Part 11 (1/2)

”Do you really have a knife on you?” he asked unbelievingly.

The human nodded glumly. ”He's right. I'd totally forgotten about it in the excitement. Wait a minute. I'll see-nope. I can't reach it. Marshmallow, can you reach back with your left hand and get it? It's in the inner lining of my pants on your side.”

She wriggled her hand a bit, caught the top of his pants, and managed to get her hand in. ”My, my!” she said delightedly. ”What nice, tight buns you've got!”

”Never mind the feelies, can you get the knife?”

”Yeah . . . I think. Yep! Got it! Now if I can just get it out without-”

”OUCH!” screamed Millard Fillmore Pierce. ”Sorry. I'll try again.”

”I'm wounded!” Pierce cried. ”I'm bleeding!”

”Oh, pipe down!” she shot back. ”It'd be a lot worse if you'd put that knife in the front of yoah pants!”

She got the knife free, but dropped it onto the desk.

Pierce looked down at it in horror. ”My G.o.d! That is blood!”

”The sight of blood disturbs you?” the general put in. ”Normally, no. But that's my blood, d.a.m.n it!”

”Serves you right for surrendering and keeping a deadly weapon in your possession. That's against the Rules of War, you know.”

”Everybody!” snapped the woman. ”Dip down at the same time and maybe I can pick it up and get it in a position to use it.”

”You already did,” Pierce responded in an anguished tone, but they all ignored him and bent low.

It took three tries for her to get the knife and several more false starts before she was able to maneuver it into a useful position. Finally, though, she was cutting through the thick cable. It took some time, and she dropped the knife twice in the process, but when they went down the second time to retrieve it, the cable snapped of its own accord, sending them sprawling on the deck.

They got up slowly, and Pierce, turning over and trying to sit up, stood up very quickly.

”Yow!” he yowled. ”That hurts like the devil!” He rubbed his rear end, and alittle blood was on his hand when he brought it back up to look at it. ”I'm going to have to get the medikit.”

”Mills, old friend?” the computer called. ”That was really good. Now you will single- handedly overpower the villain, make peace with our counterparts, and ride off into the sunset, kissing the girl and marrying your horse, right?”

”What?”

”He raises a good point, though, with his irony,” noted the general, not realizing that the computer had been deadly serious. ”No matter what we do, that energy b.a.s.t.a.r.d's going to be waking up your Frank Poole android again sooner or later. What do we do?”

That stopped them. ”Computer?” Pierce called at last. ”You said it was an energy creature?”

”Yes and no, Millard. I believe it's a speck of organic life connected in some way to a source of energy vaster than we can comprehend. Its s.p.a.cecraft, perhaps. It must use some highly sophisticated power drive that we can't even hope to imagine. You ought to see what it's done to my circuitry. It's a mess!”

”Any ideas?”

The computer thought it over. ”You aren't going to head it off at the pa.s.s and overpower it?”

”I've got to change my reading habits,” Pierce muttered to himself. To the computer he responded, ”No, I'm not. Besides, what could I do anyway? The android's not alive to begin with, remember? You can't shoot it. You can't wrestle it down, not if it can go from body to body.”

”Wish there was some way to give it a hotfoot,” Marshmallow put in.

The general's reptilian head went up sharply. ”You know, that's it! Short-circuit it.” Pierce looked around helplessly. ”With what? How about it, faithful computer companion?

Any suggestions?”

”I'm only an XB-223 navigational computer, not an automatic war machine. Still-”

”Yes?” all three responded in unison.

”There might be a way to do something. Trouble is, I'm not really sure of anything, being the universe's best navigational aid but not an engineering computer . . .”

”What have you got in mind? Spill it!” the general growled.

”All right!” shouted the XB-223. ”Beat me! Whip me! That's what you people make us machines for in the first place, isn't it? To take out your sadom.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic tendencies on us poor, defenseless appliances!”

”All right, all right,” Pierce soothed. ”Look, if you won't do it for us, do it for yourself. You have a score to settle with it, too, remember. And it'll destroy you right along with us.”

”That is a point,” the computer admitted. ”All right. Well, it's using one of the recreational robots to communicate with us. Much of this s.h.i.+p, including the deck, is made of conductive material. Circuits are imprinted all through it so that I can control the various functions of the s.h.i.+p, while drawing power from the mains. The recreational robot is composed of the same material and mostly energized through the deck, normally. If I could rev up the engines a bit, build up a real power reserve, and when he comes in I give it to him full through the deck, it just might knock him cold, although I doubt if it would dissipate the being's phenomenal energy.”

”Would it knock him out long enough for us to dump him out the airlock and scram out of here?” Pierce said hopefully.

”Maybe,” said the computer. ”No guarantees.”

”And fry us in the process,” the lizard-Pierce noted. ”Remember, we have to be on this deck plating, too.”

”I'll admit that is a drawback,” the computer replied, ”but n.o.body's perfect.”

Marshmallow frowned. ”Hmmph,” she said, ”it sounds like sci-fi doubletalk to me, but what do I know?”

Pierce ignored her. He shook his head, unwilling to abandon the idea.

”No, wait a minute. How localized could you make this power surge? Could you zap him but not us?”

”Well, not exactly. But I could place most of the charge under him. Couldn't you insulate yourselves some-how?”

Pierce considered it, ”s.p.a.cesuit?”

”That'd do it,” the computer agreed, ”but it would kind of tip the energy being off when he returned, don't you think? Besides, what about the guests?”

”Yeah!” Marshmallow said.

”Well, there are only two suits,” the XB-223 mused, ”and they're both designed for someone Millard's size and shape. For very different reasons, neither Miss Marshmallow nor the general would fit in the other one. The notion of both of them trying to cram into the suit together is ludicrous.”

”That's not quite the word I'd use for it,” said the lizard.

”Eeew!” said Marshmallow.

Pierce sighed. ”How much energy would reach us if you potted him, say, at the entrance there, and we were up against the control console?”