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.

Gill looked up, startled. He had been intent on the screen, watching as Norbert followed the group of aliens through the tunnels. Gill wanted to be ready to report to Dr. Myakovsky when the doctor awoke from his nap. But Julie's question seemed worthy of serious thought and he gave it, though not taking his eyes off the screen that showed Norbert's progress.

“I'm afraid,” Gill said at last, “that I do not understand the question. It implies a precondition: that there is something in human behavior that I might get sick of. To what are you referring, Julie?”

“Wow!” Julie laughed. “I didn't expect to get that much out of you. But it isn't an answer.”

“I am asking you to define your question, Miss Lish.”

“You know very well what I mean,” Julie said.

Gill found himself caught up and bewildered by the complexities of human thinking. It seemed to him that Julie was saying one thing and meaning another. The technical semanticists who had programmed his response bank had not given sufficient attention to the problem of ambiguity. Perhaps they couldn't solve it. Gill and Julie looked at each other for a few moments in silence. Then Gill spoke. “You are referring, perhaps, to the fact that human actions are not always logical in terms of advantage? That they sometimes appear to be downright self-defeating?”

“Okay, that's one way of saying it,” Julie said. “What do you think of that?”

Again Gill paused before answering. “I can only believe that illogic is essential to being human, since it is the one thing we synthetics are not capable of.”

“You can't go against logic and programming, is that it?”

“It is, Miss Lish.”

Julie didn't answer at once. Presently she reached out and took Gill's hand. Startled, the synthetic man let it go limp. Julie held it like she had never seen a hand before. She studied it, turning it slowly this way and that.

“What an amazing piece of construction this is.” She marveled. “How perfectly the skin has been rendered and textured. It's hard to believe that anything as cunning as this could belong to someone not human.”

“Yet so it is,” Gill said.

“Is it? Or are you just being modest? A very human trait, I assure you.”

“I don't know,” Gill muttered. “One thing I do know is, Dr. Myakovsky loves you very much.”

“Yes,” Julie said, “I think he does. It's why he's here, isn't it?”

“I believe it is, Miss Lish.”

“But why then am I here?”

“I do not know,” Gill said. He hesitated. “It is a difficult way to get rich.”

“Do you know of any easy ways?” Julie asked. “Do you know any better ways to pass your time on Earth than doing what I'm doing now?”

Gill shook his head. “I know nothing about these things.”

Julie frowned and let his hand drop. “I like you, Gill, though you're very naive about some things. Look, Norbert seems to have reached the queen's chamber.”

“You're right,” Gill said. “I'll go wake up Dr. Myakovsky.”

“I appear to be in an anteroom deep in the middle of the hive,” Norbert reported. “I can see the queen's chamber just beyond. These surfaces and angles resemble nothing in my memory bank, Doctor. They seem to have been constructed according to a completely alien system. But that would stand to reason, wouldn't it?”