As Stan turned to the radio it suddenly burst into life. An unfamiliar voice said, “Hello? Is there someone aboard the harvester?”

Stan sat down at the instrument panel. “Yes, there is someone here.”

“I thought as much. This is Potter, captain of the Bio-Pharm ship Lancet. You are trespassing on Neo-Pharm territory. Identify yourself at once!”

“I am Dr. Stanley Myakovsky,” Stan said. There are only three of us here — myself, a woman, and an android. We are all that is left of a survey expedition sent to inspect the hive on AR-32.”

“I knew you were here, Doctor,” Potter said. That says it all, I think.”

“Maybe you don't know everything, Captain,” Stan said. “Our ship was damaged during the recent storm. We require help badly.”

“I understand,” Potter said. “I am sending men to pick you up. Be prepared to leave the harvester. That is all for now.”

Stan put down the microphone and turned to Gill. “He says he's sending help. I suppose you can guess what kind of help Potter is going to offer.” Gill didn't answer. He was watching through one of the view panels as the Lancet's primaries flared briefly and the great ship dropped slowly and majestically down through the sky in a shining glitter of landing jets. The big ship settled effortlessly on AR-32's plain. Soon after the landing, there was a sparkle of bright lines along the ground, and then something almost transparent that looked like the ghost of a wall erected itself around the Lancet.

“I see you have your force field up,” Stan said. “A wise precaution, I can assure you.”

“We're able to throw some protection around your ship, too,” Potter said. “My men are coming now.”

A bay door in the Lancets side cracked open, then let down to the ground, forming a landing ramp. Stan watched a dozen men come running down the ramp. Carrying bulky weapons, they were masked and shielded, and wearing full space armor.

“You waste no time, do you, Captain?” Stan said.

“You're damned right,” Potter said. “The sooner I get you people out of the harvester the better.”

“One way or another,” Stan said mildly.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Stan muttered. “But it looks to me like your men are running into a little difficulty.”

The armed men were moving across the corridors between the force fields that lay between Potter's ship and the harvester. The force fields shimmered faintly in the pelting rain. Low, flat lighting, grim and without shadows, illuminated the scene, and this was aided by the search beam from the Lancet, which flooded different areas with its sulfurous, yellow light. The men moved at a brisk trot, helmet shields up so they could communicate better. Their troubles began slowly and built fast. The first man to scream was hardly noticed, so rapidly were the others moving. But then the squad leader became aware that something was amiss. His name was Blake and he was from Los Angeles. He was used to skulking around smoking ruins and walking down ruined streets. So he wasn't entirely surprised when he saw one of the men throw his arms in the air as something long and black snaked out from seemingly nowhere and grabbed him around the neck. But what had it been? Blake wasn't sure. He stared, gaped. Another man screamed, and was dragged away shrieking. Then Blake realized that somehow the aliens had gotten into the uninterdicted corridors between the force fields, and were grabbing soldiers as they crossed from one field to another. Seeing this, Blake shouted some orders. His little squadron was already cut in half. He ordered the remaining soldiers to fight back-to-back. They were closer to the harvester than to the Lancet, so he ordered them to continue.

You could see that the men didn't want to go. What had begun as a nice little bug fight had turned into a slaughter of humans. It wasn't fair! But there was no one to complain to.

They fought, their weapons flashing and flaming, and they caught a group of aliens as they were preparing to charge, caught them dead on and blew them to hell and back. The air rained black body parts. The acid from the aliens' wounds sprayed far and wide, and the ground sizzled beneath them. Luckily the soldiers were in acid-proof armor, or the acid would have made short work of them.

The sun came out as the slaughter continued, and the men seemed to be holding their own. Then the aliens got around the other side of the force field, and the soldiers were caught between two attacking alien groups.

They continued fighting, falling one after another. The lucky ones were dead when they hit the ground. Some of the others, wounded but not yet dead, weren't so lucky. Aliens draped them over their shoulders and retreated to the hive. These soldiers would make fine hosts, just what the queen needed.

Seeing this, Blake fought hard to keep his composure. It was unnerving, seeing friend after friend pulled apart, torn to bits, or dragged away unconscious to be glued to the wall of the hive with something small and deadly growing inside him, after the facehugger had done its work.

Blake turned back. It was all happening too fast. When he looked around, he saw the last of his men collapse, scream, and get dragged off. Blake saw his chance and sprinted to the harvester. He got there before the aliens, but just barely. He pounded at the door. “Let me in! Please, please, let me in!”

Stan's mild-mannered face peered back at him through the viewport. His lips moved. Blake couldn't hear the words, but Stan was saying, “Sorry, I can't open the door. I don't have the strength to close it again.”

Blake pounded again, and then the aliens were on him. A claw came around his shoulder and grabbed his face at the forehead. It pulled, tearing the skin right off. Blake felt his nose pull away, felt his lips leave his mouth, felt all this, and then another claw had seized him by the neck, it was pulling out the tendons of his neck! And then Blake felt no more.

Potter was shouting, his voice grating on the speaker. “Damn you! What have you done to my men?”

“Not a thing, Captain,” Myakovsky said. “They brought it on themselves. Nothing I could do for them. Can you get us out of here, Captain?”

“It seems scarcely worth my time,” Potter grumbled. “I ought to nuke all of you.”

“But then you'd lose the contents of the harvester,” Stan said.

“True enough. But I could always come back for it, after things have cooled down.”

“I have a better plan,” Stan said. “Something that will be of use to us all.”

“Hurry up and tell me what it is,” Potter said. “I don't like leaving my ship down here.”

“It's too complicated to explain over radio,” Stan said. “But I think you will like it. Listen, I have an android here who has been damaged in recent fighting. I could send him over to you. He'd explain the whole thing.”

“I don't know if I should even bother.” Potter was obviously thinking aloud.

“I think you'll be interested in my scheme,” Stan continued. “And after all, it won't take very long.”

“All right,” Potter said. “Send him over. This better be good.”

“It'll be very good,” Stan affirmed.

“How are you going to get him through the aliens? If my own men couldn't make it, how do you expect your android to get here?”

“Modern technology is a wonderful thing,” Stan said evasively. “He'll be right over, Captain. Signing off.”