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.”
“He will,” Gill affirmed. “I know Captain Hoban. He would make contacting us his first priority.”
“Well, it gives us a little time. A chance to do something I've long wanted to do.”
Julie looked at him. “Stan, what are you talking about?”
“I want to take a look inside that hive.” He looked hard at Gill, as if daring him to challenge him. Gill felt momentarily uncomfortable and glanced at Julie, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Gill reminded himself that it was difficult to assess the situation and impossible to pass judgment on humans.
“Just as you say, sir,” Gill said at last.
“Norbert, are you standing by?” Stan demanded. “I am, Dr. Myakovsky.”
“Okay. I take it all your systems are functioning properly?”
“All my readings are in the green,” Norbert reported.
“Is your suppressor working properly?”
Norbert checked. “It is, sir.”
“And Mac's?”
Norbert bent over the dog. “It is functioning correctly.”
“Then turn it off and open the harvester port.”
“Sir?”
“Norbert, are you having synapse failure? Didn't you hear me?”
“It is such an unusual order, Doctor, that I wanted to be certain I understood it correctly. When I turn off Mac's collar, that will render him visible to the aliens.”
“That's exactly what I had in mind,” Stan said. “We're going to make the aliens a little present of Mac.”
“Give him to the aliens?”
“That's right. You aren't going soft on me, are you, Norbert?”