48
Gill gasped as the scene of carnage was played over Norbert's visual receptors and relayed to the screen aboard the
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
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.
”
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
