. And then all hell broke loose.
The second engineer was diving for the weapons locker even as the first was going down. The first thing his hand encountered was a Wilton tangler. He swung it at Glint and pressed the release stud.
Glint managed to duck out of the way. The tangler bolt, with its rapidly expanding core of sticky plastic, soared over his head like a gray bat and wrapped itself around one of the crewmen behind him.
The man screamed and tried to tear the stuff away from himself. The tangler held him tight and began to contract.
He fell, still inextricably caught in the mess.
Suddenly it seemed that everybody in the control room had picked up a weapon. Threads of light from beam throwers glanced off metallic surfaces and glowed against the Perspex windows. Solid projectile loads ricocheted off the ship’s walls, darting around like angry hornets. Explosions rocked the control room, sending up dense, greasy clouds of acrid smoke.
The second engineering officer had the presence of mind to bar the entry port, thus stopping any reinforcements coming from crew country.
Hoban ducked down behind a spare-parts case bolted to the floor. The crewmen found shelter in various parts of the control room. The officers were dug in at various locations. Most of them had managed to pick up arms.
For a while there was a strenuous exchange of small-arms fire, its intensity in that confined space enormous. Hoban thought it was like being inside a snare drum that some madman was attempting to play.
45
It’s gettin’ too close for comfort!” Badger cried as his refuge in a corner of the room was zapped with blue-white flame.
“You can say that again,” Glint said. “We better get out of here!”
“I’m thinking about it,” Badger said. “We might need to regroup, reorganize…”
Machine-gun bullets stitched across the ship’s walls above their heads, showering them with fragments of metal. There was more noise as a concussion grenade, thrown by Hoban, landed just outside of effec-tive range.
“Okay,” Badger said. “Time we got out of here.”
The normal egress port was barred, but an elevator to other areas stood with its doors open. Badger and Glint and the remaining crewmen beat a hasty retreat, and managed to shut the doors and get the elevator moving.
Captain Hoban, wounded in the arm by a beam weapon, refused medical attention and led the pursuit.
Most of the crew had not joined the rebellion. Those who had been wavering now decided they’d had enough.
Only Badger and Glint and their close friends, Connie Mindanao, Andy Groggins, and Min Dwin, were irrevocably committed.
All together now, they moved down one of the corridors, maintaining a rolling fire to keep the pursuing officers at a distance.
Glint was saying, “Where we going, Red? What we going to do now?”
“Shaddap,” Badger said. “I’ve got it all doped out.” He led them through the now deserted commissary and out to the rear hold. “Where we goin’?” Glint asked.
Badger didn’t answer.
“There’s no place to go!” Glint said.
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” Badger said. “We’re going to get out of here.”
“Out of here?” Glint looked puzzled.
“Off this ship,” Badger said. “We’ll take one of the escape pods and leave this death ship behind. We’ll go down to AR-32.”
“Yeah, okay,” Glint said. Then he thought of some-thing. “But where’ll we go after that, Red? There’s no civilization down there!”
“Well then make contact with Lancet.”
Glint turned it over in his mind. Lancet ? Dimly he remembered that that was the name of the Bio-Pharm ship that had nuked the other ship, the Valparaiso something. The one they had gotten the flight recorder from.
“Red, are you sure we want to do that? Those people are killers!”
“Of course I’m sure. We’re on their side now. They’ll give us good money for turning our information over to them. They’re going to be very interested to hear about Captain Hoban and the doctor and what they’re up to. Well be heroes.” “I don’t know,” Glint said.
“Trust me, “ Badger said. “Anynow, what else can you do ?”
“I guess you’re right,” Glint said. You could tell from his voice that it was a load off his mind, letting Badger make the decisions for both of them.
The others in the party weren’t interested in asking questions. They wanted to be led, to be told what to do, and that was what Badger liked to do, lead people. It made him feel strong and good, until something went wrong, which, unfortunately, it did all too often But not this time. This time he knew what he was doing.
“Come on,” Badger said. “We’ve got to get the spare lander.”
Andy Groggins said, “They’re apt to be waiting for us there, Red.”
“If they are,” Badger said, “then so much the worse for them.
“You can say that again,” Glint said. “We better get out of here!”
“I’m thinking about it,” Badger said. “We might need to regroup, reorganize…”
Machine-gun bullets stitched across the ship’s walls above their heads, showering them with fragments of metal. There was more noise as a concussion grenade, thrown by Hoban, landed just outside of effec-tive range.
“Okay,” Badger said. “Time we got out of here.”
The normal egress port was barred, but an elevator to other areas stood with its doors open. Badger and Glint and the remaining crewmen beat a hasty retreat, and managed to shut the doors and get the elevator moving.
Captain Hoban, wounded in the arm by a beam weapon, refused medical attention and led the pursuit.
Most of the crew had not joined the rebellion. Those who had been wavering now decided they’d had enough.
Only Badger and Glint and their close friends, Connie Mindanao, Andy Groggins, and Min Dwin, were irrevocably committed.
All together now, they moved down one of the corridors, maintaining a rolling fire to keep the pursuing officers at a distance.
Glint was saying, “Where we going, Red? What we going to do now?”
“Shaddap,” Badger said. “I’ve got it all doped out.” He led them through the now deserted commissary and out to the rear hold. “Where we goin’?” Glint asked.
Badger didn’t answer.
“There’s no place to go!” Glint said.
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” Badger said. “We’re going to get out of here.”
“Out of here?” Glint looked puzzled.
“Off this ship,” Badger said. “We’ll take one of the escape pods and leave this death ship behind. We’ll go down to AR-32.”
“Yeah, okay,” Glint said. Then he thought of some-thing. “But where’ll we go after that, Red? There’s no civilization down there!”
“Well then make contact with Lancet.”
Glint turned it over in his mind. Lancet ? Dimly he remembered that that was the name of the Bio-Pharm ship that had nuked the other ship, the Valparaiso something. The one they had gotten the flight recorder from.
“Red, are you sure we want to do that? Those people are killers!”
“Of course I’m sure. We’re on their side now. They’ll give us good money for turning our information over to them. They’re going to be very interested to hear about Captain Hoban and the doctor and what they’re up to. Well be heroes.” “I don’t know,” Glint said.
“Trust me, “ Badger said. “Anynow, what else can you do ?”
“I guess you’re right,” Glint said. You could tell from his voice that it was a load off his mind, letting Badger make the decisions for both of them.
The others in the party weren’t interested in asking questions. They wanted to be led, to be told what to do, and that was what Badger liked to do, lead people. It made him feel strong and good, until something went wrong, which, unfortunately, it did all too often But not this time. This time he knew what he was doing.
“Come on,” Badger said. “We’ve got to get the spare lander.”
Andy Groggins said, “They’re apt to be waiting for us there, Red.”
“If they are,” Badger said, “then so much the worse for them.
46
Stan sat in the lander and watched through Norbert’s viewing screen as the robot’s view of AR-32 swayed precipitously and began to slide off the screen. The lander was still vibrating after its bobsled descent through AR-32’s turbulent atmosphere. Stan felt battered and bruised: sitting at the controls trying to steer all that liveliness and power to a safe landing was like going fifteen rounds with the Jolly Green Giant. Stan still wasn’t sure which had won.
He fine-tuned the knobs on the viewing screen, trying to focus on the images Norbert was sending back from the surface of AR-32. The picture lurched with each of the robot’s footsteps, and jumped in and out of focus.
Stan hated out-of-sync pictures like that. They seemed to trigger some long-dormant primeval receptor in his brain stem. He found the oscillations of the picture upsetting his own psychic balance.
He tried consciously to steady himself. He didn’t want to go freaking out now, but the way that picture jumped was going to do it to him yet, and they’d have to scrape him off the wall.
Then the picture stabilized and the focus locked in. Stan was looking at a pile of wind-polished boulders in various shades of orange and pink. When Norbert raised his head, Stan could see ahead of him a narrow valley of stone and gravel. The swirling clouds of dust made visibility difficult after about fifty feet.
“Look at this place,” Stan remarked to Julie. “We haven’t seen a green thing since we got here. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this place has no natural vegetation. None on the surface, anyhow.”
“If plants won’t grow here,” Julie remarked, “how are the aliens able to sustain themselves?”
“I said there was no vegetation on the surface,” Stan said. “Belowground it could be a very different story. There’s an ant species that practices underground gardening. The aliens might have followed the same course of evolution.”
“This isn’t their home world, is it?” Julie asked.
“I doubt it very much. It’s extremely unlikely that they evolved here. No one knows the location of their original home planet.”
“So how’d they get here?”
“I have no idea But however they did, they must have brought their culture with them. And their nasty habits.”
Norbert’s picture began to bounce again.
“He’s going uphill,” Stan said. “Have you spotted Mac yet?”
“He ran on ahead,” Julie said. “He’s out of the picture now.”
Gill said, “There’s something in the viewer’s top right quadrant.”
Stan studied it. “Yes, there is. Norbert, magnify that quadrant.”
Norbert did so. The object sharpened, resolving from a black dot to a blocky shape of lines and angles.
Gill said, “It looks like a cow skeleton, Doctor.” Norbert walked over to it. Up close, it did turn out to be a cow skeleton, though the head was missing. Norbert panned the remains. Mac had found it, too, and had pulled loose a thighbone. The animal’s rib cage had been exploded outward under great pressure from something inside.
“What could have done that?” Julie asked.
“Probably a chestburner,” Stan said, alluding to the young of the alien species.
“I doubt that cow creature came here naturally,” Gill put in.
“Of course it didn’t,” Stan agreed. “If those bones could speak, I think we’d find that cow and a lot of her sisters were brought to this planet from Earth.”
“As hosts for the alien young?” Julie asked.
“No doubt. That’s what Neo-Pharm was up to back in those days. And as T-bone steaks for the crew of the Lancet.”
“Speaking of Lancet,” Julie said, “I wonder when we’re going to run into them?”
“Soon enough, no doubt,” Stan said. He studied the image Norbert was sending. “Hello, what’s that? Another cow skeleton?”
“Lower left quadrant, Norbert,” Julie said, spotting it.
Norbert turned obediently and walked over. Within twenty yards he came across the body of an alien.
It lay facedown in the gravel, its long black form alternately concealed and revealed by the windows of dust that blew incessantly across the valley floor.
At Stan’s instruction, Norbert viewed it through an infrared scanner, and then an ultraviolet, to make sure the body wasn’t booby-trapped.
It appeared to be free of danger. He approached and bent over it, with Mac—hair bristling and teeth barred—coming along at his heels.
“What can you see?” Stan asked.
“It is an alien,” Norbert replied. “There is no doubt of that. It is perfectly motionless, but not dead. There is no sign of life, but also no sign of damage or decay. It looks almost as if it could be asleep, I’m switching to ultrasonic scanner to conduct a survey of the internal organs.”
After a short delay Norbert reported again. “It’s internal organs are functioning, but at a very slow rate. It’s like it’s asleep or unconscious. There are several more tests I could try—”
Whatever Norbert had in mind, it didn’t happen, be-cause Mac chose that moment to sense movement on the other side of a nearby hill and ran there, barking. Norbert got up and followed.
When he reached the crest of the hill and looked over, the first thing he noticed was the small, fatbellied little spaceship, resting on its supports, nose pointed skyward, ready for takeoff.
The second thing he noticed was the aliens, a dozen or so of them, lying motionless on the ground, just like the one he had left.
And the third thing he noticed were the humans, three of them, bending over the unconscious aliens.
He fine-tuned the knobs on the viewing screen, trying to focus on the images Norbert was sending back from the surface of AR-32. The picture lurched with each of the robot’s footsteps, and jumped in and out of focus.
Stan hated out-of-sync pictures like that. They seemed to trigger some long-dormant primeval receptor in his brain stem. He found the oscillations of the picture upsetting his own psychic balance.
He tried consciously to steady himself. He didn’t want to go freaking out now, but the way that picture jumped was going to do it to him yet, and they’d have to scrape him off the wall.
Then the picture stabilized and the focus locked in. Stan was looking at a pile of wind-polished boulders in various shades of orange and pink. When Norbert raised his head, Stan could see ahead of him a narrow valley of stone and gravel. The swirling clouds of dust made visibility difficult after about fifty feet.
“Look at this place,” Stan remarked to Julie. “We haven’t seen a green thing since we got here. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this place has no natural vegetation. None on the surface, anyhow.”
“If plants won’t grow here,” Julie remarked, “how are the aliens able to sustain themselves?”
“I said there was no vegetation on the surface,” Stan said. “Belowground it could be a very different story. There’s an ant species that practices underground gardening. The aliens might have followed the same course of evolution.”
“This isn’t their home world, is it?” Julie asked.
“I doubt it very much. It’s extremely unlikely that they evolved here. No one knows the location of their original home planet.”
“So how’d they get here?”
“I have no idea But however they did, they must have brought their culture with them. And their nasty habits.”
Norbert’s picture began to bounce again.
“He’s going uphill,” Stan said. “Have you spotted Mac yet?”
“He ran on ahead,” Julie said. “He’s out of the picture now.”
Gill said, “There’s something in the viewer’s top right quadrant.”
Stan studied it. “Yes, there is. Norbert, magnify that quadrant.”
Norbert did so. The object sharpened, resolving from a black dot to a blocky shape of lines and angles.
Gill said, “It looks like a cow skeleton, Doctor.” Norbert walked over to it. Up close, it did turn out to be a cow skeleton, though the head was missing. Norbert panned the remains. Mac had found it, too, and had pulled loose a thighbone. The animal’s rib cage had been exploded outward under great pressure from something inside.
“What could have done that?” Julie asked.
“Probably a chestburner,” Stan said, alluding to the young of the alien species.
“I doubt that cow creature came here naturally,” Gill put in.
“Of course it didn’t,” Stan agreed. “If those bones could speak, I think we’d find that cow and a lot of her sisters were brought to this planet from Earth.”
“As hosts for the alien young?” Julie asked.
“No doubt. That’s what Neo-Pharm was up to back in those days. And as T-bone steaks for the crew of the Lancet.”
“Speaking of Lancet,” Julie said, “I wonder when we’re going to run into them?”
“Soon enough, no doubt,” Stan said. He studied the image Norbert was sending. “Hello, what’s that? Another cow skeleton?”
“Lower left quadrant, Norbert,” Julie said, spotting it.
Norbert turned obediently and walked over. Within twenty yards he came across the body of an alien.
It lay facedown in the gravel, its long black form alternately concealed and revealed by the windows of dust that blew incessantly across the valley floor.
At Stan’s instruction, Norbert viewed it through an infrared scanner, and then an ultraviolet, to make sure the body wasn’t booby-trapped.
It appeared to be free of danger. He approached and bent over it, with Mac—hair bristling and teeth barred—coming along at his heels.
“What can you see?” Stan asked.
“It is an alien,” Norbert replied. “There is no doubt of that. It is perfectly motionless, but not dead. There is no sign of life, but also no sign of damage or decay. It looks almost as if it could be asleep, I’m switching to ultrasonic scanner to conduct a survey of the internal organs.”
After a short delay Norbert reported again. “It’s internal organs are functioning, but at a very slow rate. It’s like it’s asleep or unconscious. There are several more tests I could try—”
Whatever Norbert had in mind, it didn’t happen, be-cause Mac chose that moment to sense movement on the other side of a nearby hill and ran there, barking. Norbert got up and followed.
When he reached the crest of the hill and looked over, the first thing he noticed was the small, fatbellied little spaceship, resting on its supports, nose pointed skyward, ready for takeoff.
The second thing he noticed was the aliens, a dozen or so of them, lying motionless on the ground, just like the one he had left.
And the third thing he noticed were the humans, three of them, bending over the unconscious aliens.
47
For the men from Potter’s ship, the Lancet, it had begun as a normal day’s harvesting operation. This three-man work crew had been down on the surface of AR-32 for half of their five-hour shift.
After relieving the previous crew, their first task had been to inspect the suppressor gun. It was mounted on top of the spaceship, where it could be powered by the ship’s batteries.
It was a jury-rigged contraption, thrown together by a clever engineer from Potter’s ship, a man with a knack for coming up with useful inventions on the spur of the moment.
Suppressors were a new technology in the continuing war against the aliens. They had resulted so far in small modules worn on a man’s person. But Potter’s engineer had taken the suppressor principle one step farther. He had theorized that the aliens would be susceptible to a stunning effect from certain vibratory impulses if they were narrow-band broadcast at sufficient intensity. He based this hunch on his study of alien anatomy. It seemed to him that the aliens had developed a great sensitivity to electrical cycling pulses. These could excite or stupefy them, depending on the velocity and amplitude of the waves broadcast. He experimented with electromagnetic bombardment.
Now, from its mount on top of the spaceship, his cannon turned like a radar dish, blasting electronic impulses that kept the aliens stupefied while the crew of the Lancet milked them of their royal jelly.
It was not difficult duty, as Des Thomas had remarked to Skippy Holmes, with whom he was working. “I mean, if you forget they’re aliens, it’s much the same as taking honey from bees.”
“Big bees,” Skippy said.
“Yeah, very big bees, but it’s the same thing. Hey, Slotz!” Thomas called to the third man of their crew, who was on top of the spaceship, working with the bracing that held the suppressor in place. No matter how well you put those things up, the incessant wind eventually worried them loose.
“What is it?” Slotz said, pausing with power wrench in hand.
“You almost finished up there?”
“I need some more bracing material. A flying rock tore some of the support away.”
“We’ll radio it to the ship. The next shift can bring the stuff out. We’re nearly out of here.”
Slotz turned back to his work. Holmes and Thomas took up positions around the recumbent alien. Together they heaved the big creature over on his side. Arnold took up the scraper, working quickly around a leg joint. He packed the sticky, light blue residue into a canvas bag. From here, it would be transferred to a glass container within the potbellied little harvester ship. As Des Thomas finished milking his alien he heard a barking sound and looked up. He was amazed to see a large brownish-red dog running over the top of the hill. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t have been more amazed if it had been an elephant or a whale.
“Come here, boy,” he called. “I wonder where your—”
It was at that instant that Norbert came striding over the crest of the hill and down into the harvesting area. There was a brief tableau: three human crewmen frozen like dummies, Norbert striding forward like a fury from the deepest hell, and Mac, all innocence, barking and capering along like he was on an outing.
Holmes came unfrozen first. “One of them’s come awake!” he shouted. “Get that sucker!”
Slotz got off the top of the spaceship rapidly. The three men dived for their weapons. These were always kept handy because, although no alien had woken up suddenly like this before, no one really trusted the new suppressor technology—especially when you took into account how goofy looking its inventor was.
Holmes got his hands on the carbine he had propped against a rock outcropping. He slipped off the safety, aimed hastily, and pulled the trigger. A stream of caseless forty-caliber slugs streaked toward Norbert, who was no longer there to receive them.
The threat toward him instantly pushed Norbert into predator mode. You could almost hear the new program click into place.
Softslugs bouncing off his carapace, Norbert slid under the fusillade of projectiles from Des’s Gauss needler. A fragmentation grenade bounced off his chest and exploded as it was bouncing away. Norbert was showered with white-hot fragments of metal, but they didn’t have the force to penetrate his metallized hide.
Although he wasn’t hurt, Norbert was not pleased. Skippy Holmes was the closest, and the crewman just had time to scream as Norbert hooked his face at the temples with two curved talons and tore it off in one economical move.
It was a moment of gratuitous horror, though Norbert didn’t view it that way. Just doin’ my job, sir.
Skippy buried the raw meat of his face in his hands and fell to the ground, gurgling, blood bubbling from his shattered skin. He didn’t suffer for long; Norbert’s spurred foot hooked out the man’s stomach and a good selection of his internal organs.
Seeing this, Chuck Slotz gagged and took to his heels, sprinting toward the harvester’s open entry port, closely followed by Des.
Norbert came racing after them, and almost made the entry port. It closed in his face, and Norbert slammed into it with a force that shook the harvester on its six slender legs and caused the radarlike suppressor apparatus on its roof to topple over and fall to the ground in a crackle of sparks.
Slowly, very slowly at first, the aliens lying on the ground began to stir.
After relieving the previous crew, their first task had been to inspect the suppressor gun. It was mounted on top of the spaceship, where it could be powered by the ship’s batteries.
It was a jury-rigged contraption, thrown together by a clever engineer from Potter’s ship, a man with a knack for coming up with useful inventions on the spur of the moment.
Suppressors were a new technology in the continuing war against the aliens. They had resulted so far in small modules worn on a man’s person. But Potter’s engineer had taken the suppressor principle one step farther. He had theorized that the aliens would be susceptible to a stunning effect from certain vibratory impulses if they were narrow-band broadcast at sufficient intensity. He based this hunch on his study of alien anatomy. It seemed to him that the aliens had developed a great sensitivity to electrical cycling pulses. These could excite or stupefy them, depending on the velocity and amplitude of the waves broadcast. He experimented with electromagnetic bombardment.
Now, from its mount on top of the spaceship, his cannon turned like a radar dish, blasting electronic impulses that kept the aliens stupefied while the crew of the Lancet milked them of their royal jelly.
It was not difficult duty, as Des Thomas had remarked to Skippy Holmes, with whom he was working. “I mean, if you forget they’re aliens, it’s much the same as taking honey from bees.”
“Big bees,” Skippy said.
“Yeah, very big bees, but it’s the same thing. Hey, Slotz!” Thomas called to the third man of their crew, who was on top of the spaceship, working with the bracing that held the suppressor in place. No matter how well you put those things up, the incessant wind eventually worried them loose.
“What is it?” Slotz said, pausing with power wrench in hand.
“You almost finished up there?”
“I need some more bracing material. A flying rock tore some of the support away.”
“We’ll radio it to the ship. The next shift can bring the stuff out. We’re nearly out of here.”
Slotz turned back to his work. Holmes and Thomas took up positions around the recumbent alien. Together they heaved the big creature over on his side. Arnold took up the scraper, working quickly around a leg joint. He packed the sticky, light blue residue into a canvas bag. From here, it would be transferred to a glass container within the potbellied little harvester ship. As Des Thomas finished milking his alien he heard a barking sound and looked up. He was amazed to see a large brownish-red dog running over the top of the hill. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t have been more amazed if it had been an elephant or a whale.
“Come here, boy,” he called. “I wonder where your—”
It was at that instant that Norbert came striding over the crest of the hill and down into the harvesting area. There was a brief tableau: three human crewmen frozen like dummies, Norbert striding forward like a fury from the deepest hell, and Mac, all innocence, barking and capering along like he was on an outing.
Holmes came unfrozen first. “One of them’s come awake!” he shouted. “Get that sucker!”
Slotz got off the top of the spaceship rapidly. The three men dived for their weapons. These were always kept handy because, although no alien had woken up suddenly like this before, no one really trusted the new suppressor technology—especially when you took into account how goofy looking its inventor was.
Holmes got his hands on the carbine he had propped against a rock outcropping. He slipped off the safety, aimed hastily, and pulled the trigger. A stream of caseless forty-caliber slugs streaked toward Norbert, who was no longer there to receive them.
The threat toward him instantly pushed Norbert into predator mode. You could almost hear the new program click into place.
Softslugs bouncing off his carapace, Norbert slid under the fusillade of projectiles from Des’s Gauss needler. A fragmentation grenade bounced off his chest and exploded as it was bouncing away. Norbert was showered with white-hot fragments of metal, but they didn’t have the force to penetrate his metallized hide.
Although he wasn’t hurt, Norbert was not pleased. Skippy Holmes was the closest, and the crewman just had time to scream as Norbert hooked his face at the temples with two curved talons and tore it off in one economical move.
It was a moment of gratuitous horror, though Norbert didn’t view it that way. Just doin’ my job, sir.
Skippy buried the raw meat of his face in his hands and fell to the ground, gurgling, blood bubbling from his shattered skin. He didn’t suffer for long; Norbert’s spurred foot hooked out the man’s stomach and a good selection of his internal organs.
Seeing this, Chuck Slotz gagged and took to his heels, sprinting toward the harvester’s open entry port, closely followed by Des.
Norbert came racing after them, and almost made the entry port. It closed in his face, and Norbert slammed into it with a force that shook the harvester on its six slender legs and caused the radarlike suppressor apparatus on its roof to topple over and fall to the ground in a crackle of sparks.
Slowly, very slowly at first, the aliens lying on the ground began to stir.
48
Gill gasped as the scene of carnage was played over Norbert’s visual receptors and relayed to the screen aboard the Dolomite’s lander.
Norbert, standing in front of the harvester’s sealed door, was saying, “I am awaiting further orders, Dr. Myakovsky.”
“Yes,” Stan said. “Just stand by for a moment.” He turned to Gill. “What’s the matter? Why are you looking that way?”
“I—I wasn’t prepared for the violence, Doctor. I had no idea Norbert was programmed to kill.”
“How could you have thought otherwise? What do you think we’re out here for? A sight-seeing trip? Gill, we’re all programmed to kill.”
“Yes, Dr. Myakovsky. If you say so.”
“You, too, are programmed to kill, are you not?”
“In defense of human lives, yes, I suppose I am. It is just that I didn’t know we were going to exercise that option so … lightly.”
“We’re here to get rich,” Stan said. “Whatever it takes. Right, Julie?”
“That’s right, Stan,” Julie said, then turned to the artificial man. “You’ll share in the money we get, too. Even an artificial man can use money, right?”
“All sentient beings need money,” Gill said dryly.
“That’s right,” Julie said. “Anyhow, we’re in it now, and it’s us or them. You know what Potter will do if he finds us? The same thing he did to the Valparaiso Queen.”
Gill nodded but didn’t answer.
“Think about it, Gill,” Stan said. “Don’t get humanitarian on us too soon.” He paused, then added, “If it’s really against your principles, perhaps you’d like to wait in the back bay until this phase of the operation is over? I wouldn’t want you to do anything foolish.”
“Do not worry about me, sir,” Gill said. “I have no sentiment about matters of killing. Sentiment was not programmed into me. I was surprised, that is all, but now I understand. I am ready to do whatever is necessary to protect you and Miss Julie.”
“Glad to hear it.” Stan wiped his forehead. He looked like he himself was having a little trouble getting used to killing. Only Julie showed no signs of upset.
Gill hesitated. “Sir, we have no visual contact with the crew volunteers.”
“Damn it!” Stan said. “Does everything have to go wrong at the same time? Norbert! Can you get into the harvester?”
“The door is locked, Doctor,” Norbert said.
“I doubt it’s a very advanced locking mechanism. Give me a close-up of the lock.”
Norbert leaned forward, focused on the locking mechanism and switched to the X-ray mode.
Stan studied the picture for a moment “It looks like pretty standard stuff. Tell you what, just rip off the keypad and you’ll be able to turn the handle manually.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better hurry up about it. It would be best to prevent those guys from getting in touch with Potter.”
Norbert, standing in front of the harvester’s sealed door, was saying, “I am awaiting further orders, Dr. Myakovsky.”
“Yes,” Stan said. “Just stand by for a moment.” He turned to Gill. “What’s the matter? Why are you looking that way?”
“I—I wasn’t prepared for the violence, Doctor. I had no idea Norbert was programmed to kill.”
“How could you have thought otherwise? What do you think we’re out here for? A sight-seeing trip? Gill, we’re all programmed to kill.”
“Yes, Dr. Myakovsky. If you say so.”
“You, too, are programmed to kill, are you not?”
“In defense of human lives, yes, I suppose I am. It is just that I didn’t know we were going to exercise that option so … lightly.”
“We’re here to get rich,” Stan said. “Whatever it takes. Right, Julie?”
“That’s right, Stan,” Julie said, then turned to the artificial man. “You’ll share in the money we get, too. Even an artificial man can use money, right?”
“All sentient beings need money,” Gill said dryly.
“That’s right,” Julie said. “Anyhow, we’re in it now, and it’s us or them. You know what Potter will do if he finds us? The same thing he did to the Valparaiso Queen.”
Gill nodded but didn’t answer.
“Think about it, Gill,” Stan said. “Don’t get humanitarian on us too soon.” He paused, then added, “If it’s really against your principles, perhaps you’d like to wait in the back bay until this phase of the operation is over? I wouldn’t want you to do anything foolish.”
“Do not worry about me, sir,” Gill said. “I have no sentiment about matters of killing. Sentiment was not programmed into me. I was surprised, that is all, but now I understand. I am ready to do whatever is necessary to protect you and Miss Julie.”
“Glad to hear it.” Stan wiped his forehead. He looked like he himself was having a little trouble getting used to killing. Only Julie showed no signs of upset.
Gill hesitated. “Sir, we have no visual contact with the crew volunteers.”
“Damn it!” Stan said. “Does everything have to go wrong at the same time? Norbert! Can you get into the harvester?”
“The door is locked, Doctor,” Norbert said.
“I doubt it’s a very advanced locking mechanism. Give me a close-up of the lock.”
Norbert leaned forward, focused on the locking mechanism and switched to the X-ray mode.
Stan studied the picture for a moment “It looks like pretty standard stuff. Tell you what, just rip off the keypad and you’ll be able to turn the handle manually.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better hurry up about it. It would be best to prevent those guys from getting in touch with Potter.”
49
Inside the harvester, Slotz and Thomas fell over each other getting to the radio. Thomas got there first and flipped the transmission switch.
“Lancet? Come in, Lancet !”
Slotz, standing just behind Thomas, heard a banging sound on the entry port and made sure he had his carbine.
“Hurry up, Thomas! I don’t know if the door will hold him!”
“I’m trying,” Thomas said. “But I’ve come up with nothing so far.”
“The antenna!” Slotz said. “It came down with the suppressor gun when the alien slammed into the ship.”
“That’s just great,” Thomas said. “So we can’t transmit. And it’s two hours before the next shift comes down.”
“Maybe we can hold out.” Slotz found a fresh magazine in his pocket, ejected the spent one from his carbine, and snapped the new one into place.
The hammering suddenly stopped. The men heard a sound of metal ripping. “He’s tearing off the lock cover!” Slotz cried. “Nobody can do that,” Thomas said.
“Trust me,” Slotz muttered. “He’s doing it.”
There was silence for a moment. Then a clicking sound.
“He’s through the cover! He’s working the unlocking mechanism!” Slotz shouted.
“Whaddaya want me to do about it?” Thomas said. Into the radio’s dead transmitter he shouted, “Mayday, Mayday!”
Then the door slammed open with great force and Norbert was coming in, a towering black fury. Slotz tried to level the carbine, managed to get off one round that glanced off Norbert’s shoulder and ricocheted around the cabin like an angry bee. Then Norbert was on him. The robot alien caught the back of Slotz’s head, leaned forward, mouth open, second jaws extending through his slavering mouth. Slotz, eyes wide and wild, tried to pull himself out of the way, but there was no budging Norbert’s grip. The second jaws shot out like a piston and smashed through Slotz’s open mouth and continued through, snapping the man’s spine like a dry stick.
Seeing what had happened, Thomas scrambled away from the radio. He had a pulse rifle in his hand and he triggered it. A tongue of brilliant light licked out against Norbert’s chest. It had no apparent effect on the robot, but at that close range the heat was reflected back into Thomas’s face. He shrieked as his hair caught fire. And then Norbert was on him, two taloned hands on his shoulders, hind legs raking the man’s middle with razor-sharp claws. Simultaneously fried and eviscerated, Thomas fell to the floor, dead before he landed.
In the ensuing silence, Mac came trotting into the harvester, looked around, seemed unimpressed by the blood and gore that coated the walls, and trotted up to Norbert.
The robot alien patted him once on the head, then said, “That’s all for now, Mac. I have to report.”
The interior of the harvester was a shambles. There were bits and pieces of crewmen scattered all over the struts and inner bracing members. Bright arterial blood lay in puddles on the metal floor. Blood lapped at the corners of the room, and the self-cleaning units were clogged with it.
Mac sniffed around, whimpered, then barked excitedly. He was getting a lot of mixed signals. Finally he decided something was wrong, but he’d have to let somebody else figure it out. He found a corner and lay down with his muzzle on his paws. Norbert came along behind him, stopped, and surveyed the damage he had caused.
Stan, back on the lander, was following visually. His voice was low. He was coaching Norbert.
“You’re doing fine, Norbert. We want to check out the whole ship for possible damage. You’re really quite violent once you get started, aren’t you?” “Not intentionally, Doctor.”
Julie leaned over Stan’s shoulder. “What’s that in the background, Stan?”
“I’m not sure… Norbert, make a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and do a slow pan. That’s it. Now freeze. And magnify. Okay, freeze it right there. And correct the color. Good!”
Julie said, “Plastic storage units. Each of them would hold—what? Five liters?” “More like seven,” said Gill. “There are hundreds of them stacked there,” Stan said. “More on the other side of the hold.”
“Lancet? Come in, Lancet !”
Slotz, standing just behind Thomas, heard a banging sound on the entry port and made sure he had his carbine.
“Hurry up, Thomas! I don’t know if the door will hold him!”
“I’m trying,” Thomas said. “But I’ve come up with nothing so far.”
“The antenna!” Slotz said. “It came down with the suppressor gun when the alien slammed into the ship.”
“That’s just great,” Thomas said. “So we can’t transmit. And it’s two hours before the next shift comes down.”
“Maybe we can hold out.” Slotz found a fresh magazine in his pocket, ejected the spent one from his carbine, and snapped the new one into place.
The hammering suddenly stopped. The men heard a sound of metal ripping. “He’s tearing off the lock cover!” Slotz cried. “Nobody can do that,” Thomas said.
“Trust me,” Slotz muttered. “He’s doing it.”
There was silence for a moment. Then a clicking sound.
“He’s through the cover! He’s working the unlocking mechanism!” Slotz shouted.
“Whaddaya want me to do about it?” Thomas said. Into the radio’s dead transmitter he shouted, “Mayday, Mayday!”
Then the door slammed open with great force and Norbert was coming in, a towering black fury. Slotz tried to level the carbine, managed to get off one round that glanced off Norbert’s shoulder and ricocheted around the cabin like an angry bee. Then Norbert was on him. The robot alien caught the back of Slotz’s head, leaned forward, mouth open, second jaws extending through his slavering mouth. Slotz, eyes wide and wild, tried to pull himself out of the way, but there was no budging Norbert’s grip. The second jaws shot out like a piston and smashed through Slotz’s open mouth and continued through, snapping the man’s spine like a dry stick.
Seeing what had happened, Thomas scrambled away from the radio. He had a pulse rifle in his hand and he triggered it. A tongue of brilliant light licked out against Norbert’s chest. It had no apparent effect on the robot, but at that close range the heat was reflected back into Thomas’s face. He shrieked as his hair caught fire. And then Norbert was on him, two taloned hands on his shoulders, hind legs raking the man’s middle with razor-sharp claws. Simultaneously fried and eviscerated, Thomas fell to the floor, dead before he landed.
In the ensuing silence, Mac came trotting into the harvester, looked around, seemed unimpressed by the blood and gore that coated the walls, and trotted up to Norbert.
The robot alien patted him once on the head, then said, “That’s all for now, Mac. I have to report.”
The interior of the harvester was a shambles. There were bits and pieces of crewmen scattered all over the struts and inner bracing members. Bright arterial blood lay in puddles on the metal floor. Blood lapped at the corners of the room, and the self-cleaning units were clogged with it.
Mac sniffed around, whimpered, then barked excitedly. He was getting a lot of mixed signals. Finally he decided something was wrong, but he’d have to let somebody else figure it out. He found a corner and lay down with his muzzle on his paws. Norbert came along behind him, stopped, and surveyed the damage he had caused.
Stan, back on the lander, was following visually. His voice was low. He was coaching Norbert.
“You’re doing fine, Norbert. We want to check out the whole ship for possible damage. You’re really quite violent once you get started, aren’t you?” “Not intentionally, Doctor.”
Julie leaned over Stan’s shoulder. “What’s that in the background, Stan?”
“I’m not sure… Norbert, make a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and do a slow pan. That’s it. Now freeze. And magnify. Okay, freeze it right there. And correct the color. Good!”
Julie said, “Plastic storage units. Each of them would hold—what? Five liters?” “More like seven,” said Gill. “There are hundreds of them stacked there,” Stan said. “More on the other side of the hold.”