The craft he was riding, he knew, was no longer just a ship, but a collection of rock bugs. Bugs that could work out mathematical equations. And now were playing polo!
For what was polo, anyhow, except a mathematical equation, a problem of using certain points of force at certain points in space to arrive at a predetermined end? Back on Gus’ rock the bugs had worked as a unit to solve equations… and the new hatch in the ship was working as a unit, too, to solve another kind of problem… the problem of taking a certain ball to a certain point despite certain variable and random factors in the form of opposing spaceships.
Tentatively, half fearfully, Meek stabbed cautiously at a key which should have turned the ship. The ship didn’t turn. Meek snatched his hand away as if the key had burned his finger.
BACK on the line the ship wheeled into position of its own accord and a moment later was off again. Meek clung to his chair with shaking hands. There was, he knew, no use of even pretending he was trying to operate the ship. There was just one thing that he was glad of. No one could see him sitting there, doing nothing.
But the time would come… and soon… when he would have to do something. For he couldn’t let the ship return to the Ring. To do that would be to infest the other ships parked there, spread the bugs throughout the solar system. And those bugs definitely were something the solar system could get along without.
The ship shuddered and twisted, weaving its way through the pack of players. More plates ripped loose. Glancing up, Meek could see the glory of Saturn through the gleaming ribs.
Then the ball was over the line and Meek’s team mates were shrieking at him over the radio in his spacesuit… happy, glee-filled yells of triumph. He didn’t answer. He was too busy ripping out the control wires. But it didn’t help. Even while he was doing it the ship went on unhampered and piled up another score.
Apparently the bugs didn’t need the controls to make the ship do what they wanted. More than likely they were in control of the firing mechanism at its very source. Maybe, and the thought curled the hair on Meek’s neck, they were the firing mechanism. Maybe they had integrated themselves with the very structure of the entire mechanism of the ship. That would make the ship alive. A living chunk of machinery that paid no attention to the man who sat at the controls.
Meanwhile, the ship made another goal…
There was a way to stop the bugs… only one way… but it was dangerous.