"Any problem posed by one group ofhuman beings can be resolved by anyother group." That's what the Handbooksaid. But did that include primitivehumans? Or the Bees? Or a ...
The cool green disk of AlphardSix on the screen wasinfinitely welcome after the ariddesolation and stinking swamplandsof the inner planets, anairy jewel of a world that mighthave been designed specificallyfor the hard-earned month ofrest ahead. Navigator Farrell,youngest and certainly most impulsiveof the three-man TerranReclamations crew, would haveset the Marco Four down atonce but for the greater cautionof Stryker, nominally captain ofthe group, and of Gibson, engineer,and linguist. Xavier, theship's little mechanical, had—aswas usual and proper—no voicein the matter.
"Reconnaissance spiral first,Arthur," Stryker said firmly. Hechuckled at Farrell's instantscowl, his little eyes twinklingand his naked paunch quakingover the belt of his shipboardshorts. "Chapter One, SubsectionFive, Paragraph Twenty-seven:No planetfall on an unreclaimedworld shall be deemedsafe without proper—"
Farrell, as Stryker had expected,interrupted with characteristicimpatience. "Do you sleepwith that damned ReclamationsHandbook, Lee? Alphard Sixisn't an unreclaimed world—itwas never colonized before theHymenop invasion back in 3025,so why should it be inhabitednow?"
Gibson, who for four hourshad not looked up from his interminablechess game withXavier, paused with a beleagueredknight in one blunt brownhand.
"No point in taking chances,"Gibson said in his neutral baritone.He shrugged thick bareshoulders, his humorless black-browedface unmoved, whenFarrell included him in hisscowl. "We're two hundred twenty-sixlight-years from Sol, atthe old limits of Terran expansion,and there's no knowingwhat we may turn up here. Alphard'swas one of the first systemsthe Bees took over. It musthave been one of the last to beabandoned when they pulled backto 70 Ophiuchi."
"And I think you live for theday," Farrell said acidly, "whenwe'll stumble across a functioningdome of live, buzzing Hymenops.Damn it, Gib, the Beespulled out a hundred years ago,before you and I were born—neitherof us ever saw a Hymenop,and never will!"
"But I saw them," Strykersaid. "I fought them for the betterpart of the century they werehere, and I learned there's nopredicting nor understandingthem. We never knew why theycame nor why they gave up andleft. How can we know whetherthey'd leave a rear-guard orbooby trap here?"
He put a paternal hand onFarrell's shoulder, understandingthe younger man's eagernessand knowing that their close-knitteam would have been themore poorly balanced without it.
"Gib's right," he said. Henearly added as usual. "We're onrest leave at the moment, yes,but our mission is still to findTerran colonies enslaved andabandoned by the Bees, not torisk our necks and a valuableReorientations ship by landingblind on an unobserved planet.We're too close already. Cut inyour shields and find a reconnaissancespiral, will you?"
Grumbling, Farrell punchedcoordinates on the Ringwaveboard that lifted the Marco Fourout of her descent and restoredthe bluish enveloping haze ofher repellors.
Stryker's caution was justifiedon the instant. The speedingstreamlined shape that had flashedup unobserved from belowswerved sharply and exploded ina cataclysmic blaze of atomicfire that rocked the ship wildlyand flung the three men to thefloor in a jangling roar ofalarms.
"So the Handbook tacticiansknew what they were about,"Str