Since they pulled him out of the midden, Stan had drifted into a different place. He seemed to be in a spaceless space and a timeless time. It was a world filled with little blue-and-pink clouds. There were stars in the background, and pools of water. He was not surprised to see Norbert standing in front of him. Nothing could be strange to Stan any longer. He had passed beyond weirdness, into a place where all effects were the same, all part of the great symphony of death, whose opening notes he could hear as though coming to him from a great distance, but getting louder, louder.

This couldn't have been an illusion because it answered him.

Norbert said, "Yes, I am here, Dr. Myakovsky. I am functioning at only twenty-seven percent of capacity."

Stan blinked and his vision cleared. He was in the alien garbage midden, lying on his back on mounds of refuge. In front of him, bending over, was Norbert.

"It must have been quite a fight," Stan said, surveying the robot.

"I would say so, Doctor. I killed three of them in a running battle through the hive. Unfortunately, they did damage to me that I fear will prove terminal.''

"Are you afraid?" Stan asked.

"Not in the personal sense, Doctor. By fear, I meant regret that I will no longer be able to serve you as you designed me."

"Can't you turn on your self-repair circuits?" Stan asked.

"I tried that, Doctor. They are down. And you did not equip me with self-repair units for the self-repair units."

"In the future we'll have infinite backups for all systems," Stan said. "Including human ones, I hope. Including mine."

"Are you all right, Doctor?"

"I've definitely had better days," Stan said. "My self-repair circuits aren't working right, either." He felt something in his hand and held it up. "Look here! Mac's collar! I've got it!"

"That's fine, Doctor," Norbert said. "I have something, too."

"What is it?" Stan asked.

"This." Norbert reached into the gaping wound in his shoulder and drew out a gooey mass the color of honey.

"What is it?" Stan asked.

"Royal jelly from the queen's birthing chamber," Norbert said. "I was unable to provide a proper container. I'm afraid it's gotten some oil on it, and some blood."

"Doesn't matter," Stan said. He reached out and took the mass. It had a waxy consistency. He put it in his mouth, made himself chew and swallow it. He experienced no immediate effect.

"Great work!" Stan said.

Behind him he heard big objects move and slide around as something came from the interior of the hive.

"Better get going, Doctor," Norbert said. "They're coming. I'll cover your retreat as well as I can."

"I don't see how," Stan grumbled.

"I improvised a weapon. I hope it will suffice."

Stan pulled himself onto his hands and knees and worked his way toward the edge of the pit. Behind him he could hear sizzling energy beams as Norbert and the others fought off the aliens. Norbert was buying him time.

Stan tried to pull himself up the side of the pit, but the crumbling structure gave way under him and he fell to the bottom again. Pain washed over him in great uncontrollable waves, and in each one he thought he might drown, only to come back again and again, each time more feebly, to the surface of consciousness.

He felt Julie's hand in his, and then Gill's hand. He was lifted into the air. Below him he heard Norbert's battle still raging, and the shrill screaming sounds that the aliens made as they died in the violet-edged bolts that Norbert's impromptu weapon cast. But the aliens kept on coming, and as Julie and Gill pulled Stan out of the pit and beat a hasty retreat down a tunnel, they heard the sounds of Norbert being pulled down and torn apart.