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.

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.