hive.”
I said—I couldn’t stop myself—”Wouldn’t the hornets have to have little space suits?”
Henry said, “I’m not talking about real hornets. But we could design a robot hornet, a manufactured device, that would do the job. That’s feasible, isn’t it, Fred?”
“Provided the robots’ stingers are long enough to penetrate space suits but thin enough not to make them leak, why not?”
“Can you do it?”
Fred said, “You design it, Henry, and we’ll manufacture it.”
I asked questions. Would the hornets’ stings be lethal, or would they just hurt so much that the pirates would surrender? How would we keep the hornets from attacking our own crew as well as the pirates?
Henry told me to remember the chows of Hsi-tau and the ID tags. Something similar—chips implanted under the skin of the crew, maybe—could solve the problem. The hornets would sting only the enemy, never the good guys.
Just the same, I wondered. If there was life on other planets, was there an organism anywhere in the universe that could defend itself against Henry’s hornets, especially as they would surely be improved by the crew of the mother ship? And what might the combination of human beings and indestructible hornets mean for the universe?
~ * ~
7
LATER, GETTING OUT OF THE car in front of my building, I half hoped that Adam would spring from the shadows and plead for another chance. However, I saw no sign of him or anyone else except the usual dog walkers and couples staggering home after dining out. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. Across the river, beyond a row of leafless trees washed by streetlight, New Jersey was a lattice of lighted windows. The city was unusually quiet. A full minute passed during which I did not hear a siren or feel a subway train beneath my soles. A couple of bicyclists in full racing gear whirred by, taking advantage of the light traffic. Somebody got out of a taxi across the street—nope, not Adam, just a woman with a briefcase. I liked this city in the same way that I liked my body—nothing was new, yet everything was always new. For the first time in ages, I felt the exhilaration of being where I was.
That changed when I reached the door of my apartment. I leaned against it, thinking to prolong my moment of euphoria while I got my keys out of my bag. The door swung open under my weight, and I staggered backward into the hall.
The door was unlocked. All four deadbolts, the chain, and the steel bar were open, every one of them. This was impossible. I never failed to lock the door. Locking it was an obsession. I distinctly remembered locking up before I left for dinner.
Were the intruders still inside? Where else would they be? I should have run for the elevator. Instead, don’t ask me why, I dashed into the apartment, slamming and locking the door behind me and trapping myself inside with whatever killer or rapist might be waiting to pounce. There was no one there—no one under the bed, no one in the closets, no one behind the shower curtain. The thousand dollars in cash I kept in a Baggie in the icemaker were still there, but the inside of the freezer looked different, as if things had been moved around and then replaced. Same thing with my dresser drawers, with the bookcase, with my address book and diary. All were in slightly different places. Someone had touched them. Likewise the clothes in my closet. I examined the clean glasses in the cupboard for fingerprints but found none.
The apartment had been searched. I knew it. Nothing had been taken, but my space had been violated. Why? What were these people looking for? Beside the telephone I kept a scratch pad and a pencil. I held the pad level with my eye and looked across its surface. Yes, there definitely were indentations. I scribbled over them with the pencil and there it was, the proof. A number had been written on this pad
I said—I couldn’t stop myself—”Wouldn’t the hornets have to have little space suits?”
Henry said, “I’m not talking about real hornets. But we could design a robot hornet, a manufactured device, that would do the job. That’s feasible, isn’t it, Fred?”
“Provided the robots’ stingers are long enough to penetrate space suits but thin enough not to make them leak, why not?”
“Can you do it?”
Fred said, “You design it, Henry, and we’ll manufacture it.”
I asked questions. Would the hornets’ stings be lethal, or would they just hurt so much that the pirates would surrender? How would we keep the hornets from attacking our own crew as well as the pirates?
Henry told me to remember the chows of Hsi-tau and the ID tags. Something similar—chips implanted under the skin of the crew, maybe—could solve the problem. The hornets would sting only the enemy, never the good guys.
Just the same, I wondered. If there was life on other planets, was there an organism anywhere in the universe that could defend itself against Henry’s hornets, especially as they would surely be improved by the crew of the mother ship? And what might the combination of human beings and indestructible hornets mean for the universe?
~ * ~
7
LATER, GETTING OUT OF THE car in front of my building, I half hoped that Adam would spring from the shadows and plead for another chance. However, I saw no sign of him or anyone else except the usual dog walkers and couples staggering home after dining out. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. Across the river, beyond a row of leafless trees washed by streetlight, New Jersey was a lattice of lighted windows. The city was unusually quiet. A full minute passed during which I did not hear a siren or feel a subway train beneath my soles. A couple of bicyclists in full racing gear whirred by, taking advantage of the light traffic. Somebody got out of a taxi across the street—nope, not Adam, just a woman with a briefcase. I liked this city in the same way that I liked my body—nothing was new, yet everything was always new. For the first time in ages, I felt the exhilaration of being where I was.
That changed when I reached the door of my apartment. I leaned against it, thinking to prolong my moment of euphoria while I got my keys out of my bag. The door swung open under my weight, and I staggered backward into the hall.
The door was unlocked. All four deadbolts, the chain, and the steel bar were open, every one of them. This was impossible. I never failed to lock the door. Locking it was an obsession. I distinctly remembered locking up before I left for dinner.
Were the intruders still inside? Where else would they be? I should have run for the elevator. Instead, don’t ask me why, I dashed into the apartment, slamming and locking the door behind me and trapping myself inside with whatever killer or rapist might be waiting to pounce. There was no one there—no one under the bed, no one in the closets, no one behind the shower curtain. The thousand dollars in cash I kept in a Baggie in the icemaker were still there, but the inside of the freezer looked different, as if things had been moved around and then replaced. Same thing with my dresser drawers, with the bookcase, with my address book and diary. All were in slightly different places. Someone had touched them. Likewise the clothes in my closet. I examined the clean glasses in the cupboard for fingerprints but found none.
The apartment had been searched. I knew it. Nothing had been taken, but my space had been violated. Why? What were these people looking for? Beside the telephone I kept a scratch pad and a pencil. I held the pad level with my eye and looked across its surface. Yes, there definitely were indentations. I scribbled over them with the pencil and there it was, the proof. A number had been written on this pad
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