The pitch and roll of the drone changed drastically now. Nup had moved. The pitch was gone but the roll was much worse. However, it all had its good points. The drone was now crabbing and protecting the door from the wind.

Gingerly reaching for the microphone, Zzt stood well away from the plane.

“You in position?” he demanded. “It took a couple of times but-'

“All right. Do you recognize a cable ladder?”

Nup tried to explain that as a mining executive and a fully qualified pilot, he of course could recognize-

“Fasten your end of the cable ladder to the cleats opposite the seat. Drop the weighted end of the ladder down here. Then lower an ore net on a line. And then a safety wire. All into this door. Got that?”

Nup said he certainly understood it, but was there ore in the drone? He didn't quite understand-

“Fuel cartridges! I’m going to send you up fuel cartridges.”

“Oh, my. That's a relief! Will they fit?”

Zzt didn't bother to answer. Of course they fit! All plane fuel cartridges were interchangeable. It was tanks to planes that didn't match. What a crud brain!

The ladder's weighted end came whipping down. It fell on the wrong side of the tail that was jutting out of the door. The tail was wedged over.

Zzt, feeling quite brave, reached in, waited for a correct roll of the drone, released the magnetic brake, shifted the plane with a massive heave only a Psychlo could manage, and reset the brake. Good, now he could get the cable ladder end where it belonged. He had clearance between it and the door edge. He lashed the lower end to a floor beam.

The lowering safety wire gave trouble for it kept flying out into the windstream. Zzt radioed Nup to haul it back. Devil with it, he didn't need it.

Zzt reached into the battle plane and pulled out a coil of safety wire from it. Then he couldn't figure out how to use it. He tied it to the battle plane in its proper ring but he didn't like the idea of being tied here. Suppose the plane moved or something. He left the safety wire on the floor plates. Devil with it.

“Ore basket!” he demanded of Nup. It came down. It was heavy enough not to fly around in the three-hundred-mile-an-hour blast of cold air. As Zzt tied the cartridge bag into it he realized he hadn't inspected it for fuel. It probably also had ammunition cartridges in it. Well, who knew, they might need both.

As soon as they flew off he was going to gun this interior, blow this battle plane to bits and just make sure. Damn animal. Damn Terl.

A new thought hit him. It was a long way down. He better grab the jet backpack. Very gingerly, he reached an arm into the compartment and got it. There were two there. He brought out both. He threw one over the side and put the other on. Left the animal with no out. But of course the animal was dead. And good riddance. Damn Terl!

“You all set?” he demanded on the radio.

Nup said he was, but where was the fuel.

Zzt let him pull up the fuel in the ore net.

“You got it?” demanded Zzt.

“Yes, I’m trying to check...just let me remove the spent empties and make sure the size-'

“Blast you for a dimwitted crud! Stand by to steady that ladder. I’m sick of being down here in this crap-infested, monkey-cursed drone! I’ll take care of the refuel when I get up there. Don't put an ammunition cartridge into the fuel sleeves! I’m coming up and right now!”

But he didn't come “right now.” He looked at the radio and then took his wrench out of his boot and slashed the radio to bits. Of course, he'd be shooting this thing to pieces in just minutes, but caution was always best.

Zzt grabbed the cable ladder rungs and started up. He looked up. It was not a short climb. The Mark 32 cut off the windstream quite a bit but it was still a strong blast. He paused, made sure his mask wouldn't blow off, and climbed up the ladder.

Jonnie lay on the cross-members of the canister storage area of the drone, gripped in a nightmare. He was in the cage again, a collar around his throat, and a demon was crushing in the back of his skull. He kept trying to tell the demon he would shoot it if it didn't stop, but he couldn't get the words out.

He wrestled himself up from the nightmare. The roar of the huge drone engines beat against his head. He realized where he was. It wasn't the collar: it was the neck lanyard of the revolver; the heavy weapon was hanging down between the beams. He painfully retrieved it. There was a small amount of light in here and he swung the cylinder open.

Just one shot left.

He reached to his belt to see whether he had reloads. He didn't. The blast gun was lost.

Before he passed out he had opened the first aid kit and tied a wound pad over his head and under the face mask straps. That was all he remembered after he had shot the flashlight out of Zzt’s hand. He could see it gleaming still, bent over a cross-member. No, that wasn't a flashlight. It was about four feet away and it seemed forty. What was it?

A mechanic's mirror. So that was how Zzt observed him.

What had awakened him? How long had he been out? Seconds? Minutes? The back of his head felt like it had been staved in, soft to the touch. Fractured skull? Or was it just swelling and blood-matted hair?

He heard something clatter. Noise around the plane had awakened him.

With a sudden feeling of urgency he made the effort and retrieved the mirror. He slid along the crossbeam and put the mirror to the hole.

It was Zzt.

His first impulse was to dart out and use this one last bullet. Then he saw the ladder end. And the ore basket going up. They were refueling the

Mark 32!

The sudden thought of what they could do with the Mark 32 back at the compound shocked him fully alert. He knew what he must do. Just now-wait!

That was the hard part. He kept drifting off into a murky black sea of unconsciousness. He could hold on for a while but the wave would drown him again.

Zzt was on the radio. No, he was smashing the radio with the wrench.

Jonnie gathered himself up, tensing to dive out through the hole. He watched carefully with the mirror. Zzt went over to the ladder. He started up. He stopped with just his legs visible below the door.

In a wave of pain, Jonnie got out of the canister loading slot. There was a safety line on the floor plates. He grabbed it and gave it a tug. It was secured to his plane. In his condition he did not want to lapse unconscious and fall out that door. He rapidly swung the safety wire around his waist and secured it with a hasty loop.

Zzt's legs were gone.

Jonnie checked the revolver to make sure the one shot was going to come up under the firing pin when he cocked it.

He swung himself onto the ladder. It was blowing outward from the drone.

The bottom end was fastened inside the door but he was now out over empty space, protected from the windstream by the tail of his battle plane. He went up several steps.

Jonnie had a clear view of the Mark 32. The cockpit lights were on; the door was being held open by Nup's foot. Zzt was a third of the way up to the plane.

For a moment Jonnie thought he was too late. He thought Nup had hoisted the fuel cartridges out of sight. But no. Nup had the caps off the fuel receptacles and was examining them. For numbers? And he had the whole ore basket in his lap!

Zzt was howling at Nup, something about opening the door wider and steadying the cable. Zzt climbed further. The ladder was protected by the angle of the Mark 32 but there was still a tearing wind. It was ripping Zzt's jacket. He roared again something about opening the door, the words lost in the roar of the drone and the scream of the wind.

Jonnie cocked the revolver. The face mask protected his eyes. He could have shot either Zzt or Nup. He didn't. He carefully allowed for wind and elevation. The already high muzzle velocity of a Smith and Wesson .457 magnum was increased by blasting caps in its cartridges. He must be very careful. Only one shot.