“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.”

“Are they royal jelly?” Julie asked. “Can we be absolutely sure of that?”

Stan replied, “There really seems no doubt. What else would they be filled with? Cloverleaf honey? The harvester is packed with the stuff. They must have been just about ready to take off back to Lancet.”

“Good thing we got here when we did.” Julie laughed. “They've done our work for us, Stan. We're rich!”

Stan grinned. “We'd better not start trying to spend it just yet. Norbert, have you completed your assessment of the damage yet?”

“Yes, Dr. Myakovsky.”

“Any problems?”

“I'm afraid that in the fight this unit here was destroyed.” Norbert indicated the interior suppressor gear, which was strewn around the cabin, most of it broken into fragments of crystal and plastic.

“Ah well,” Stan said, “Can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, as some famous man once remarked. Do you know who said that, Gill?”

“I'm afraid I don't,” Gill said.

“And here I thought you knew everything. Well, well…” Unexpectedly he began to giggle.

“Stan,” Julie said, “what's the matter?”

Stan pulled himself together. “Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad. I don't suppose you know who said that, either. Well, never mind. Of all the stuff you could have destroyed, Norbert, I'm afraid you picked the worst I think that's the interior equipment for the ultrasonic suppressor.”

“Are you certain?” Julie asked. “How can we know for sure?”

“There ought to be a serial number here somewhere.” Stan examined the bits of twisted metal. “Yes, as I thought. Now we need to go to the next step.”

“Is that difficult?” Julie asked.

“Easy enough … Norbert, give me a picture through one of the portholes.”

Outside, Stan could see a yellowish-brown haze with dark shapes moving through it. Half the aliens were up, the others were reviving swiftly. They moved sluggishly at first, then with increasing vigor, toward the harvester.

“Clear up the focus,” Stan snapped.

“Sorry, Doctor …” With the focus cleared, Stan could see the distinct dark alien shapes milling around outside the ship.

“Okay,” Stan said. “The suppressor is kaput and the aliens are awake. That's okay. Basically, our job is over. We've got the harvester. It was a little messy, but we got it. We need only pilot it up to the Dolomite and get out of here. Norbert, check the controls.”

The robot alien moved to the control panel. After a moment he said, “I'm afraid we've got trouble, Doctor.”

Stan could see for himself through Norbert's visual receptors. The battle inside the harvester had wrecked some of the controls.

“Oh, Stan,” Julie said, “can Norbert fly that thing out of there?”

“Sure, if conditions were right,” Stan said. “But I'm afraid it's not going to be as easy as that. The controls are all screwed up.”

“Can't he fix them?”

Stan shook his head. “Sure, given time, but we don't have much of that. First we're going to have to get into communication with the Dolomite again. Gill, have you had any luck in raising Captain Hoban?”

“I haven't gotten him yet, sir,” Gill said. “Something serious seems to have happened to the Dolomite.”

“That's just great,” Stan said. “I wish he'd call.”