"It's Badger and his men," one of the engineers remarked, reading the terse information that flowed to the TV screen from all parts of the ship. "He's killed the guard."

"Damn it!" Captain Hoban said. "Can you see what they're doing now?"

"They've just entered the pod."

"Seal the ports!" Hoban ordered.

"Too late. They've already opened them."

"Close them again!"

The engineer punched buttons then shook his head. "They've locked them into place. They're blasting off."

Hoban watched on the screen as a schematic came up, showing the Dolomite's landing pod lifting out of its bay and maneuvering away from the ship's side.

"I can still pull them back with the short-range tractors," the engineer said, his fingers poised on the controls.

Captain Hoban hesitated. At this range, he knew that the tractors would pull the pod apart. Badger and the others wouldn't stand a chance. He didn't want to go that far. There would be a court of inquiry over this. He needed to keep his record clean.

"Book their departure in the ship's log," he ordered.

"I don't know that they'll make it," the engineering officer said. "The weather's really bad out there."

Hoban looked and saw that an entire weather front had moved in while they were dealing with Badger. Long ragged clouds covered the planet's surface, clouds that were whipped and torn apart by the wind's violent action. Lightning flashed, huge jagged blue-violet bolts, several miles long, lancing out of the black-bellied clouds into the naked land below. Although the Dolomite was well above it, Hoban gave an involuntary shudder at the size of the storm.

"Try Dr. Myakovsky again," he ordered. "We have to warn him."

"I'm trying, sir," the officer said. "But no luck so far."