Robert Sheckley - Alien Harvest

Stan leaned close to the screen and stared but he couldn't tell what they were looking for. A specially coded pheromone signal, perhaps, because they fanned out and continued searching, their heads turning back and forth like hounds following a scent.

At last one of them found something. A silent signal seemed to pass between him and the others, and they all moved together to a piece of ground that looked no different to Stan's eyes than any other. Rooting in the soil, the leading alien dislodged a large flat piece of stone, revealing a shallow tunnel leading into the earth.

The tunnel sloped downward for perhaps twenty feet, then leveled out. It had been made with some care. The light, friable soil was held in by flat rocks, some of which were highly phosphorescent.

“Look at how the roof is shored up,” Stan remarked to Gill. “That's more technical skill than we ever gave the aliens credit for.”

“It is possible, sir,” said Gill, “that their tunnel-building abilities are genetic, as is the case with the ants you have studied.

“Yes,” Stan said. “Can you see what they're doing, Ari?” He lifted the cybernetic ant on his fingertip and moved his hand toward the screen. “These are like big cousins of yours, aren't they?”

Ari raised his head, but it was impossible to tell whether or not he was thinking anything.

Down in the tunnel, Norbert was reporting that the passageway was widening as they moved closer to the hive. Soon other branchings appeared as the aliens moved; as if by instinct, making their way through the increasingly complex maze without hesitation.

“Norbert, you've been laying down an electronic trail, haven't you?” Stan asked.

“Yes, Doctor. Ever since we were on the outside of this tunnel. But I'm not completely sure the job is getting done.”

“I hope it is. It could come in handy. Don't you think so, Julie?”

“Sure, Stan,” Julie concurred. “But I don't understand why you're sending Norbert in there. We've already got what we came for.”

“You mean the harvester full of royal jelly? Yes, that was the purpose of our mission, and we have accomplished it. But we still have some time on our hands until Captain Hoban gets back into communication. So why not choose this moment for the advancement of science? It will profit all of mankind to know what the inside of a hive really looks like.”

“That's true enough, Stan,” Julie said. “I didn't know you cared that much about science, though.”

“Julie, there's a lot I care for that I don't put into words. You ought to know that.”

“I guess I do, Stan. You're not really interested in getting rich from this mission, are you?”

“Not as interested as you, my dear. But that is because I may not have much tiempo para gastarlo , as the Spanish say. But doing this is better than staying home trying to argue the doctors into giving me a better prognosis. At least here I can be with you, and I can't tell you how much that means to me.”

Stan coughed, self-conscious for a moment, then glanced again at the screen. “Norbert is getting deeper into the hive and we still haven't heard from Captain Hoban. I think this might be a good moment for me to take a brief nap.” Without further ado, he got up and went to the cot in the lander's rearmost living area.

Julie and Gill watched for a while in silence as Norbert, on the screen, continued to penetrate deeper into the hive. At last Julie said, “What did it mean, that thing he said in Spanish?”

” Tiempo para gastarlo ,” said Gill. “It means time to enjoy it.”

Julie shook her head. “Stan's got a lot of knowledge.”

“Yes,” Gill said. “But perhaps not much time.”

There were four crew members with Red Badger as he set up his next plan. Walter Glint was there, of course, and Connie Mindanao, limping from a beamer scorch in the side, and Andy Groggins and Min Dwin, both unwounded. That was a pretty good force to match against the five or six loyal men Captain Hoban probably had available.

That was the good news. On the bad side, they had been forced back to a rear area of the ship. It would be difficult to mount an attack through the corridors, with Hoban and his officers now armed and ready for them. And probably the rest of the crew would come in on Hoban's side, now that the first attempt at a takeover had failed. Things might have been different if Hoban hadn't responded so quickly. Badger, who had thought the captain to be a burned-out case, had to reevaluate the situation now.

Red was annoyed that his first plan hadn't succeeded. His people hadn't moved fast enough, and Hoban had been unexpectedly decisive. Now the best move was to get off the Dolomite and plan to contact Potter on the Lancet . Trouble was, getting off the ship wasn't going to be quite as simple as he'd like it to be.

There was just one lander left, the backup, now that Myakovsky and his people had gone to the surface of AR-32. It was sure to be guarded. Captain Hoban would have radioed the crew guarding the rear facilities, putting them on the alert. How many were there? Two or three, including the sergeant of the guards? Badger knew they'd have to get around or through them somehow.

“When we reach the storage bay, no firing until I say so,” Badger told the others. “I've got a little plan that just might work.”

“Whatever you say, Red,” said Glint.

Badger led them down the gleaming aluminum corridor, over deep-piled carpeting that seemed to soak up sound, past flickering lighting fixtures. The everpresent hum of the ship's machinery sounded in the walls like somnolent wasps. The only thing that told of the recent action was a faint smell of propellant and burned insulation in the otherwise antiseptic air, that and the labored sound of Connie Mindanao's breathing as she waited for the antipain shot to take effect.

At last they reached the transverse corridor that led to the pod bay. A faint hum warned Badger that all was not well here. He looked carefully and noted the violet-edged nimbus that extended from the walls.

“They've turned on the beam restraints,” Badger said.

Glint came up from the rear and examined the situation.

“They sure did, Red, but they don't have them on full.”

Badger looked again. “You're right, Walt. They must not be running full power through the ship's net. Probably because of the damage we caused in the control room. Those beams should be visible to a distance of six inches from the side of the wall.”

Min Dwin looked the situation over and reported, “Their circle of interdiction will extend beyond their visible range.”

“Sure it will,” Badger said. “But there'll still be a hole we can get through.”

The entrance to the corridor was like a tall O. The violet flame burned on all sides of it, surrounding it entirely, but leaving the middle of the hole open.

“Well have to dive through,” Glint said. “Make sure not to touch the sides or the bottom.”

“Shouldn't be too difficult,” Badger said.

“Maybe not for you,” Connie Mindanao said. “But I've been wounded. How am I going to take a good jump through?”

A cruel little light glittered in Red Badger's eyes. “Well take care of it for you, won't we, Glint? Grab her other arm.”

Although she protested, the two big crewmen grabbed Connie. They swung her back and forth and, on the command from Badger, threw her headfirst through the corridor. Connie gave a shriek of protest as her foot trailed in the violet glow, but landed safe on the far side.

“Now the rest of us,” Badger said. “The lander is just around the next bend. We're almost there!”

“Do you ever get sick of us so-called real people?” Julie asked suddenly.